Muted moan

Feeling unexceptional

Today, the dumb weight

Of myself heaves the

Time forward in uneven

Lumps. A half hour’s

Sweet distraction becomes

Bitter with vacant repetition.

The books, their wisdom

Sits and sits, going stale,

Like a bunch of flowers

Bought from a florist that

Closed many weeks ago.

Gratitude goes off like a

Smoke alarm, the same

Urgent sense of guilt

And shame at leaving

The toast unattended ..

Under tree

“It’s a brilliant day!”

“Yes, like summer!!”

Everyone is a friend, under

The safety of the sky

The park is there and

We are in it, strangers

In one grassy home

Open to the sky, with

More time to grow

Together than ever before.

A place of greater safety

What if I woke up one

Morning and the sound

Of courting blue tits

In the Holly teased the

Edges of the light?

What if the lung of my

First waking breath

Was cleaner with the

Trafficless calm as

I rolled out, feeling for

My first draft of tea?

What if the garden patch

Was crotcheted with little

Notes of purple from the

Blushing bumble-bee loved weeds?

What if I could read and breathe

The sun-long day to myself, safe

As houses. I can, lucky me, how

Grateful I am.

Blue tit

In the light places there

Is a tree of sparkling light

With a pitch-perfect blue

Tit balancing behind on

A new-sapping branch

So soft the little bird

Would feel, perched on

My trembling palm

I would never wonder at

It’s greeny yellow fluff

I can see why we lost

Humans cage these pretty

Little masterpieces, tricking

Our minds that they love

To share our sunless company,

We just bumped into eachother

The time is flowing by

So many millions of

Chance encounters lost

Who will mourn for them?

Who will attend their

Wake? Wash them lying

Embalmed, trapped in a

Cold room with a low hanging

Ceiling. Where will they go now?

Will they haunt us like feeble

Weeds, growing, clutching at the

Gritty footholds of our Fate?

The world is a war zone

Imagine everyone outside the

House can kill you with one

Breath, the neighbour Julie

Who brought you shortbread

Yesterday, the cash ‘n carry guy

Who sold you those cheaper-

Than-Tescos lemons, the little

Toddler running past you to

Her mother, smiling sweet

And young, they are the enemy

And you are their target.

Spring doesn’t care about you

There were some violets

Bees were tickling for

Bits, treats, eats to please

Their little spaces at home

There is blossom tingle

Below the coo and call

Of silky pidgeons fatting

With morning crumbs.

Hello sparks of flower

Sharpen cherry with

Hard shiny yellow

Look! Two cats sifting

The sky for low hanging


Home safe, at last

The omphalos – the navel

This is my place of healing

This is my life in my

Navelbowl. I must not

Let it spill empty, I must

Keep it full, the seat of

My whole, the connection

That birthed me from

Ancestors, I tried

To exist without it,

It is the door to the

Home that is me, I

Was locked out and

Now I am in, I am

My body, at last.

Eat, Sleep, Work, Repeat

These feel like the end days

Of life. The sun, the moon,

The clouds that move, the

Train that stops at every stop

And then goes back again.

The cyclists in the queue

At the traffic lights, leading

South. How long it feels, this

March to death, this mess of

Locks and wheels and limbs

That we call civilisation. How

Vile the stench of sweating

Plastic and half-eaten sandwiches

Discarded in the wrong section

Of the bin, into general rubbish


What do we do when there
Is no space to breathe?
When our lungs can’t hold 

The water in our eyes
And it comes rushing

Out amongst these
Crocodiles that bite

Us. There’s no such thing
As love, our limbs think, 

As our blood cracks back,
Retreats into our heart,

For home, but the door
Is locked and the ventricles

Glare back, blank
Windows harbouring the

Eternity of Death
That lurks behind

Every breath. Ready
To pounce out like

a cat released to go
Hunting in the bird-

Filled night that
Quacks around us in

A cacophony of quarks
We can’t decipher as

Our hands go numb
With stress and our 

Hips contract around
Our basal strength

As it pours out
Uncontrollably and

Meanwhile where is
The chair? We haven’t 

Sat down for so long
We can’t remember

What rest means.
Be still, remember

It is always there
However far away

It seems, if we
Just stop to reclaim

The space around each breath.