City heels slip on cobbles
glossed by the fading traces
of the morning’s frost
I complained, or at least commented, recently, about the temptations and distractions involved in dusting bookshelves. At the moment a similar temptation confronts me every time I clean the log stove and re-lay the fire.
No, I’m not using books for fuel, but I do tend to start each fire off with a fir cone or two and a few sheets of paper; I’ve tried using some of my old drafts of poetry, but I fear my writing will never set the world alight and newspaper is definitely better.
Continue reading “of love poetry and distractions”
I mentioned the conversation that triggered my wanting to write this piece in the post of poetry, maths and cars. Although it’s still no more than a fragment, it seems to have reached that annoying stage where it’s settled and doesn’t want to be shifted, although I am not happy with it.
The road stretches long into the night.
To their left, the belisha globe of the moon
rises behind mountains made ragged
by pines. He says, I’ve driven
to the moon and back three times at least.
She watches his steady hands on the wheel
and hopes he’ll take her with him next time.
Yesterday’s post touched on domesticity and cleaning, so I think this is as good a time as any to post this poem.
Slattern
My laptop
is a messy eater. Each morning
I find tell-tale crisp crumbs
wedged
between its square white teethalongside
cracker fragments and
the improbably orange powder
of industrial snacks.It’s happy
sat atop a take-out pizza box
and olive stones have never yet
upset its equilibrium.It’s anchored
to the desk by coffee rings
and gin-and-tonic lemon juice
has glued the disc drive shut.Pass me
a paper towel and I will wipe
that smear of melted chocolate
from the space bar lip.
Remember: Don’t confuse the narrator with the writer. You may have seen the photo of a dreadfully dirty keyboard the other day, but you should not assume that this poem is in any way based on real life!!
I like to start the new year with a clean house, but as I was away for several weeks from mid-December this year, that annual ritual went by the board.
Ever adaptable, I’m now looking at the Chinese New Year – January 23rd – as a spur to domesticity, so, in tribute to the Water Dragon, I started cleaning last weekend in the downstairs living area.
Like most of the women I know, I’m quite good at the lick-and-a-promise type of cleaning that can transform a room in five minutes when you suddenly realise the in-laws are due at any moment.
Continue reading “not so dusty”
don't confuse the narrator 
