Wednesday, 30 March 2016

The Jays

within the Discovery tree
can only be glimpsed by and by
by such Norfolkian souls who
habitually lift up their eyes
above the tallest head-height through
which Dutch weavers’ brick gables rise;

where—in this bless├Ęd instance—two
jays blend in, like excellent spies,
in blossom that’s actually snow—
without a need to scream or fly;
spring having sprung any old how
upon a pungent northerly:

the freckle-faced clouds fast forward
at this time of day: two odd shoes,
absorbing scents of applewood,
hunker down with a stash of booze:
Dad clears his throat because he should,
’cause he’s always in on the ruse.

Monday, 28 March 2016

below the keep
daffodils nod along
with the storm's tail

Sunday, 27 March 2016

white dead-nettle . . .
barking from the kennels
in the dank wood

Saturday, 26 March 2016

descending the weir
quicker than thought:
Good Friday sunshine

Friday, 25 March 2016

beaming celandines
outside the timbered pub
a Triumph Herald

Wednesday, 23 March 2016

circling the currents
between ait and embankment:
courting grebes

Saturday, 19 March 2016

Book launch tomorrow

As the 'Event' tab on the right-hand column says, tomorrow sees the launch of the Eyewear Publishing anthology, The Best New British and Irish Poets 2016. I'll be reading my poem in the anthology, 'The Skip'. Most of all, I'm looking forward to hearing and meeting as many of the poets in the anthology who come along. I'm not sure what the collective noun for poets is, though I daresay the Poetry Society's 'stanza' is as good as anything... Everyone and anyone is welcome to come along. It's free and should be fantastic!

Wednesday, 16 March 2016

star magnolia
a cold day for 

Monday, 14 March 2016

between the clangs
of poles being fitted:
the scaffolders' banter

Sunday, 13 March 2016

Cock Crow Hill
the spring sun alights
on my shoulder

Sunday, 6 March 2016

riverside crows
not returning my grin:
the oncoming runner
whom I cantered past
along the other bank

Saturday, 5 March 2016

      gloved up...
the panes of my father's greenhouse
            juddered by hail