As with the wind’s cold reminder,
as with the new leaf’s shock,
we remember when we are

This grey overcoat holds sway
but in its way, familiar
and fitting

The technicolour
glitz of balmy days
failed to keep us captive

Rattle on your prison bars today
and swing low
for unsure tomorrows

A broken clarity
scored by fat pigeon coos
and the gangster chatter of crows

A winged court is in session and
they are not finding in our favour

Their behaviour’s changed
so even the ranks
of hedge birds are emboldened
to thumb their beaks
and sing clear in number
and the woodpecker’s gavel falls

When our industry prevails
will we seek vengeance,
or preserve this
hallowed cacophony?

A little splinter today
a tiny shiv
to ***** at our resolve
to flatten the curve

buckle in and fatten up
in your locality
so beautiful days
can be unlocked again

Pinched fingers
on the tape ribbon
of this reel to reel life
have caused time to dilate,
elongating sounds drawn out
til no high pitched shrieks
or panicked squeals remain

an ****** stupor settles on us
and our slackened jaws
pass treacle speech
as another day peaks and troughs

unexpectedly we return
to analogue
with little in the way of
selection or control,
forgotten scratches and skips
audible once more,
to be ignored or heard

Your ubiquity in my memory
has led me to miss
the fact you are now missed

in the day-glo green-yellow
gardens of eighties summers,
scattering mother’s pride,
you were overlooked in the search
for brighter birds
with better song

so I try to cherish the
rattle and chatter
of your extended family
alongside me now

no songs for me
to join your mourning
but your chip-chip banter
tells a cautionary tale

I’ll do my best to listen and learn
even as our own gardens dwindle

I guess this is the trip
of today’s triptych,
still surrounded by
hours of life reinvented

My feet are the same
though achey from lack of use
and my tongue is still in my head,
though less flapped

Our lingua franca
is now a babble of
isolation song

It’s not often
we sing together
so let’s be loud
and love proper hard

I have a small patch of land
with some grass, a little pond,
flower beds full of plants
the world chose
in the key of chaos

I can sit in it
while madness swirls
and clamps down
and can find
a jot of peace

But I know others can’t,
so I will hold my knee from jerking
while we all figure out
a better way to be