Wednesday, 5 March 2025

down nanna’s house

 down nanna’s house


just inside the door

on the right was the dark pantry

cold marble shelf and a white bowl

in the room opposite was a radiogram

large armchairs in a too-small room

behind which were piles of 


in the front room with the three windows

was a large dining table with two bachelor brothers

HP sauce and dinner brought by their married sisters

assaulted with sadness the seasoning of their days

in the house ‘down the house’

below the park below the hillside 

overlooking the docks these seamen


back room was the kitchen with a fire with a back boiler

the understairs space where the cat had her kittens

before the sackman arrived 

the docks murmured upstairs from across the sidings

over the long bridge of a childhood’s widening eyes

the cranes did their thing


the perspective was cut in gold

on the black marble shelf in the window 

of the Home and Colonial Stores

opposite Chapman’s the milliners

with the yellow pull-down sun blind

over there lived the indian ship-jumpers

their incongruous headstones facing mecca 


nanna died to follow grandpa

my mum and her sister did for the boys

every tuesday and thursday they did

 and me and my cousins janet did things

in the park where there were swings and things

over the fence behind the gooseberry bushes 


she is dead now

and the sisters

and the brothers


the docks is also dead

and things


laugh ~ i nearly died

 laugh ~ i nearly died


after a hospital death

the bereavement liaison man

with a soft voice 

i longed to crack a joke

he just seemed so sad

all the euphemisms 

were laying in state

in the ‘chapel of rest’

by appointment only

Monday, 3 March 2025

writing is simply

 writing 

is 

simply


bubbles popping

on the surface of life

from the depths of life

dark lights the darkness 

resuscitation of the spirit

by a wisp unbidden

settling on the page

a deep beacon calls

thoughts come

popping along the line

of such a thought

unbidden we say

we do their bidding



Sunday, 2 March 2025

penultimate page


penultimate page


oh for a blank page

every time i find one

a word appears and then

another thinks it knows better

a paper chase ensues 

down the back lanes of my mind

thoughts running skating on butterflies 

and the sunshine 

and the blackness

oh for a blank page

and the time to think it through 

blank looks


escape velocity

 escape velocity


if you have to explain

a poem

a photograph 

then you have failed

you the writer

you the reader

if your thoughts are not in there

then put them in

in the orbit of creativity

it’s not rocket science

its escape velocity

is fuelled by you


oh my word what a photo

stones

 stones


the streets were all doorsteps

skivvied by passers by

‘good mornings’ shone

through the gloom

‘how are you today?’

made every day brighter

in grime-bricked tenements

the testament of locked ayes

and fast smiles slow to fade 

were our social media

Saturday, 1 March 2025

well i never did

 well i never did


i wrote angst then i regretted it

it hurt too much

so then i wrote dream

but the bubble burst and

the rainbow became myriad

so i wrote ink

but after it was blotted

it had lost its shine

then i thought why write at all

and i regretted it

whatever it was

is gone now

gone