2019.6 A List of Things

Things That Bring Smiles

You breeze through the door;
You rock sideways in your seat,
Bursting with rockets.

Things That Won’t Leave

That sparkly bath bomb;
Grand National 2010;
Hair dye fingerprints.

Things You Don’t Remember

How I take my tea;
Open crisps: invitation;
That Grand National.

Things That Wake Me Up

Slammed doors – car or house;
My name, a kind hand stroking;
You suppressing tears.

Things That Send Me To Sleep

A kind hand, stroking;
Your voice shares that well-loved book;
Crackling woodfire.

Things That Bring Tears 

Too much compassion;
Sister Act: that one high note;
July’s final gasp.

Things That Spark Poetry

Injustice; work stress;
Family; love; eavesdropping;
Pivoting seasons;
Memories of home; the sea;
At the right time: anything.

Already falling behind my self-imposed target of two per day for the rest of the month, but I continue to strive with this Pillow Book-style poem (thanks for the prompt, NaPoWriMo), done as six senryū stanzas and one tanka, because that seemed appropriate for the original material.

2019.5 Flim-flam

We meet at lunch, and no-one’s pleased,
You call my question “good”.
If flattery, I’m not appeased.
We meet at lunch, and no-one’s pleased,
My work persona’s feeling squeezed,
Forgetting shouting’s not a “should”.
We meet at lunch, and no-one’s pleased,
You call my questions “good”.


One of my traditions for NaPoWriMo is to write a triolet. Here’s this month’s.

2019.4 Ghost Tour

“Will you cover for me?” I’m helpless, delving into a set of well-worn expressions, shunning the stutter he beckons, projecting: Yeah, I reckon. “Listen,” he says, “I owe you one.” At this point, more like twenty, a reckoning that’s chasing propriety into an early grave. A new voice: “Step lively,” says Greg, head a conspiracy tilt past the fire hatch and we scurry, him stubbing, me shrugging, Greg’s gaze a spinning speculation I nudge from him. “Madame’s on the march,” he confides. I sigh. “No closer to the prize?” My turn to roll my eyes, grab regulation headgear, unprop the door while trawling for witticisms. Zilch. “There’s always next time.” “Sure, love. Sure.” We watch as he darts ahead.

Tip-toeing upstage,
We are mismatched murderers
Longing for a break.


Over to our old friend the random line generator for inspiration for this not-very-strict haibun, Words generated were: cover, march, listen, tip, upstage, point, chase, ghosts.

2019.3 Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows

She’s been told, over and over:
It’s easier to regret something you have done
Than something you haven’t.
She’s thinking, in particular, today,
Of the near misses.

The declarations of affection a breath away,
The errant gust tucked behind her teeth.
Likewise the cutting insult,
The coup de grâce to a parasitic union,
Forever spiralling on staircases.

She thinks of the last-minute turns
Not taken.
Country lanes still ravelled.
The road that’s more than familiar,
The route engrained in synapses,
Waking and sleeping, unrested,
Until all she can do is visit and
Revisit – shopping list of the
Undone accompanying the miles.

The house unbought, the home unmade,
Its neighbourhood now a maze of gentrification and
Soaring investment potential.
The hand untaken, the
Toe-tucked farewell,
Breaths pluming, backlit for all time in
Green, amber, red, beep, beep, beep…

She is thinking of the monuments unvisited
Today. She should be thinking of
Everything else. Everyone else.
She is thinking, instead, of skin untouched,
Lips untasted, breath unshared,
Knows how Too Late feels in the
Monthly crossing-off, the floodplain tedium.

She is thinking about the
“Actually”s unsung, clutched in her gullet:
Actually, don’t touch that
Actually, that’s not his name
Actually, that’s racist
Actually, she wants you to leave her alone
Actually, I want you to leave me alone
Actually, I want you to leave
Actually, I want you

She is thinking how close
Habit is to fear,
How she inhabits a groove laid out
By so many – too many –
Before her.
Whether or not this is her path,
She’s knee deep in other people’s
Straight and narrow.
It will take a miracle.
It will take a more than careless conflagration.

She finds herself hoping, for once,
The words spilling fresh from her lips,
Hearing them for the first time in years
Of repetition, no longer smooth.
Ave Maria, gratia plena,
Mundus tecum.
Benedicta tua. Benedicta tua.
Benedicta tua.


