My palms are worn leather handling hammer and chisel the sinew in my forearms is taut carrying marble creates strength my neck stands tired yet agile from always looking upwards but my days of crafting pedestals is over so I’ll wait for my body to reset and return to an even keel the cost of marble is too much once it’s been etched it can’t be returned even though I probably value the material more than the people I’ve placed upon it I’ll craft myself an armchair to rest and read on and watch the pedestals crumble.
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I welcome Autumn as she drapes me in a blanket of bronze and straw-gold whispering seductive sweet promises of late lavender sunrises and delicious red sunsets she mentions velvet night-skies flecked with tiny diamonds and an occasional silent symphony by the Northern Lights even the rain softens under her presence guiding acorns to ground while winged sycamores float safely down and when the wind wraps itself around her it whistles happily carrying her scent of blackberry and pear feeding my nostalgia of years gone by everything about Autumn is chaos everything about Autumn is just so I long for her and her embrace to return by the time Winter shakes my hand with his icy fingers.
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A few weeks ago, I was asked by the amazingly talented poet Damien B. Donnelly, who also runs Eat the Storms poetry podcast to join him to read some of my poems on his show. Finally, I was able to free up some time and join him on the podcast (making my podcast debut, no less!) and the episode came out on Saturday October 9th at 5pm GMT. (I have just finished listening to the podcast thats why this is coming out at just after 6pm!)
The episode is Season 3, ep 14 and there are some incredible poets reading some outstanding work. You can listen on Spotify and most other podcast platforms. Why not get stuck into all the previous episodes as well?!
The last of the dahlias were picked last week ruby red, imperial, majestic they ruled the garden so to let them drown in the relentless October rain would have been be sacrilege instead we slipped them into a glass-vase coma keeping them alive until scarlet turned to rust and petals slipped away and we were ready to say our farewells
softened stems were carried and placed among the compost pile so memories of their life can grow a new family of flora and their majesty return.
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We sat under a steady autumn sky watching the tiny acts of rebellion as young clouds broke away from old grey from white, white from grey and the sun threw firecrackers at the surface of the sea silent, straw-gold crackling amid the calm we stole glances from each other as the tender harbour breeze kisses our cheeks turning us blush-pink the terns and gulls played tag swooping too close to earth that the seagrass stole some feathers and – as nature misbehaved all around us I softly gripped your hand knowing you’d never let me go because I was falling in love with you even more and this falling will go on forever like the marble-blue horizon
– under the steady autumn sky.
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I have been lucky to be selected to be published in the Daily Drunk for my poem ‘The Off-Vengers’. It’s a poem based on if the characters from The US Office were cast in the roles of some of The Avengers.
and the spectrum of flickering flames and hot embers
because I’ve always loved
dancing in the fire.
Thanks for taking the time to read my poem, originally wrote as part of #TopTweetTuesday on twitter, this is a farewell to Summer and a warm welcome to Autumn. Please feel free to leave a comment if you liked it or have any constructive critique.
I stopped watching the news after the third week of decimating death and morbid press briefings it had become statistically gratuitous
instead, I watched the playing fields opposite the front door start to overgrow welcoming back the wild things –
discarded council lawns no longer littered by kids from the secondary school and couples walking their dogs –
I observed the radiant whimsy in a family of deer frivolous in the pre-dawn haze dancing among the tall grass rose-gold fur in soft focus
impressive were the foxes drifting around the wildflower verges almost hidden in the dusky milk-light gorging on the rodents next-doors cat couldn’t catch
I chuckled at lopping chestnut-hares darting among the hedgerow scaring the bullfinches from the rosehips and brambles
until now I never really appreciated the nurturing noises of nature notably the cresting and chirruping birdsong against the percussive branches of council-planted beech trees
ever since opening the door to the nurture of nature
– life feels gratuitous.
Thanks for taking the time to read this poem, written about something positive that happened during the peak of Corona in the UK. I hope you enjoyed. As always,feel free to leave a comment I love reading and replying.
There it is again that distant gaze powerful, it pierces faraway sandstorms looking for the memory of where that long lost piece of you may be buried and the Afghan sun can’t even burn your eyes because you’ve stared so long, so often.
That subtle curl of lip and your eyes wander softly back in to the room amongst the lads, lagers and a few over-under dressed lasses.
There’s no sand here and you know the rain is always close-by – like us – we just hope we can help to find you some hard-earned peace.
Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. It’s dedicated to my friends who’ve spent time fighting for the country on faraway shores.
I remember how my hand fit into yours with welcoming ease and the warmth of your skin heated my tepid fingers as we walked along the beach
the North Sea was trembling with chilling intensity – as we skimmed stones plucked fresh from champagne-gold sand they wisped over waves their light friction warming the water and calming the sea
I told a joke about blushing lobsters and seaweed you laughed because it was so bad and the frame of your face lit up the dusky sky better than the distant hilltop fire beacons could ever hope to
I’m hoping this has all has gone to plan – that some years have passed – and our hands still fit each others that the message I buried in this bottle is not lost to the tide like so many other romances and we’re reading this in the spot where we sat and snuggled that night stargazing at the peach-kissed setting sun on the horizon
– because I know that I will love you forever.
Thanks for taking the time to read this poem dedicated to my beautiful wife, Christine.