she accompanied herself

where she once feared to tread

so lonely now

lost in the madhouse 

lost in the madhouse 

 usefulness over

landing full square in life’s bin

a very close shave

 taken forsaking

the fasciculation of

life’s indecisions

 through tiny rips 

the plum blossom pours

forth white

 motorway madness

having missed execution 

the squirrel turns back

 when this wall

was but half a wall

he placed this stone 

 still life

the flowers die

a still death

 this is a nice shell

but there is a better shell

 - the rising tide

 so 

we are dying

so

 reading the poets 

to become the poet 

i am not

 the photographed blossom will never fall for you

 another handful

of broken shells and sand

- nanna please

 crops grown under plastic bags

crops sold in plastic bags

- walking the dog

 multicoloured 

footballers on a saturday morning

under a blue sky 

 and as we arrived 

at the mystery his words 

he was gone 

 slowly at nightfall

the bay takes on the shape 

of ten thousand lanterns

 the sun cat

sitting under a sage bush

looks very wise

 

•  lunch in the radar station  

•  lunch in the radar station  

•  lunch in the radar station  

 march winds 

the shadow of the rotary line

strokes the grass cat 

 bedroom window

the burden of waiting

for the budding

 prayers of a falcon

following its scream

across the lonely

prayers of a falcon

across the lonely river

follow its scream

 shopping list 

passing the cenotaph 

i remember something

 blue wind

shaking the daffodils by the 

scruff of their neck

 the hare

an explosion of going

somewhere

 high wind

the church gate

refuses

 when the daffs blow

the crows fly high and fast

above the hares

 a  buddleia

on top of the branch library

• yes really

 favourite corner

the cat takes ownership 

of the sun

 sofa cat

exercising her eyes

- sparrows

i was seventeen 

with seventeen dreams

and seventeen reasons 

 ten thousand peasants 

are pissing on his grave

- sneering in dreams

his legacy is ours

ignominy is his lot 

 suddenly

the breeze and the blackbird 

turning over leaves

 Capital she said

lowering my writing case

i opened up to her

 seventy seven

the number of steps

to my birthday swim

 floodlit

the castle is floating

in the night sky

 snort fair

but it quacks them up 

pigs and ducks

 now you tell him

if the bus conductor asks

that you are seven

the poverty of those lines in

the poverty of those times

when we intone

well what the hell can i do

then we are dead 

 spring yes spring 

the transience of perfection

be held in my hand

 so many faces

in so many facets

crack me up

 prognosis 

the bloody bell curve

shatters me

 predation predated

tales of the river bank

• ripped reeds

 unconditional surrender 

to epstein interrogation 

make justice great again

 they don’t stop crying

when the news cameras leave

grief is forever

 cheery sparrows

  in the cherry tree

seedlings 

and where does the cat sit?

• on my expletives 

a bird

leaves a michelin star

al fresco dining 

spring’s time is

‪bounding along like a hare‬

‪in march ‬

that fly

yes  yes  YES

the spider’s got it

dark times

Don McClean plays Vincent 

• a shooting star

 old tree

a profusion of blossom

one last run of sap

 so close

to one so far away 

bears fruit

 painful isn’t it

jammed my thumb in the car door

- have selfie

 morning news

eighty warplanes attack iran 

weekend sport

 brisk wind

with a peg in its mouth

giggling

 a horse with blinkers 

sees only the hard road

through the lush grasses

 he was drunk

the man in the book

i could smell it

 tears as petals

coupled in the fast forward 

of a brief startling 

 looking up

from writing this poem

i saw the sun shine

the cost of war

a priceless statement 

of dead reckoning  

 the poem 

it would never have existed 

but for you

 the world is bursting

and the poets plead for prompts

FFS

 semantics of war

thesaurus shot to pieces

stuffed down your throat

 red it red it

the puns in the pond

return every year

 a war starts

a princess speaks welsh

FFS

 in these dark days

i remember my dad whistling

holding my hand

 what if

all the holes on our bodies

healed up

 modern times 

all the princes are frogs

ne’er a drowning pool

 surfing

on a biography of crudity

tethered bored

variations on the theme of pigeons

 variations on the theme of pigeons

grey day

a flock of pigeons

leaves the church roof

grey day

a flock of pigeons

returns to the church roof

grey day

a sudden flock of pigeons

left the church roof and

returned

returned

returning a flock of pigeons returned

leaving a flock of pigeons left

grey day

a sudden flock of pigeons

feathers her hair