Poetry Blogs (day 16)

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They took a sprig from Hatfeild Hall

And planted it in Wakefield Gaol

A Mulberry bush grew on the spot

Its humble origins forgot

And there prisoners exercised at night

Beneath the pale Yorkshire moonlight

Round and round the tree they went

Those sinners who could not repent


Before that Mulberry tree had died

They took some cuttings to the outside


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The Side Kick

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The Side Kick


A purring cat

Sat before a raging fire

The smell of cinnamon buns

Outside the snow falls

Rubbing away ice on a window

Looking out into the whiteness

A smile caught

In the reflected dusk


New buds bursting

From green shoots

The blue sky

Flecked with white clouds

Raindrops dripping from trees

The fresh cool air

Mirrors in the pond


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From The Attic

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From The Attic


A wooden chest, labelled ‘Uncle Jack’

Slowly I start to unpack:


Inside there sits some dusty books

Carefully placed so if someone looks

They will not see what’s underneath

A collection of human teeth

A fine, silken, black top hat

A jar half full of congealed fat

Some boiled sweets in a paper cone

Something that looks like a finger bone


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