Thursday, 10 May 2018

song thrush at dusk



song thrush at dusk
bidding farewell to each day
as if it were the last

first published in Chrysanthemum, spring 2018



hurting me
with a light touch
summer breeze

previously unpublished



summer sunrise
the urgency of time
on our hands

previously unpublished


Friday, 20 April 2018

a fish slips



a fish slips
down the heron’s throat
river bend

first published in Cattails, spring 2018



furtively
I click my mouse
on the pussycats

first published in Cattails, spring 2018



The Debt

Don’t put yourself at risk, you’re too precious. Leave heroism to those who are fit for nothing more. It might have been Tolstoy or maybe Dostoevsky. Perhaps grandma used to preach that.

a toy fan
on a child’s grave
the howl of wind

first published in Cattails, spring 2018


Friday, 6 April 2018

first narcissi



first narcissi
Persephone walks out of
the underground station

first published in Presence, April 2018



late goldenrod
the summer stretches
like a lazy cat

first published in Presence, April 2018



Sybil

You won’t die but you’ll be older and older, Sybil. You’ll shrink with time which will shrink, too. Sweat and tears will evaporate. Body fluids will flow away. Fat will be burnt without smoke or fire. You’ll become light and dry. I’ll push you into the bottle like a cork. I’ll put my ear to the neck of the bottle to hear what you still have to drone about the future.

winter twilight
a grey-haired man lights a fag
from the grave candle

first published in Presence, April 2018


Friday, 23 March 2018

I ache



I ache
where I used to play
small town spring

previously unpublished



like straw
our summers
burnt out

previously unpublished



an old dog
sleeping on the threshold
scent of September

previously unpublished


Friday, 9 March 2018

anniversary



anniversary
two golden water rings
around a heron’s legs

first published in Shamrock 39, March 2018



a lantern-jawed man
in the evening street
autumn chill

first published in Modern Haiku, 49.1, winter-spring 2018



Web World

Interview with a film director who, after therapy, closes his Facebook account.
Tweet by a PhD that vaccines kill and broccoli heal.
Confession of a woman afraid to stop because she might miss something.
Post by a blogger who now notices his likes are changing him into a beast.
Comment that once kissing was what you did between hello and fucking.
Headline about registering the brand Zyklon for a firm’s gas ovens.

pain
spreading through veins
autumn rain

first published in Modern Haiku, 49.1, winter-spring 2018

Friday, 23 February 2018

smell of spring



smell of spring
I lose my all
experience points

previously unpublished



a flâneur
in the early spring gloaming
luscious desolation

previously unpublished



the half-transparent
jelly of the evening
coolness in your touch

previously unpublished


Thursday, 8 February 2018

metamorphoses




metamorphoses
of our love
rose petal jam

previously unpublished



tenement house
the hanging gardens
of balconies

previously unpublished



I swerve
to avoid a grasshopper
compassion fatigue

previously unpublished