for Salman Rushdie
Tonight there’s no good news:
the Earth’s on fire; a writer has been butchered
for gifting us fiction twinkling with esprit;
détente between the West and East is ruptured;
the needy bear their hardship like a bruise.
Heating up but thinking most of me
I step out to the porch,
to where my beer reposes keeping cool,
glance up and snaggle abstra...
Sunday 21st August 2022 9:53 pm
A poem generated from random words over the course of April. See comment below for full details of how I wrote it.
A chilly April morning. Lazy lambs
couch lifeless in the fields like balled up fists
in woolly mitts. I need no diagram
to clarify the Spring: the tousled strips
of trees beside the river view an uproarious
theatre of water, the riot of the weir and lak...
Tuesday 3rd May 2022 3:22 pm
It’s when I see the kites
a family are flying on the Stray
and notice how they glint in blue and gold
belatedly I catch on, how today
the bichrome of the flag of the Ukraine
has never been completely out of sight:
I’ve seen its vivid tones unrolled
not just where you’d expect:
flourished on the apex of a pole;
sellotaped to windows or on do...
Tuesday 29th March 2022 1:39 pm