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  • Down the hill I walk to silence,
    To where the Mother
    And the Father lie,
    To where they lie in ruin… […]

  • holly - auto-da-fe

    I wrote this poem to be read aloud, to be performed.
    It is not a kind thing – it isn’t calm, it isn’t polite.
    But it comes from the heart… […]

  • I took a bus to Petersfield,
    It shook so much,
    And clattered,
    That the panels quite gave up,
    And flew like finches,
    Fast to hard cropped fields… […]

  • For seven months, or maybe seven years,
    I sowed a secret hope.
    Two perfect leaves it made, my hope,
    Before the stem turned black
    For lack of care… […]

  • The black-backed gulls have flown far up the river.
    They’re after moorhen chicks and others.
    A yellow snatching bill, a bloody shiver:
    I wonder if they grieve, their mothers?

  • Today I went to hear the birds
    And I was met by wrens.
    I couldn’t see their bodies first,
    The leaves were bright,
    Their shapes were small,
    For birds that once
    Sang bare,
    And peeped from cracks,
    Afeared of sacrifice,
    Are clothed once more
    In flush of Spring… […]

  • Have the half remembered paths,
    And crumbling plots of disrepair,
    Just lost their violets and forget-me-nots?

  • Another night. Acid reflux,
    The retching return of fights and flights,
    “Hello mate, how’re you doing?”
    Half forgotten… […]

  • My collection of Haiku, most of them previously published on Twitter. […]

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