This is my record of the 6 months I spent alone in 2020, without physically touching another animal or human.
HE DIED BEFORE COVID GOT HIM
A year ago my friend died
He had grown weary of
The human experience
His soul had made too
Much space, was ready
For the Big stuff, the
Light, the Deep the
Dark of Death
SPRING DOESN’T CARE
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 pigeons fatting
With morning crumbs.
Hello sparks of flower
Sharpen cherry with
Hard shiny yellow
Look! Two cats sifting
The sky for low hanging
Kills.
LOVE DISTANCING
An inch of hair, a
Step, six foot.
The days used to be
Longer. And shorter.
A kiss, a punch, a slap
On the cheek or cheeks.
The whole is now distanced
From her parts. How will I
Touch you when I see you
In your living blood? What
Inch will I drink first? Will
Your hands be as bending
And long, my long lost friends
Telling old jokes with new voices
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.
THE CLAPPING
The sound of horses running
Up the street in thudding
Glory behind the sofa
People sitting on round
Stocks of teabags and chips.
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?
JUST ANOTHER PIGEON
Friendly little orange eyes
Hoping for a pocketful of
Crumbs, come come, come
Close, daringly close,
Under the bench, how
Very close to me! How long
Will we two beasts be together.
Little and large, beating in
Our way, a normal scene
In spite of everything and,
Normal thing, he toddles off
Casual, away
Stepping, off, fork by forked
Step, pecking the Spring grass.
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
Itss 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.
HOPE + SOAP
It’s now that a household God
Or two comes in handy,
Preferably one for each room
Or corner of the home, to
Bless and cherish every blemish
In the paintwork, the little,
Hard to reach crevice behind
The fridge or sofa or telly.
Should some uninvited guest
Arrive, the god’s will welcome
With open love, provide it
Rest and warm and nourishing
Laughs, so much that it will
Forget the weapon in its hands.
THE SAME RAINBOW’S END
People were walking down
The brick filled street of
Bricky maisonettes, walking
With the gait of woodland
Strolling, nowhere stepping
Just moving for the feeling
The view, and maybe a pub lunch.
Not today, some took a path
Straight down the tarmac, just
To add variety, for a different feel,
Like dried out lava, on island beaches.
Occassionally, they move aside,
To let a car or JustEat bike pass,
Calcuttans swerving for a holy cow.
Another, on my side of the pavement
He has two small kids in tow, so
I cross over, give up my sunnier
Track, they have the right of way.
Another now on the shady side,
Coast is clear, I move back to the
Sunny side after a brief going
Down the middle of the road, over
The white line, thinking how it looks
Like a food voucher – “Cut here along
The dotted line”.
Winds blow off the Wanstead Flats,
Three bald guys add a touch of frying
Fat to the gust. Their open barbeque is
Borderline criminal, but I smile across
From my side. The air is otherwise
Free, I spot a lone rainbow arching
Over the word “Hope” written
Carefully by a child.
S IS FOR SPRING
The threat is veiled in
Spring. Sods law that
We should be afflicted
In Nature’s sweetest time.
Our sun is fresh and
Docile now, a young
Child beckoning us
To play with the urgency
Of major chords rousing
The choirs of busy fluting
Starlings to hurry on
With their plans.
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.
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.
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 ..
HUMAN LIMITATION
With three months alone to
My own mind and body, the
Lifting pressure of other
People’s expectations becomes
A memory, for dreams.
The space is everywhere
Now, my brain recalibrates,
Moving old files to trash,
Dumping them off on the
Way to the park.
I appreciate the improbability,
Improbability is dead, long
Live improbability. Now,
Anything will happen. The
Worst always finds a new
Home, the best is yet to die.
The truth matters only in
Our human minds, the Earth
Sees us for who we are and
Wonders at our extraordinary
Lack of common sense.
Being Every Day 