Monday, 21 April 2014

For one reason and another, I'll be having a short break from posting stuff here. If anyone's in Bath this Friday evening, I'll be reading at the inaugural Bath Poetry Works event. Otherwise, take care and I'll be back soon.

Sunday, 20 April 2014

sweeping the blossom
from my parents' path...
forget-me-nots

Saturday, 19 April 2014

I try to describe
the way your shoulders shook
when you laughed...
the white wisteria creeps
across the shaded facade

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

pink moon
the streetsweeper's broom
falls off its handle


i.m. Martin

Sunday, 13 April 2014

their smiles...
song of the splendid sunbird
all round the birdhouse

Saturday, 12 April 2014

a blackbird sings
from the towpath garlic—
single scullers

Friday, 11 April 2014

Quiet House

The beechwood radiogram was plugged in here:
it held my mother’s clutch of records, from before
their April wedding –  ‘Blow the Wind Southerly’,
Nat King Cole, the South Pacific original cast recording;
among Dad’s hundreds, all bought afterwards –
James Last and His Orchestra, Bert Kaempfert,
Benny Hill, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass...

Notwithstanding the catch of the stylus in the groove,
and the warp and jump and scratch, I played
the b-sides of coloured-vinyl singles at every speed:
45 and 33; at 78, all punked-up head-rush;
at 16, the sluggishness of ogres slurring
‘Moribund the Burgermeister’.

In this emptied room, without carpet or curtains,
the first March sunshine overwhelms.
But the pitch of two voices, movers-out
or movers-in, is frost-white; as brisk as the wind
that winter surrenders to spring.