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on the street
money travels by carthrough BirminghamEngland’s bankrupt heartthe moneyheads out of citytowards Villa Park, M6Spaghetti Junctionfrom Ladywoodthrough Handsworthout of cityvia pot-holed dual carriagewaysshe knowsthe money travels by carin each one loose coins to handfor parkingor maybe tollthere’s money in carsthey have to stop at lightstwo lanes heading northseparated by a broken white lineshe holds a polystyrene →
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on water
the café courtyard fillswith a bubbling babbleyoung women’s voiceslap against flint wallsripple against leaded windowsa counter-tone runs deeperfilling dark pools sentences break against each othereddies and little whirlpoolsof sonorous speechesspiral in the flowa spray of laughtersplashes from a corner couplea sparrow hops beneath the tablesadding its own tuppence-worthto the stream’s swirl~ n.b. Café courtyards are →
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on the balcony
what’s that small bird there?solitary, brown plumagecuriousity~ n.b. It’s hot here. Loose crocodiles of tourists struggle to concentrate on the words of their guides. The groups concertina when stopping at the next point of interest, (a plaque noting a witch burning, a sculpture, church, building of historic note), the lagging tail, ignorant of the prompt →
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on fishing
the hookbaited, weightedfloatin whatever colour you likewhipped from over the shoulderup and outtoward the envisaged pointwatch the line arcfollow the casthear the lineunspoolingthe splashwatch the buoyant bobbingand watchout and backback out againout and backback out againuntil the timesomething knotstanglessnapsleaves youreelingin nothing~ CLP 19/07/2024 →
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on the road (again)
all packed up to goenough space for memorieshead on up the road ~ CLP 19/07/2024 →
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on the sofa
Lying to my rightCushions warm against my backAs if in your arms~ n.b. A deception I can wear. CLP 18/07/2024 →
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on Ukraine
no relief from machinerysleep-less, ill-less, weary-lessit runs regardlesson another beautiful sunriseperfect for the harvestwho drives the combinesturning fields of wheatto ragged lines of strawto fields of goldwho runs the trailerspilling grainslike breadcrumbsa golden trailfrom field to barnand back again?who dries the grainbefore the auger spraysinto the storage binswho tests the moisture contentthe temperatureof the heaped →
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on the river
two banks to each flowthe posh bit and the humanbridges rarely crossed ~ CLP 16/07/2024 →
Journey of Words 