Space With Time-
Winter ‘21
Beyond the broken spud stone
The gate clicks shut
December dark days
My house creaks
The storm will not abate
I can’t go out or you cannot here
I surrender for grace to enter
Storm Barra blows booms mocks the day
In the loft odd things move
As a paper-bag drifts by the windowpane
On the floor in a basket lie distorted photographs
Inclined towards neglect
Un-broached narratives I finger through
Catch some drift of other people’s tales
I leave the room
The woods call me, call to me
Call me out for my lapsed presence
I cannot go
If only they would know
Perhaps the trees have not heard
Of the things astray
In suburbia
I play the Tube, travel virtual trips
Far away over snow covered ground
I’m a lady on a train bumped over
Scandinavia
Eyes projectile beams above
A blocked sense of smell
Ten days of daily horoscopes
Ironic that they predict so much
No mention of the plague
In town
On my street
On my brow.
Summer Without Festivals-
2020-2021
Nights without rest
dreams kicked to the floor
folds of cotton swiped out to
remembered oft repeated
old café gossip
No panorama of city skyrise
not a colour on the streets
or rattle from nosing trains
without shoppers
theatre goer’s unseen
If only we had rock music or
Fiestas in a field to
drink in the vibrancy of the green
or bleating from a jazz club
underneath a street.
The darkness makes clear
within the breast
where tiny flutters arrest
this one cannot be walked out
how did we get from there to here?
Getting up each morn to do it all again
arrange the day
spread it out like a cloth over grass
awaiting the picnic hamper, oh to have a
cat.
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