Surely it’s April that should be “breeding lilacs out of the dead land”, not January? But here the buds are already beginning to show signs of breaking into life.
Mind you, unless there’s some rain soon, I don’t quite know how much energy the trees will have for producing flowers, especially as I forgot to dead head them when they finished flowering last year.
At which point, it seems appropriate to post this abandoned draft from a few years back:
Continue reading “a promise of lilacs”
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!!
don't confuse the narrator 
