Monday, 30 September 2013

among the Canada geese the higher pitch of a single greylag's honk

Sunday, 29 September 2013

birthday sunshine
three men on the bus jest
in sign language

Saturday, 28 September 2013

she wheels out
the same old stories
for someone new,
but in among it all reveals
something she's never told

Friday, 27 September 2013

lake shimmer...
a hind and her calf
cross my path

Tuesday, 24 September 2013

a tabby cat rubs
around the chimney pots—
autumn mist

Monday, 23 September 2013

Chicory Blues

As summer nudges cornflowers and chicory
into undecided September, a ditch is stirred by the tansy eyes,
lime-striped back and combat-trousered legs of a marsh frog.

We prise the last few blackberries, turning from ruby to plum,
and whistle along the tributary, like the brood of moorhens
that launches in, all legs, to spatter at pace across the stream.

Sunset searchlights the valley; finds parakeets inching sideways
on a bough; then a tower-block’s lower storeys,
where a balcony’s filled by somebody’s sky-blue bike.

Sunday, 22 September 2013

The Cat's Breakfast

As she busily treads and treads
upon your pillow at first light,
she tells you that burlier mogs
invaded her space in the night;

so you slide into your new silk
dressing-gown and sleepily head
downstairs, where you offer her
choice tidbits of yesterday’s cod,

which she spurns with a tail-swish
as if such bites are beneath her,
and this year you’ve been waiting for
settles just like any other.

Saturday, 21 September 2013

its honks first of all:
an arrow of geese heading
over the hilltop

Friday, 20 September 2013

weekend sunset
the Belted Galloways
traipse back to the farm

Thursday, 19 September 2013

pink moon
the slow drip of rain
off Michaelmas daisies

Wednesday, 18 September 2013

departing tram—
a toy windmill turns
above the gravestone

Tuesday, 17 September 2013

over the brook,
from young firs to mature:
a laughing yaffle

Monday, 16 September 2013

in the cafe quarter
only starlings dine—
crab-apple rain

Sunday, 15 September 2013

Toffee Apples

We’re breaststroking idly towards the deep end in the leisure centre pool, my 11-year-old daughter and I, when she asks, “Do you like toffee apples?”

A stroke later, I reply, “I don't think I’ve had one since I was about 14, at my school's summer fair; but I know I liked them.”

“I eat the toffee off them, but don’t eat the apple,” she confesses.

“That’s shocking,” I deadpan. “The apple’s the best bit.”

As we touch the rail at the end, she grins, “You can’t expect a kid to think the apple’s better than the toffee.”

                                        suntrapped ragwort—
the Thamesside blackberries
not quite ripe

Saturday, 14 September 2013

all the names scratched
or gouged in a brick wall
by the bus stop
my son growing into
his new blue jacket

Friday, 13 September 2013

Friday the 13th:
drizzle on the roses
in the almshouse garden

Thursday, 12 September 2013

I lose my thread—
half-moon haze

Wednesday, 11 September 2013

from deep within the hole in the road a damselfly's flight

Tuesday, 10 September 2013

by platform 5
a workman peels the layers
off a billboard

Monday, 9 September 2013

I chase the thunderheads
all round my running route—
a field of crows

Sunday, 8 September 2013

snaffled by a web
between crimson blackberries:
September sun

Saturday, 7 September 2013

first autumn squall:
the white-walled garden
just gets on with it

Friday, 6 September 2013

the man with three poodles
gets tangled in their leads...
Friday evening sun

Wednesday, 4 September 2013

shifting clouds
the slip cordon ooh and aah
at everything

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

courtyard light
the straggly lavender
still sagging with bees

Monday, 2 September 2013

sparse crowd—
the morning sunburst
spreads across the outfield

Sunday, 1 September 2013

the way it is now:
in Dad's old vegetable patch
fireweed's the bumper crop