Tag Archives: poem

she paints the many-petalled poppy

I’ve been guest blogger on a friend’s site: O is for Georgia O’Keeffe, Artist, #AtoZ Challenge 2017

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in the partial light of candles we imagine a garden branches delicate with thin spring leaves invite us in but the candles are too tall too stand up straight to be those men slumped that night they were not flames … Continue reading

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Toddler Group – Incarnation

she is storytelling the glory of God in gold annunciation   threads spinning from the messenger shining round and through the frightened girl   which settles to a nub of joy beneath her beating heart   she tells of journey … Continue reading

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Big in the 80’s

I didn’t know until today that Bombus Terrestris was the buff-tailed bumble bee, but I like the thumping heft of it and the drawn out hiss. I will say it often, find ways to Latin drop. I will chant it … Continue reading

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What’s the point of jellyfish?

I asked another jellyfish who being all curve and wobble could not compute the concept ‘point’ direction was a problem too we float we float our liquid selves within the liquid sea and then I understood something about tears and … Continue reading

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In a name

I read it in a book      bubble&squeak they ate it                   I wanted it   how could you not want bubble on your tongue         to chew squeak   my mother gave me a look and gravy on Sunday veg         fried up … Continue reading

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Via Sheffield

Three blokes on the over-crowded train are teasing the woman in the sober coat who’s taken the fourth seat at their table. When it’s tickets please they grin and stack their pile of lager cans in front of her. She … Continue reading

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Cleaning Up

A new poem appearing here: https://newbootsandpantisocracies.wordpress.com/2015/06/29/day-forty-nine-jan-dean/

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That Moment

there are stars in him and suns everything that shines from metal in the mountainside to the yellow scales of small bright fish shines in him now all this overflowing light every raindrop in this cloud is rainbow, mirror, lantern, … Continue reading

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things I took and things I left

tea by the window watching a blackbird chuck moss clumps from a gutter beakful after beakful dregs the air on West Walk cold bright as minted silver the sea fraying at its lace edges no footprints the colour of that … Continue reading

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