Steppin on the beach of nana’s shed floor
was like reaching land just off the lawn.
behind unkempt borders edged a
ribbon of flowers as a flush of memories
drifted.

A muffled whisper washed sepia toned moods,
twisted broken things seemed to talk
dummy like quitely in their boxes, rejected by
flighty owners now themselves discarded.

On the windowsill a porcelain cup caught
my eye – watermark of grime told me
where tea once floated. Nana leant
over in crisp white linen while old
China rested on the ledge.  

Lost without its handle useless article –
banished from the cabinet. Where a
scrolled  handle sprung there was
now a clean break, tossed up here
relieved yet wrecked.

A lifetime ago tea was served for
the up and coming set nana with
fixed ideas of dainty cakes swept
away drips on my face.

Oh how I hate strategic
chatter it avoids reaching
deep down inside
and pulling out
your guts like a french horn

they look into each others eyes and
roots sink deep in the after-glow
in the blink of an eye

waggons roll in front of you
and whoes to say it doesnt have its
place

you’ve seen them the strange ones
who in the bilnk of an eye
are open to all those
found in crammed places

there also waggons roll but outwards
to open windows.

The stars are out tonight bronzed in the cold clear sky
there’s the ox tugging at the plough stuck stiff
a sleight of hand each dot still
from a spinning top

seems as if the north star wanders
round and round in a routine motion
are we the only bridge twixt
stubborn resolve and fluid revolution

a deep red flicker in the hedgerow
catches an advent door opening out
from midwinter - a hare arks and darts
to the wood

ears set back streamlined  
silhouette of dwarf penny
farthing rushing-on

majestic in moonlight