big fly in my house.
spray would be cruel, so I
zap you dead instead.
Tag: poetry
golden
the brilliance of
golden leaves, dark thunderous
skies, my eyes squinting
frangipani
over the brick wall
a frangipani scented breeze
drifts. I remember.
the thing about rain
The thing about rain is
the noise,
pattering on the roof
above my head as I type
disturbing the rhythm of my words.
The thing about rain is
the sound,
of tyres on steaming tarmac
outside my door.
The thing about rain is
the smell,
earthy, fungal, rich
reminding me I’m here
in the world, at this moment.
The thing about rain is,
the tactile memory of
streaming
running
surging
coolness on my skin.
I leave my desk and walk
to the forest
behind the house
ankle deep
wet moss between toes
wet hair, wet lips
tongue reaching out to taste,
what?
You’re not here
The thing about rain is,
it falls
Pour out your skies
of rain
damp tears, fetid fears
feeding the machine again
and then
there is this thing of
connectivity – do we need
more
or less
connection?
The confidence
to connect
or disconnect,
or reconnect, when connection
is required,
or is connection
the last thing in the world
we want.
pie ‘n’ chips
Pie please.
Scotch pie. Pie ‘n’ chips.
Salt and vinegar, just the job,
wrapped in the news,
it cost two bob.
On frosty nights there’s
nothin’ better,
pie and chips and
bein’ the ‘gether.
goan doon Kirk Loan and
roon’ the bend,
clutched tae my heart
like ma best friend.
Ah fund a bench,
and there ah stopped
spread the feast across ma knees.
wished ah’d remembered
tae ask fer peas.
And now ma frozen fingers pick,
first the crust
and then a chip
burnin’ haunds and
scalded tongue,
salt n’ grease upon my lip.
Hot and steamin’
now the meat,
pastry-crusted what a treat.
A chip fer you
and twa fer me.
lick yer fingers,
gies a kiss
ah love ye doll
but widnae miss
ma Friday nights
wi’ pie and chips.
Selfie
I look in the mirror,
A stranger I see.
Why can’t I know
How the world sees me?
My Eccentric Friend 