Sunday, May 13, 2012


Day 30 - a fade away poem

They come to join in with
the radio, set to Classic FM.
They must enjoy the trills
and stretched notes,
but I doubt they'd welcome
being conducted, orchestrated.
The thin-limbed trees attempt
balletic grace; the birds swing.
Garden harassed sufficiently
by my tools, I turn off the radio.
Gradually, they too fade away.

On Wednesday nights, we sing
boisterously. The bits I love
start loud, forcing the hall
to accommodate us.
The other bits I love are
the endings, always curling through
the high wide space like smoke
as our voices fade, fade, fade
away ... (... kick back, kick back
to higher ground ...)


Day 29 – recycling a previous line

It’s the racket others make
that gives her away.
And yet, today, the rock
I hold ready makes no mark.
They’re actually partying
there among the scarlet
bottle brushes, and as I
approach ready to defend
they take flight – at least
a dozen drunken


Day 28 - a problem poem

We no longer live
in a problem-free house.
The video machine
chokes on the video
and then declares itself
obsolete. The slimline
cigar-case DVD player's
instruction booklet is
incomprehensible, and
meanwhile my laptop
is failing to hold on
to wireless waves,
confusing Windows
and us. Well, we
no longer live in
a problem-free world.
But I'm not going to
get into that. Too


Day 27 – the trouble is …

The trouble is the quantity,
After years of writing on the spot
(that was six thousand, more
or less), and four years of
poem-a-day months, and all
the thoughts in between, I’m
swamped. Turn them into
wallpaper? I’ve tried framing,
hand-made books, magazines,
anthologies – success, but
all in vain: they keep coming -
wordfloods! points of view!
complaints (especially about
the quantity). And I plan to
live to a hundred and two!


Day 26 – an animal

The animal in me snarls and stalks
intruder cats when the birds yell
for help. Some cats are stupid.
The white one looks at me, at
the stones I fling to frighten, like
a child who ponders adult antics.

The grey one knows when the game
is up, and crashes through broken
palings, not bothering to scale
the fence. I am considering
deterrence in the form of
barbed wire, if there is no
restrictive covenant. It’s not that

I hate cats, I just don’t want them
here. At friends’ homes, I take
photos revealing personality;
they occupy home territories
like queens and princes.
I stroke their delicious fur
and the animal in me purrs too.