Fragments of this haunted me all evening. It’s been a funny sort of day.

2019.2 Ishqbazi

They call it husbandry.
He watches the coterie tumble and
dance, flirt with air-currents,
a smile on his lips,
even as he trains them,
directs their pairings,
with an eye for their offspring’s fortune.

He exhorts them to lean into
the best of what their God gave them,

discarding the careless practices
of his fond but feckless forebears.
Each feather is a treasure,
ribboned ankles a flash of pride
in the heart of his court.

Ringed with gold, fed only the best,
they test the Charkh and the Bazi,
fling themselves into contention with
gravity, pull praises from him,
trust to the truth of his love.
And even after their brief twirls are done,
they grace the zenana, pecking painted grains;
perfect specimens forever.

Pigeons feeding near a golden pigeon cote on a hillside, Mughal, Kashmirmid – 17th Century © The Fitzwilliam Museum, University of Cambridge.

Ishqbazi means “love-play” and is what Emperor Akbar used to call pigeon-flying. This is either adorable or slightly creepy. Probably adorable.

Charkh means “a lusty movement ending with the pigeon throwing itself over in a full circle”

Bazi means “lying on the back with the feet upwards, and quickly turning round”

Zenana “contextually refers to the part of a house belonging to a Hindu or Muslim family in the Indian subcontinent which is reserved for the women of the household.”

2019.1 Articles of Instruction

Step One: Start As You Mean To Go On 
Pour all the pieces on the floor,
It is important to ensure that the ground is
Unprepared, uneven,
Littered with a palimpsest of
Previous attempts.

Step Two: Organisation 
Sort the pieces into piles of what
Feels Right. Your intuition is more powerful
Than the prognostication of
Experts. They have no real passion;
They don’t know your life.

Step Three: Motivation 
Talk loudly about how great it will be
Once you’ve built this…
Thing. Talk of the joy you’ll feel when
Those extraneous little… jiggledy wotsits
Are out of the way.

Step Four: Focus Your Energy
Do your best to fish out the little bits
By yourself. They don’t look like the rest.
They’re not strong and proud and straight
Like the rest. Too many complicated
Twirls and curves and fussy edges.

Step Five: Key Perspectives
Ignore your neighbours.
It’s at this phase that they will lean, smiling,
Over the hedge. Offer examples.
Gesture to their own grand structure. Yours will be better.
Fling the fiddly bits into their garden when you can.

Step Six: Critical Path
Your children are asking what you’re trying to do.
Tell them that kind of attitude
Wouldn’t have served their grandparents.
Your father comes around. Tells you you’re doing it wrong.
What does he know?

Step Seven: Safety First
The rains are coming. Cover the pieces
With tarpaulin. Your partner is asking when you’ll be done.
Ignore them – you are working on the
Important things. Like what to call… it.
More small, fiddly things are turning up.

Step Eight: Reviewing
Your other neighbour is complaining.
Says she won’t be able to step over the fence
For a cup of tea any more if you build… it there.
This kind of stirring won’t help anyone.
Your partner has that look again. Ignore them.

Step Nine: Requirements Gathering
Your children have written you an email,
Asking you to stop. They only want you when
They want you. Ungrateful brats. The image
On the top of the box is blurred with rain,
Bleached by sun. Take your time to get it right.

Step Ten: Resource Gathering
The neighbours are no longer smiling,
Say they’d quite like to talk about other things
Like subsidence, unruly pets, what you’re going to bring
To the barbecue next week. They’re getting fed up of gammon.
When you ask for help, they keep telling you the same damned thing.

Step Eleven: Prioritise
The garden need work.
The tarpaulin rattles in the breeze.
The pond is clogged, the fruit gone unpicked since
The kids stopped minding you. If you’d only
Got rid of all those “screws” and “bolts” you’d be done by now.

Step Twelve: Establish Timelines
Your partner shows you a diagram
They’ve come up with. Too little too late.
You ask the neighbours. They tell you the
Same damned thing. Talk about how six of
Your relatives don’t want… it. Don’t cry where they can see.

Step Thirteen: Review
People keep talking about recovery.
You’re fine. Stop fussing. If you can just build
It. Doesn’t need to be perfect.
Not any more…
Not any more.