Saturday, 4 February 2012

Hot breakfast

 Half forgotten’s only half remembered;
something niggled out beyond awareness
today as we were busy cooking breakfast

and though I stood there frying, looking steadfast,
a monster kept on swimming under Loch Ness;
- so scary I can hardly dare remember.

It’s getting darker early mid-November;
best to watch I do not get too careless,
slip the anger out in all its vastness!

Better hold it in by staying stuck fast.
(Despite the smiling looks, I couldn’t care less)
and I will sure ensure that I remember

to get you back, you bastard, this December,
even though it’s adding to my hair loss
to plot a future payback for this breakfast.

It’s over – you and I will quickly get lost
in swamps and rivers, take another compass
reading out, away, from this old breakfast.
As memory assembles – we’ll remember.

Wednesday, 1 February 2012


 If ever you play Scrabble
with one arm over a loved one’s
shoulder - then - and only then
will you smile down at a board
- that universe spread beneath breaths
and get a sense of the next letter
- your strategy -
that is – what  - and how - and when - and whether
to bother to feel for a next little word
- your play.