21st March

Spring Equinox dawn
Shines too brightly through the blind
Nature's own wake up call

Shadow-land

On the hill early
Back lit stiff-fringed trees
Mohican haircut

WRITING

A container, for the branches of my meanings:
Long or short-stemmed sentences edited, cut to fit,
Fill the vase - or not.

Hardy, fragile stems of green wood
Carry words that cascade, tumble, drop down
In a torrent of scent.

Delicate blooms surprise, take root, settle
In ill prepared dry as dust soil. Bear fruit.
Or at first sight, wither

Sweeping away an extravagant folly: a profusion of
Blighted petals – folly beyond redemption
I find one seed.

First thing belch

Hoary break of day
Bolt upright presumptuous steam.
Factory breaks wind

Glass house morning

Endless grey: mist, fog.
Distant horizons finished.
View from a jam jar

Coming up dawn

Soft spring morning
Shaft of diffuse grey light
A protecting veil

Tulips

Good Morning Tulips
Become pink, purple, yellow
Once blind now you see


Sunday, 11 March 2007

Lunch, Bristol

I sit opposite
see beyond a boat travel
in, then out, your head