When I am a very old man

When I am a very old man, I shall take up pipe smoking with a flat cap which is too large and doesn’t suit me. And I shall spend my pension on take out Americanos and Doc Martins and say we’ve no money for the ‘lecky. I shall drink too much Guinness and fall over…

Keepsake by Kayleigh Campbell

The gentle thud of post at the front door signals the coming of Kayleigh Campbell’s Keepsake, number 7 in the impressive list of work published in 2019 by  Maytree Press. As is my wont, I read the title poem first. I know … I am a heathen, literally and figuratively; often skipping to the middle…

Schrödinger’s Mouse

Your love of my raspberries has resulted in this late evening walk in headtorch, to hedges of hazel and blackthorn, far enough from home to foil ideas of return. Aware of owls ripping through moonlight, I kneel in damp fescue and sedge, clutching this tilt trap of quantum uncertainty; mouse or no mouse? that is…

Request from a mouse …

Hello Poetry World. May I make a request? My poem Schrödinger’s Mouse is appearing here on The Poetry Village website . I am very pleased and honoured about this, especially as the poetry is always accompanied by such lovely artwork. I wonder if you’d do me a massive favour by visiting the site and giving…

The Safety Of Clouds

On hard wet ground, exposed like a pulsing nerve, half a yard from the comfort of grass, it writhed unsteadily to unheard music, while the connoisseur’s eye judged its girth from a bush. Rainwater marinated and near wasted after a night of passion, casting tired letter shapes as the sun split clouds overhead, this six…

Caught In Concrete

Misplaced upstart sycamore, shooting from damaged concrete. What drives such green confidence, sprung as you are from wayward keys, late buffeted by autumn elements and the caprice of a council leaf blower? Flying against reason, stubbornly mocking the odds and gods with rude and purposed growth, some imperative demanding vigour as if earmarked for higher…

The Lovely Flower Poem #MrGove

I want to be a flower, Amongst the grass and trees, And be the source of nourishment For butterflies and bees. I want to be a rainbow Across the mighty sky, So children could look up and point And smile as clouds float by. I want to be a blackbird And sing a summer song…

Early Morning Effrontery

I fear porcelain is not your cultural milieu and your persistence in performing eight legged running man dances up sheer white bathroom edifices under the gaze and malevolence of the attentive cat bastard flexing its tail on this toilet seat will prove an effrontery too far. Darwin’s theory of natural selection will happen well before…

One Step Beyond …

Thoughts trapped in bubble wrap, as the wind becomes muffled and all progress stops. Two thirds so far and no farther; a shadow rigid against the render. Time frozen, like a seized up mechanism, as the aching in arches grows and calves spasm in protest. Panic rises with the pounding in a neck, with hands…

Fledge

I look at the array of talent that Maytree Press have in their 2019 list, at the hint of things to come in 2020 and I feel incredibly proud (as well as a little nervous) that my stuff will feature alongside poets like Maria Isakova Bennett, Hannah Stone, Tim Taylor, Katerina Neocleous, Kayleigh Campbell, Nick…

Yet Another Moment Of Self-Obsession

I think this skin is tired: days in tens of thousands stretched and stressed, wearing the hours in shapes mirror checked for suitability. Broken on a daily basis: elementally punctured, eroded, baked and beaten, an established whipping boy experienced in such matters. Disinfected and scrubbed: exfoliated until the rawness and newness of subsequent layers begs…

Descartes’ Stick

Entropically speaking, it is just a matter of time. So I plant a few daffodil bulbs to muffle these nagging thoughts with a promise of spring brilliance, fresh beginnings, awakening, renewal, life, joy and all that jazz. But flesh corrupts and bones diminish. I know the soil beneath will shift till overhead the rafters fail…