i may drift off
at random moments
upon seeing poetry
in a serendipitous
seemingly miraculous
landmark occurrence
if i'm lucky enough
to notice it
but it's the muse
of the mundane
the poetically banal
that speaks to me
in a clearer voice
it tells of the hair
that clogs the shower
the washing left out
forgotten on the line
in yet another downpour
of two dogs
keeping me company
while i work
it is here
     forever here
that the truest
moments of beauty
will be found

there was nowhere
in particular
that i had to be
or any real reason
for me to be
where i'd ended up
i had been wandering
most of the day
seeing the sights
but mostly trying
to see the city
in its truest

and so found myself
amidst the bustle
of little market stalls
lining either side
of the path leading
to the centre of
a neighbourhood park
i had wanted a coffee
and was ready to
continue my march
towards a flat-white
but urged myself
to rest my feet
to pause for awhile
and enjoy the theatre
of these unconnected lives
unwittingly intertwined;

the young couple
bartering at a stall
while the elderly pair
laughed in pantomime
as the girl passed by
struggling to control
her overexcited pup
sat there watching
i too had a role
playing a part
in their lives
that i would
never know

the unexpected storm
on another day
could have ruined
that intimate moment
of memories and ice cream
sat on the rocks
of the sea wall
surrounded by calm waters
even as the rain fell
and thunder rumbled
they headed for shelter
on their own terms
only when they wished
this time it had
done nothing more
than bring them
playfully
defiantly
together

he got caught
in a downpour
on what seemed like
the sunniest of days
when he stopped
for a coffee
he didn't really need
and hadn't noticed
the sky's shifting grey
he would have been
home long before
the storm came
if he had kept walking
but the torrent
began so suddenly

one of those where
the raindrops
feel enormous
every impact
an undeserved
or unwelcome
pat on the back
with neither
umbrella or coat
he found cover in
a sheltered alley
between two buildings
and begrudgingly
chose to wait

two buoyant women
elderly but clearly
not showing their age
scampered playfully
into his refuge
their umbrellas
forgotten for now
while their mood
somehow remained
remarkably well disposed
even though
those webs of nylon
had protected only
heads and shoulders
while their lower halves
had become saturated
they seemed not to care
greeting him with a grin
they chatted and gestured
and laughed

he would have no idea
what their story was
where they were going
or coming from
but in those moments
sheltering amidst
their joie-de-vivre
his frustration was
dampened
             ironically
and with a smile
that would last
his entire walk home
he stepped out into
the ongoing deluge

yesterday
i took part in
a latvian wedding
even though
i had no idea
what i was doing;
we formed a circle
with burning torches
and sang and chanted
and screamed
performing rituals
that the fathers
of their fathers
once performed

i was told that
the male guests
had given the groom
the strength of a bear
while the bride
was given wisdom
and encouragement
for the years to come
the bride and groom
were then bound
with symbolic chord
blessings and song
joining them together
by hand and heart

without being able
to speak the language
i had to guess or
discreetly ask
for explanations
from other guests
to understand
the significance
of each part;
watching the bride
and groom however
it was clear immediately
their love needed
no translation

the fox spotted me;
as i rounded the corner
bags of groceries
jostling awkwardly
clutched in one fist
oblivious as i rummaged
the depths of my pocket
for the front door key
with the other

long before i spotted it;
that vulpine form
sleek and crafty
elusive yet stark
amongst these surroundings
more often heard
seldom seen
fleetingly at that

in the time that
it took me to recognise
this incursion
of the majesty of animal
upon the mundane of man
to stop and take notice
and give the underappreciated
the moment it deserved
to marvel as a child might
that cunning visitor had
already turned tail
determined and decided
it took its chosen course
without pause

a clay coloured mug
with the dregs
of now-cold coffee
swirling with bits
accumulated dust
and a fallen fly
left on the side
it needs to be washed
but will be ignored
time and again
each time i pass by
because of how
it is stained;
not by the rings
lining it's inner surface
from top to bottom
with striations of brown
but because of
the lipstick smudge
on its outer edge
a sign of her presence
of all the memories
that a smear of red
can conjure
and a reminder
that she will
be home soon