Thursday, 31 January 2013

incoming geese
wind licks the creek
up the seawall

Wednesday, 30 January 2013

slowing his train,
the driver leans an arm out
into sunshine

Tuesday, 29 January 2013

The Grand Projection

Over cocklers
beached up a fleet,

the seaward drift
of a curlew on a thermal

leads your eyeline
to the arc of its guano

crossing the saltmarsh
to a pot-holed car-park

filled with doggers
gagging for dusk.

Monday, 28 January 2013

I dwell on trivia the head-jerks of redshanks

Sunday, 27 January 2013

       ahead of the stroke
    of the four-man-canoe:
the short flight of tufted ducks

Saturday, 26 January 2013

in snow light
facing the packed lagoon:
the kestrel's back

Friday, 25 January 2013

on the wind...
a curlew
doubles back
to the saltmarsh
where teal

Thursday, 24 January 2013

cold snap blues...
a squirrel's lollop shakes
the last snow down

Wednesday, 23 January 2013

slanting sleet
I turn the corner
away from the wind

Monday, 21 January 2013

the creak of our boots
in the riverside snow
lime-green gloves

Tuesday, 15 January 2013

a jackdaw digs deep
in freshly-shat horseshit
on the woodland ride

Monday, 14 January 2013

pale day
everywhere the shoots
from last year's bulbs

Sunday, 13 January 2013

before the hearing
the usher's loud whistle
matches his brogues

Saturday, 12 January 2013

both ears burning—
the pied wagtail
goes round in circles

Friday, 11 January 2013

daylight doesn’t arrive
quite as it’s supposed to—
from the train’s end
I watch the last carriage
round the bend to Twickenham

Wednesday, 9 January 2013

In Touch Too

I take down Mr Fisher’s Poems 1955-1987
                                  to see what he gleaned
from Doc Williams’s Pictures from Brueghel
                                  then stuff it in my bag
and dash off to work:

the number 213
  and the redness of its rear
  are all I catch
  of the cornering bus.

Tuesday, 8 January 2013

carrying a cashbox
across the marketplace
the helmeted security man
focuses straight ahead
on the shopping mall lights

Monday, 7 January 2013


Her hair is the colour of
Seville orange marmalade
streaked by January sun,

and she sneezes without
sneezing, i.e. noiselessly.
One of her sons complains

about the pokes and prods
from the other, younger one.
She says, I know; I know.

Sunday, 6 January 2013

In Arcadia

the topic of conversation among the four
nymphish women at the concert -

where a goateed fellow like Pan
plays bass viol, accompanied

by a curly-tressed lad on flute -
is whether, when and to whom

the onlooking officer, red-sashed
and smirking beneath his thin moustache,

will make some cut-and-thrusting parley
with one of them. Like the violist's beret,

light slants from left to right, across
their sparkling decolletages.

Saturday, 5 January 2013

from the field full of fighting jackdaws a chacking cough
Dennis O'Driscoll, who died suddenly and much too young just before Christmas, is remembered by Famous Seamus in the Grauniad. He published a poem of mine in Poetry Ireland Review back in 1987, when I was 20. It was such a thrill to have a poem in the same issue as the likes of George Mackay Brown.

Friday, 4 January 2013

under South Bank lights
the busking bluesman flirts
as he growls

Thursday, 3 January 2013

mild spell—
a plane tree's roots
bulge the tarmac

Wednesday, 2 January 2013

coots and geese slip sideways
with the flow

Tuesday, 1 January 2013

New Year's walk
my daughter points out
an Anderson shelter