poem

The Cherry Tree

Raw sky, thin grass, a naked cherry bough
Foretell the blossom that I hope to see –
Another springtime of this dying tree
Whose untold fruits have dropped where I stand now.

Window on the World

I am making a window on the world,
A stained-glass window through which to look at things.
It is very much my own creation,

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Wound

Take a butcher’s red by Goya
And an arctic blue by El Greco.
Gently fold in an agonised beige by Grunewald

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St. Francis in the Slaughter-House

He left his sparrows waiting at the door
And entered like a draught, his bare feet treading

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Tuesday Poem: Old Timer

You see me now as what I have become again:
Chromework like mercury

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“Safe Passage” by Sue Boyle reviewed by Jonathan Steffen

In terms of the means of its production, poetry is one of the most economical of art forms. All you need is pen and paper.

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Tuesday Poem: Thoughts of a Bicycle

Of course I am only a machine
And full of natural frailty.
My tyres go soft,
My chain drops off,
My brake blocks wear out

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Tuesday Poem: Hospital

Among the many roads we have to travel in this life,
Nothing prepares us for this:
The one we will one day travel every Sunday afternoon –
Or every Saturday afternoon,
Or even every evening –

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