Don’t come to me like a dull bell at noon.
Come with a sea shanty in your eyes,
pink shells in your pocket and salt on your fingertips.
Bring me gorse humming with heat from the cliff,
squill, thrift and sea poppies.
Bring lace skimmed from the edge of a wave.
When you go, leave sand on each stair
so I can still feel your rub at every step.
First published in Smoke No 70 Summer 2023
They are warriors, these women
who glide out onto the street
flashing their indicators
more than is strictly necessary.
They open their faces to the sun
like poppies, waving to neighbours,
their hands gnarled as oak bark,
feet armoured in dirty slippers.
They beat their bounds, natty in berets,
sometimes with cats on their laps.
We witness these jaunts but never stop to talk.
We fear these pavement days. Soon,
we too will leave dusty unused rooms
sallying forth shoeless into the blessed sun.
First published by Typishly June 2023
In cases where there is uncertainty
all will come to light.
With furled wing, with clear wing
with dusky, rosy under-wing
all come to light.
Even in the midst of flurry
all will come to light.
Flying from the dusk, flying in the night,
High flyer, June Flyer
all come to light.
Even when obscurely marked
all will come to light.
Fringes scalloped, pinkish flush,
marbled, feathered, Cinnabar
all come to light.
When the memory deceives
all will come to light.
Alchymist, Festoon, Vapourer,
Brocade and Coronet
all come to light.
Even now when lost in dust
all will come to light.
First published in Reach Poetry January 2021
(April 2020)
I am trying to get away
from myself
but there is nowhere to hide.
Into the silence come voices,
announcing they are working,
night and day.
I believe them.
They are busy
losing themselves in screens.
We are all unmeeting ourselves.
In the morning shadows of flags
at half-mast fall
on empty city squares.
In country lanes
muscular hares pause.
At night a pink moon rises.
First published online February 2021 https://poetryandcovid.com/