You Ask Me For The Answer – 12/3/18

You ask me for the answer.


If I had it I would give it to you,
I would spill it out from the hessian bag where I would keep it,
The smoothness of it would be catching on the rough edges,
Making it tumble out awkward and uneven.


I would spell it out in splendid gold gilt letters,
I would hang it on my office box,
With red highlights and ornamental curls,
And framed.


But I have searched the answer,
In skies and skudding rain,
In the spaces in between the rubbing together leaves.
Till I forgot my name.
I asked the canary.
But he was silent in the mine dug so that I could ask the molten core.



And my garden isn’t so ordered,
In sandpit boxes, border edges,
That it would be apparent where to find it,
Supposing that you could.


The chocolate mint is hidden under tomatoes,
The potatoes are growing in the junk heap.
What I call the path is the places without plants,
There is no map.


So supposing that I had the answer,
Held neatly in my hand, yes,
I would pass it on to you,
But I’m having too much fun, scratching under rocks,
And digging trenches,
To tell you that the answer isn’t hiding in these small things,
It’s much bigger.




Buds come at anytime – 6/3/18

My pumpkin vine is still gamely unfurling buds. Does it know that soon the air will snap freeze overnight? The tomatoes will melt. I will be sad to see them go most of all. The best part of summer gardens is popping bright red cherry tomatoes into my mouth, still warm from the sun, seeds and juices exploding. This year however my garden has given me a reason to look forward to that icy season, the one I usually dread above all others.


When the first frost warning arrives, I will cover everything that I can with hay or clear plastic, to try and let the life linger a little longer. Hopefully I’ll have some cold weather tomatoes this year. Then I will grab my seeds for broccoli, peas, leeks, and look forward to learning about the plants that thrive as the earth sleeps in frost and freezing winds.


False spring takes heat from
The sky and buries it in
The depth of the earth




Having to look at this prompt from dVerse from the other side of the world where it’s Autumn not Spring, and this haiku that I wrote recently fit well. 


The Letter I Will Not Send – 5/3/18

I am writing this from a place of sun and trumpets,
Yes there is a slight breeze, isn’t there always?
On such a day as this, there is no phrase that springs to mind,
Original. Anyway.
I wanted to say, this is just a note to say…
I have held these words on the tip of my tongue so many times,
I wanted to let them drip,
I wanted to tell you.
So this is just a note to say.
I’m glad I told you once, at least, this letter being my pigeon,
Frantically flapping it’s wings against an impenetrable wall of air, wild eyes in grey weather,
Pigeons are not the most reliable. There is no path by sea or sky to where you are.
As I said before, this has wanted to spill from me to you so often, and I
would have let it,
I would be that first hammer to the dam any day,
Especially on such a day as this,
But you are not here to be drenched with these words,
None of you are here,
So this is just a note to say.


I’m too late to link this to dVerse, but it was a great prompt 😊

Our Summer – 28/2/17

We have had our summer, untarnished, bold and bright,

We had our turn to dance, in rain and flooding light,

Come! Back to our caves now!

Before the world turns sour,

Lift your face to the dying sun, run! Escape the nearing night.



Thanks for the great prompt from dVerse to capture an emotion without naming it in our poem! I’m not sure I did it justice, but I really love this prompt 😊

Last poem: It’s Not Spring Here – 26/2/18


The Question is Yours – 18/9/17

Of all the things I lost
Under my bed,
Does this quiet snail have to emerge?


That question is yellow and quite rhetorical.


Why is it,
That all the things I lost
Are under my bed
And you are at the very back, squashed between Shakespeare’s As You Like It and the guitar I never learnt to play?


That question is a puddle.


Can I
Make the bed flat again
Turning corners and
Catching and squeezing like putty
lost and slippery things I’ve forgotten
The ones that illude, dodging over edges, now nothing, I slip a finger on them and it comes back gold dust but the bedcover is smooth and I cannot remember their faces?


That question is….



Prompt from dVerse, questions!


I don’t know the why (dVerse prompt) – 17/9/17

I remember the joy when I first realised a poem does not need to rhyme. I wrote a not-bothered poem, unrhyming, looked at it and thought, this isn’t poetry. Then I looked again and thought, who cares? I like to write my poems in huge blocks and chunks of text, then I come back later and cut it up into the rhythms my tongue tasted as I spewed it from  my mind to the blank white. If I write fast enough I can get this feeling out, amazing how my thoughts come forth in settled patterns, forcing a poem. Later I will read it back and think, how on earth did that genius, that tiny bit there, come out of me? I will then cut ruthlessly to remove the non-genius. I do not remove it all because to do so would often leave me with one word here and one there looking completely unrelated on the page. I often write in Drought. Dust colours my nostalgia, my water is my utopia, my earth and joyous home is crackling grass and the flying crows that whiten bones. I write in feelings and also gel pens or black pens or computer screens. I try to make my feelings clearer by obscuring them in metaphor, in the hopes that someone will pick my wild random phrase and say, you know, I have felt that too. I want my words to give me wings. I will write an impossibility and after when I read it through, I will say, you know, I believe that this could be real and look, look at how that word there is fluttering, it wants to be true as well.


Summer takes a sigh

Lungs collapsing in the sun

Birds fly on up-draft



A prompt from dVerse, to explore why we write in the style we do, with a traditional haiku at the end. I’m not sure my response made my why any clearer, but I didn’t realise before I thought about it that this is definitely my style, at least at the moment. I haven’t put in any line breaks as I usually do so you can see it as it is raw. I still and probably always will be growing in the way I write, so this is a snapshot of me now, I guess.