/ out of the earth like innocent serpents set to strike.
/ Their folded, poisoned heads assume
/ an attitude of piety; humility…
Here is a letter
/ come across the ocean
/ over the back of a world
/ curved like a whale.
/ I unwrap it, like tissue,
/ and sentences…
They are fermin the fower winds:
/ Five grey- stemmed daffodils
/ on the hill abuin Eynhallow
/ that whirlmagig air intil pouer.
/ Aa Simmerdim on Flotta…
A paper lantern on a balcony
/ in one of those old Edo evenings you
/ have read about, perhaps. Kabuki, tea
/ and blossom, wavering:…
Door, I have knocked, pushed,
/ licked and, for a year, stroked
/ your veins smooth as varnish.
/ My knuckles are hard, black beetles.
Remembering Tessa Ransford, 1938–2015
/ When Gavin circulated the news
/ I shed a tear or two that early autumn day.
/ What else…
I am an old book troglodyte
one who composes on paper
and types up the result
as many times as need be.
It is time to go north. I want / to listen to silence and unpick its voices: / the wind…
‘No metaphors swarm
/ around that fact, around that strangest thing,
/ that being that was and now no longer is.’
/ Iain Crichton Smith
The moon must be sick of being in poems –
/ always gripped by fingers of late honeysuckle,
/ always filtered in the…
No piece of art is perfect. / All it has to do is stay around / for two hundred, or…
One cannot take the beginning out of the air
/ saying ‘It is the time: the hour is here’.
/ The process is continuous…