June 27, 2010 at 9:47 am (Uncategorized)

The Poetry Bus this week is feeding the pixies where the challenge is to folow, or alternatively not follow, or reinterpret, a sign, and see where it took you. The idea immediately brought to mind the Robert Frost poem The Road Not Taken (which apparently he come to dislike because it was so popular and always requested at readings), the idea that paths that you take have unforeseen and unpredictable consequences. This was my choice yesterday evening, we followed a familiar route and the signal dictated the consequences, sometimes even small consequences matter.

Signal Down

we take the footpath to the old stone bridge

crossing the railway by the sheep field.

looking along the straight empty track

you notice the signal is down

a train is on it’s way

so we wait to see it pass,

and while we wait

we kiss

like teenagers

up against the stone parapet

in the evening sunshine

and I find I had forgotten

amongst the mundane routines of life

this perfect pleasure

the warmth and taste of you

with a delicious thrill

of potential discovery.

this quiet path


leading nowhere very much

takes us where we need to go.


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Jesus Haiku

June 20, 2010 at 7:29 pm (Uncategorized) ()

The Poetry Bus driven this week by Kat at Poetikat’s Invisible Keepsakes, visit for more thoughts on the destruction this week of a rather bizarre statue. Mine is an instinctive gut reaction.


gone in a conflagration

God has taste after all

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childhood daisy chains

June 6, 2010 at 7:16 pm (Uncategorized) ()

This week’s challenge for the Poetry Bus was to write on the more general category of ‘flora/fauna’, which I suppose left it wide open for people to do what took their fancy, though nicely in keeping with the season. We have been cutting the grass this week so I was thinking of times when I was young and always feeling annoyed at my dad for cutting the grass and chopping down all the daisies. So here is my offering, and a homage to Gerard Manley Hopkins ‘Binsey Poplars’, of which I am very fond.

Daisy chain

Daisies, only yesterday scattered across

the lush expanse of un-mowed lawn

All chopped, chopped, are all chopped

their petals heaped amongst the verdant mulch

not spared, not one

for small girl to frolic in fancy and

festoon herself a fairy queen.

O if he but knew what he did

when he mowed and trimmed

cut down those fragile blossoms

the dreams of childhood

so transient,  in wild abandon

she who bedecked with garlands

would dance among the saplings

now stands forlorn.

After-comers cannot guess the beauty

that might have been

the spinning blade wipes clean

makes neat, pristine

Daisy chain, a daisy chain

sweet delicate daisy chain

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