An equinox happened the other day
The earth was tilted just the right way
Night, hours and days were almost the same
but not quite precisely
Now there's a game
Why does it happen? I want to ask
but discovering why is quite a task
I'm not an astronomer, to know these things
I just know they happen in winters and springs
and as the world spins on its merry round
there'll be another this autumn, I'll be bound!

Sounds like a song
from a nineteen sixties
kitchen sink movie
It all depends
on what you mean by "it"
The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy
said: "The answer is forty two"
but
Forty two what?
Now there's a question

The weather forecast for today
said mist would later clear away
and afternoon be bright.
So far the earth is sombre, drear,
no hint of sunshine to appear
before again it's night.
The tapestry of twigs and branches
when the breeze arises, dances
stitched across the sky.
I remember when the green
sleek new leaves could well be seen
by any passer-by.
The birds still sing although no rays
of sunshine cheer their wintry days.
They're pairing up in time
by end of January's freezing weight
to reach mid-February's sacred date,
that of Saint Valentine.

Valentine’s Day

As a rule
Valentine’s day passes me by
unnoticed
but
this year
in the middle of lockdown
a friend’s delayed gift
of Scilly Isles Narcissi
arrived just in time
to fragrance my room
with their sweet heady scent
and look up at me
with their tiny innocent faces
A thoughtful friend
sent me a Valentines
full of good wishes
and if that weren’t enough
I was treated to a delicious afternoon tea
and a posy of daffodils

Valentines come in many ways

What Is a poem?
My dictionary gives
“a composition arranged in lines
usually (it says)
with a particular rhythm
and sometimes
with rhymes”
a flight of fancy
a dirge
an ode
a sonnet
a villanelle
even a code
a pulse of romance
a moan of despair
a glory of colour
of sound in thin air
a vision
a grumble
a song
an insurrection
jubilation
frustration
at lack of direction
In short it would seem
one has to take care
as a poem may happen
anytime
anywhere

The arts and crafts house is a labour of love  
No plastic is found here
but deftly placed splinters of differing woods
carefully entwined
trace the outer line of the year
in which each piece was made

Splinters of plastic
pierce outer skin of the year
we labour to save

As if we weren’t worried
about plastic already, this year
produced mountains of medical splinters
and labourers’ protective disposable outers

In blink of an eye
the mental storm subtly changes,
its clustered worries relaxed, calmed.
A circumference of peace prevails

Learning about clouds
is a major part
of the study of weather
The subtle changes
as clouds cluster,
merge, divide
in the blink of an eye
presage a storm
with lightning
flashing across their circumference
or
alternatively
forecast a day of calm

It’s a strange world
when a single word
can get under your skin

stopping your breath
feeling like death
with weights on your wings

trapped in a triangle
freedom is dangling
beyond reach on a string

Triangle player
breathes esoteric wording
his ping skin tingling

Seated, crossed legs forming triangles
your breath coming gently, evenly
feeling comfortable in your skin
you ponder strange mystical words

“The square on the hypotenuse
is equal to the sum of the squares
on the other two sides”
I look at the triangle
and ponder the meaning
of that strange word hypotenuse
my skin getting goosebumps
and my breath all excited
when I should be applying the rule
to the problem
the geometry teacher
expects me to solve

I sat down this morning
to catch up on mending
but the day was so dark
it made the dog bark
I peered at the sewing
couldn’t see where it was going
so I put it away
That’ll do for the day

If Philosophy is a search
for the meaning of life
the first step to consider
is whether one is alive

Folded in my hands
a nestling, a tiny bird
hardly old enough to hop or fly
let alone step over my windowsill
from the hazelbush outside
Caught, before it could panic
and throw itself at the window
It rests quietly
then darts off, in relief
at being free

From my window I see the flare of fireworks
and my ears are assaulted by the banging

the sight of the puppy cowering in fear
will be etched on my mind

such a brave little thing normally

The fireworks smell acrid
I fluff up my cinnamon and rosemary potpourri

We all had dreams
and plans
to travel to far away lands
but then came Covid 19
so who now knows
what that might mean ?
Our plans
may become our dreams

A poetry guru named Sean
Said 'Limericks just make me yawn.
The rhyming is flat,
the meter's old hat,
free verse is my thing, not old corn.'

