A sundial
I soak in
the last of the rays
Cooing like a lovesick woodpigeon
my inner compass
set on joy

-

In the park
puzzle pieces of blue
the sky is a perfect painting
Leaves already crunchy underfoot
the late evening light kisses
dry limbed tree's goodbye
Summer is leaving
People chatter on the benches
while dogs chase balls and "good boy"
Runners, Joggers and strollers compete laps around the Maple, Oak and Birch
The magpies argue over Holly berries
One for sorrow two for, I choose joy
My breath deepens
my anxious mind slows
with the steady pace of letting go

-

I sew
and sew
and sew
and still
I am
un
r
a
v
e
l
l
i
n
g

-

What is it we fear in the silence of ourselves
rushing to fill the void
with tiktok, insta reels, spotify and podcasts
It's nothing new
this disconnection with the earth
we seldom rise with the sun
a chorus of bird songs lifting heavy lids
I once knew an old man who religiously fell asleep
to the monotonus tones of the shipping forecast
mapping wind direction and force
weather and visibility
I wondered if he found comfort
or if it silenced the internal scream
maybe he knew more than most
that life emulates the ebb and flow of the sea
That at the centre of any storm, fierce as the wind may seem
the calm waits for us just over the next horizon

-

You're just a memory on my phone
I trace your outline
watch the familar plumes of smoke rise
from my fingertips
I have cried an ocean
for a fire yet to be quenched

-

Humans such fragile flowers
petals lost to summer winds
Eye on the prize
always stretching out
over reaching
instead of gazing inwards
to our roots
and resting
Breath no longer ragged
recuperating
trusting the gentle rotation of the earth
softly cradled by the warm soil

-

I'm sorry
I know you're hurt
that thing they said
the way they looked
It's all too much
your poor heart
broken
bleeding
cut to shreds
Yet still, it's beating

-

Monday
woke with a halo of clouds
grey tendrils dipping into puddles at its feet
The black bird shook
diamond droplets flying from soft plumes
as he began to sing
A flurry of sparrows some still chicks
gathered in anticipation
heads already bobbing amongst the safety of the emerald privet
A Red Admiral and a Cabbage White danced between sleepy flowers
their wings batons raised
to lead the featherd choir
An orchestral harmony
of church bells pealing across the lawn

-

On holiday
I take the slow path
play hopscotch on the cobbles
wade through the knee-high grass
to chase poppies cherry red
Stand in wonder as the wizened man
milks his sheep
The mulberries soft and sweet in my mouth
as the swallow compete with the swift
A gaggle of women dressed in black
sing Kalispera just as the sun tips his hat to the day
while just a head the sea beckons
with a wink

-

Let's call it what it is

I looked on Facebook
no angry Karen demanding
every hotel he ever stayed in
should be erased to the ground
No rioting
No looting
No clashes with the police
just doing there job
behind flimsy plastic sheilds
praying they get home safe
more than the 79 can ever say
Funny how
no churches were bricked
No books were burnt
No good samaritans needed
building community back
from the rubble
the rabble left in their wake
But let's call it what is
entitlement
there is no justification
for an angry fist
a raging bull
a loaded gun
another white terrorist

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