Friday Morning

Venturing outside
Frosty reception awaits
A nip in the air

My feet feel their way
Crystal snowflakes tumble down
My eyes gaze skywards

The windscreen wipers
Make the shape of angel wings
On the frozen glass

With hope I peer out
Through a small hole in the ice
In perishing cold

Before the white snow
Is tarnished and turns to slush
I take a deep breath

The red orange glow
Of a tequila sunrise
Will show me the way

Lost

You put my postcode
Into your Sat Nav
So you can find me.

But how we get
From where we are now
To where we want to be
Is a mystery.

The Dream

Through closed doors and iron gates
Dead bolts, padlocks, rim locks
Between steel bars, no guards
I twist round stairs and tight corners
Into the blue light, the half light
No one around, I’m outside now.

Sun streaming through white clouds
Bumping along the skyline
Along pylons and hissing wires
The rhythm scares and frees me
Trees go by flashing like fire
Now orange light, street lights.

Racing along the night highway
Down straight yellow lines
Cats eyes staring up at me
The world flows by at a pace
Time swiftly moving on
But there’s something in the road.

A group of deer leap out in front
Their majestic faces
Proudly flaring nostrils
Dark eyes, ears pricked and alert
They sense me but pay no mind
I speed ahead on my silent journey.

I’m on a mission, floating above life
This is how freedom should feel.
A blink, a jolt and I’m back again
I feel you breathing on my shoulder
Imprisoning me once more
Haunting my reality.


(Inspired by the dream sequence from the film “Un Prophète” by Jacques Audiard)

Mischief Night

Growing up
We waited for tonight
Minor misdemeanours
Knock and run
Tying door handles
When asked why
We said it was a laugh
One night of the year
Licence to misbehave
To break every rule.

And this year it seems
The old me is back
Pushing back boundaries
Looking for trouble
For when I am told
Not to do something
I think of little else
I know you do too
You believe you can stop it
But I’d like to see you try.

(Traditionally Mischief Night is 4th November in Yorkshire)

Projections

The door opens into your world
A dark and private place
Whirring noises
Small square window
Reflecting light
I stumble over words.

I want to see your scar
Tentatively you show me
Our heads bent together
In quiet contemplation
I touch the place the knife went in
It feels awkward yet close.

Then the first reel clicks
The audience demands
You attend to the machines
I take a step backwards
I stand there beside you
Watching your hands.

The Text

First a short text
Quickly followed by another
Then a text with an X
What does it mean?

Girlfriends say it’s just
“Bye” to a friend
We all do it
No need to get excited.

But the men say different
The X is significant
It means something else
It wants an X back.

So I send one.

The Opposite House

There’s been a death in the opposite house
Family members have taken time
To rip out all the furniture
And throw it in a skip.

Maud was the little old lady
We hardly knew her at all.
Now what represented her life on earth
Is piled outside her front door.

Anything valuable they decide to keep
Or maybe Oxfam can pick through it
I see the look of relief all around
As they make one final trip to the tip.

The Walkers

I just jumped up from my desk
As I heard a strange clacking sound
Seemed like heavy rain drops
But it was the walkers going past
Click, click, tap, tap, click
Their poles hit the street.

Every Wednesday we see them
As they stride out together
Five female friends
On a weekly adventure
They never miss
They think of it all the time.

The poles give them strength
Their walk unites them in rhythm
Their longed-for escape
From the noise and nonsense of their lives
I hear their faint chattering now
As they disappear from my view.