The man using Charlie's transporter
had a beautiful languorous daughter.
She said 'Give me a lift'
He said 'Not on my shift -
I know you - you'll fall in the water'

Antiques shops
fascinate, absorb the eye
and the imagination
Who may have owned
this intricately worked
elaborate confection of silver
set with jewels?
Did a miner fashion it
for a lover or a wife?
Did the longing for warmth of home
spill over into craftsmanship
so delicate it looks
as though a speck of dust
would disarray it?

I wonder

An old-established confectioner
claims his mints "keep you all aglow"
makes me think of old-time buying
from people serving
behind marble counters
the picture on the packet
shows an arc of blues expressing delight
I'm trying a mint ball now -
and it's all right.

A murmuration of starlings
thousands upon thousands of them
swooping rising curling away
pulsing and throbbing as one
‘til they slowly gently descend
and melt into the shadows of the trees
and the screen fills with a picture
of David Attenborough

A Pleasant Contagion
The light in the eyes
of one who feels loved
affects all who meet them
they do not know why

Leicester in lockdown
as the virus flares
just as the clouds
had a silvery edge
Those xyz foxes
zoomed into the henhouse
leaving hens headless
and us all in gloom

Social distancing
comes naturally to Brits
who like their own space

officially true
not your imagination
the sky is more blue

Who could invent more
than spring has already
begun to display?
what poetic lens
could improve on
her wild, yet gentle,
detailed unwrapping
of colours, flowers,
leaves, textures
revealing, unfolding,
teasing, rewarding,
nodding and dancing,
joyfully singing
her perpetual
ever-new refrain?

Camellias, Forsythia and Daffodils
flowering
Dandelions in bud
Squirrels chasing

Travel company cancelled
Good!
I can choose a new holiday

The poetry group
tried it this morning
without much success

What is a change?
An alteration
longed-for or loathed
mental or physical
swift or subtle
demanding or gentle

and some changes
make things better

The loose sort
is disappearing
It can't be used
online

The Roofer
tapped a slate
tenderly
looked up
said "Hi"

Space
Comfort
Cheerful atmosphere
Beautiful surroundings
assist peace of mind

It's possible to make poems
about almost anything
but like most things in life
there's more to it than that
What is a rhyme?
Do all poems need them?
Must I obey rules and formulas
and stick to a code?
What about stanzas, syllables,
punctuation, presentation?
Can the number of lines
accord with the inspiration
or must there be dogmas
to govern its expression?
If I take it too seriously
I lose all impulsion
and the words which should sing
lie flat on the floor

Assignment-'Write a sonnet'
I did look up the definition ...

Good voice
but I'd like
to have heard some words

Valentine's day
passed without incident
apart from learning
his history

February fourteenth
means something to some
but not to all

Naming storms after people
is not appreciated
by those persons

Hail hits hardest
when not anticipated
and head is hatless

Thieves cut down the tree
that provided privacy
shelter and beauty

I sit listening
looking through the scaffolding
hearing builders' din

Over the doorways
new cameras are watching
I wave as I pass

Muddy boots again- I tell you
I will not put up with you
eternally tramping on my clean floors
I'm feeling so stressed
that I'm all of a tremble
and if it goes on indefinitely
there will be a kerfuffle

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,
who is the fairest of them all?"

Look at her skin so pale and lovely,
Her fine gold hair in ringlets twirled,

But see - she is cycling as hard as she's able
on an exercise bike, as fast as she can,
the sweat fairly spilling
down onto the floor.

Her aim, to fit into that tiny bikini
and win the Miss Nowhere's imaginary crown.

Was it worth it? Who's telling?
and what was the score?

"Don't burst blood vessels"
says my enigmatic friend
"Stay cool, man, stay cool"

When you head up the ***** of the Kirkstone Pass,
so-called for the rock, a glacier's erratic,
that's shaped like a chapel and stands at the head
of the steeply-raked pass

There's a place where the valley far down below you
splits either side of the hill, called 'The Tongue'
Way below is a farm at the tip of 'The Tongue'
from this height, so tiny, it looks like a toy

Be careful!  Don't go to the edge of the roadway
or your fall will be sharp and you might not survive
Drive on, up the twisting ascent of the mountain
until, near the summit, you spot Kirkstone Inn

It's built at the junction of the pass and 'The Struggle'-
the latter a test of a new driver's skill-
its car park a stop for walkers and drivers,
its promise of welcome a tangible call

What a wonderful feeling of warmth as you enter
You're inside, enjoying a favorite brew
Check up on the map, now decide where you're going,
then say your adieus and be back on the road