Herringbone

The pallor of the parquet floor
Brings recollections of
School, its classrooms, its corridors

Somehow the pattern pulls
Me into a journey through
Time; conjuring images

Of art and assemblies,
Of laughter and lateness,
Of parents and pupils and plans:

For a future unknown;
For escaping the lessons
And the chill of those changing rooms.

A mishmash of memories,
But...

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What was once a beautiful thing is now empty

I should have taken hold of what we had

But was too young to see beyond myself

What use to be a vivid and deep conversation becomes small talk

Just passing the time

You still know what buttons to push

I just think I do

It’s been years and your fingerprints are still on my heart

The more I try to get away

The harder it becomes ...

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Mare's Tail

(By Paul A M Palmer)

"There's only one way to kill it:
You have to dig it out."

It's what they recommend,
The locals: they have the knowledge.

Scrape and scrape the top, spade against 
The turf and tufts of lichen and moss.

“You have to deepen the trench and then
Scrabble and search for the roots.”

Black and brown in the soily ground
Its fibrous tubes and tendril...

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