Thursday, 30 April 2015

evening lull
the stooping groundsman
ropes off the square

Wednesday, 29 April 2015

spring rain lashes the tramlines
of the tennis court

Monday, 27 April 2015

still the grief...
the coxed four's backwash
reaches our shore

Sunday, 26 April 2015

morning run:
my feet take me away
through the mizzle

Saturday, 25 April 2015

ambling home
the drape of wisteria
across a jade facade

Thursday, 23 April 2015

peacock butterfly...
the window-cleaner's quiff
as damp as his chamois

Tuesday, 21 April 2015

spring heat
the busking gospeller
repeats his repertoire

Saturday, 18 April 2015

riverside haze
a bald man spoon-feeds
his bald son

Friday, 17 April 2015

between Dutch barges the pochards' fuschia-lipsticked bills

Sunday, 12 April 2015

my sons pall-bearing...
the sun streams in the colours
of stained-glass windows

Thursday, 9 April 2015

morning heat
the street entertainer dons
a Yoda mask

Wednesday, 8 April 2015

taking their parents' path
through the duckweed:
days-old moorhen chicks

Tuesday, 7 April 2015

the sun on my face...
a moorhen's briefest dive
into Plough Pond

Monday, 6 April 2015

the robin's phrases:
a child's bike bell

Sunday, 5 April 2015

The Blue Gate

Go on; push it open.

I know it looks as though it'll tip off its hinges any minute;
but so, to be fair, do you, and so, for my sins, do I.

Take the winding path through the marram to the East Strand,
past the wind-fed flails of viper's-bugloss.

Leg it barefoot down the dune like a loon.
Keep on going till your toes reach the tide.

It's a path once followed by saints
and more eager lovers than we could ever count.

Feel the water envelop your feet.
Sink them into the eddying sand.

Go on; you know you must.

Saturday, 4 April 2015

between cuts
the stylist reapplies
red lippy

Thursday, 2 April 2015

biting breeze
the grey wagtail hovers
inches above the river