FRIDGE GARDEN

I've fly-tipped in my own back yard,
The tips are closed right now,
The house looks great, the garden scarred,
The fridge looks cool, somehow.

TRAVEL BOOKS

Might go out today,
If my morning nap
And afternoon nap
Don't get in the way.

I will read today,
Turning pages
Spending ages
Far, far away.

I've no concern
When I read all day
But I can't say
When I'll return.

HELP ME, DEBBIE REYNOLDS, YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE

Carrie Fisher, Carrie Fisher,
Helped my teenage pain.
But now I'm old I see your mum,
Singing in the Rain.

THE PACE OF LIFE

I wonder at the different paces of life. In the blink of a tree's eye we grow our hair to pandemic lengths.
The colours of tree leaves change so slowly. Just our memory notices.
Yet in the blink of our eye a fly could have moved house - twice.

Rocks laugh at all of us. Still.

BLOSSOM

Never liked treading on fallen blossom. Something about its vibrancy seems to give it a right to fade away naturally rather than be crunched underfoot by my boot.
But the skirt of colour at the tree's base is eventually absorbed by its roots.

Next year's blossom returned.

DAWN IN A SHOETOWN GARDEN

The Rorschach test of first light. Where everything is possible or impossible. The clouds are still making their minds up. The swirls of coffee grinds at the bottom of my cup foretell a future that may be mine. I hold out for a mystic and a cat appears.

TICK...TOCK

I stare out from the back door. The steam rises from my coffee mug and floats back to Brazil. The grass grows under my feet, the clouds above them.
The tick and then the tock of the kitchen clock. The sound of time. It's inbetween those sounds that the important stuff gets done.

PICK TO POT

Stripper of leaves & picker of beans
packer of gold & those on machines
those who must carry it to these cold shores
to those working tirelessly up in our  stores.
Our morning brew is so influential;
coffee-mates,
tea-workers,
you're the most essential.

THE JITTERBUG

The slow line-dance of the shop queue. The deft quickstep, two-step into the road as we pass back-to-back to a passerby. The masked ball we're forced to attend. Jittery over the bug because we're all dancing around each other.
It won't be long until we get to slow dance together.

Pottery Poetry

There's poetry in pottery.
The letters there hangout
If we remove the poetry
T comes pouring out.

SLEEPING DOGS

My dog knows of no pandemic
As he snores at peace on my bed
He's calm as well as authentic
I wish I was inside his head.

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

My parents have become exhibits
I wave at mum & dad through the glass
Their double glazing keeps out wind & rain
But not "I love you, stay safe."
I always wanted to be a zoo-keeper as a kid
Karma's late, and quirky, as usual
I was once kept safe by them;
Now it's my turn.

CHERRY BLOSSOM HAIKU

A morning Haiku inspired by Ian McMillan's pink blossom image and walks with my wife of 23 years.

Cherry blossoms dance
Through aisles as pink confetti
March these oldyweds.

FAME

I've never wanted fane

It's never wanted me 

We've never been the same

We get on famously.

WOKE. LATE.

I wake late. I realise I've lines to learn. Lines I used to know. We're currently all understudies to ourselves. Word-perfect performances as we perfect our characters in solitude.
We will remember how we ran & hugged & kissed & laughed & loved.

National acclaim awaits us all.

BEAN-THINKING ABOUT ISOLATION

I wake for the first but not the last time today,
Guilt-free naps are a surprising advantage of international lockdown.
I sip coffee from Brazil.
That won't stop me napping.
I wonder if the coffee makers are in lockdown?
That'll keep me awake. ☕

HOME-SCHOOLING EXAMS

My youngest son is studying flags
My daughter, she is baking,
My eldest son is rolling fags
He'll be the one retaking.

HALF MEASURES

I wear just shorts
Around my house
It's weird behaviour, this.

I blame Lockdown
But fear that I
Am half a naturist.

LUCKY HOLLY

I wake and choose a day
I get lucky with Monday

a solitary holly tree standing
silent at dawn in my garden
it will never bear red fruit
yet it needs trimming
as its leaves shed
this season; odd
and a bit prickly
out of its time
but forever
in mine

it would've picked Monday.

ODE TO A PITIFUL AND MOULDY BLOOD ORANGE

I eat blood oranges for my anemia,
Not this one it's got septicemia.

TONGUE-TWISTING TEA

We're first to the kettles
We're first for thirst-quenched
We're first to wet whistles
Tongues taste-buds are drenched.

MATCH OF THE RAYS

(inspired by Ian McMillan's image of an old rusty satellite dish and the programmes that we beam into outer space)

Will future alien civilisations
Eventually catch-up?
Gasping in universal amazement
At Ronnie Radford's goal in the Cup?

TRAVELLING LIGHT

The endless possibilities of dawn
As a new day limbers up behind cloud
Shall we self-isolate in the bedroom?
Shall we self-isolate in the kitchen?
Shall we self-isolate in the garden?
I've chosen a book with which to spend time
Today I will go anywhere I choose

RECYCLE

The birds recycle a chorus
Using redundant rooftop aerials
Tiny musical black dots
Upon some spindly sticks
Their semi-quaver, terraced-home performance is note perfect

Yet birds in the trees will not be outsung.
The spindly branches grow
Singing for summer to come.

OFFERING THE LIGHT

We're in because we can't get out,
An eternal cricket innings.
Where rain won't stop a run-drought,
We're all starting new beginnings.