Monday 12 December 2011

Wednesday 30 November 2011


Dark at four -
tomorrow will not come
for sixteen hours.

Wednesday 23 November 2011


Somewhere close
invisible foxes
cry at midnight.

Tuesday 22 November 2011


A black dog runs
beside a bicycle -
blur of legs and spokes

Monday 21 November 2011


Walking carefully
on carpets of decaying leaves -
a car alarm screams.

Sunday 20 November 2011


In such thick fog
so little place to hide -
this pale tree.

Saturday 19 November 2011


Dark already -
the whole day eaten
by idleness.

Friday 18 November 2011


Footsteps echo
in the hollow before dawn -
the brain still sleeps.

Thursday 17 November 2011


The hard white cloud
thins imperceptibly to blue -
light, then my shadow.

Wednesday 16 November 2011


Open your eyes
and discover blue skies
or grey.

Tuesday 15 November 2011


Dream interrupted
by the clang of morning -
dragons slink away.

Monday 14 November 2011


Foggy silence -
the city hesitates before
another week.

Sunday 13 November 2011


Chilly afternoon -
the earlier sunshine's
receding backview.

Saturday 12 November 2011

Can't be

Sweating, shucking off
fleece and waterproof - this can't be

Friday 11 November 2011


Friday evening -
ambient sounds

Thursday 10 November 2011


Pale light on the river -
shiny ribbon snaking
through the grime.

Wednesday 9 November 2011


His face in the rain -
a sleeping bag gives
scant shelter.

Tuesday 8 November 2011


In the dark day's
darkest corners, the glow
of golden leaves.

Monday 7 November 2011


Only the rain
may spit in your face
with impunity.

Sunday 6 November 2011


Time has stopped -
listen to the wind

Saturday 5 November 2011

Smoke and shadow

November the fifth:
smell of smoke and shadow
of a cowering cat.

Friday 4 November 2011


All the chairs removed
but two - poised to pirouette
across the parquet floor.

Thursday 3 November 2011


Sycamore leaves
busy in the wind - a hundred
low-flying moths

Wednesday 2 November 2011


Waterloo station
invisible trumpeters
entertain the queue

Tuesday 1 November 2011


Soggy leaves -
a poultice will not heal
the earth's wounds.

Monday 31 October 2011


Below the bridge,
brown water - imagine floating,
imagine sinking.

Sunday 30 October 2011


Pale, dried leaves and stems scattered on the pathway: bleached and shrunken by sun and rain, they recall the bones of small, featherlight creatures.


Saturday 29 October 2011

Hour gained

Trees flushed with fever,
dry, coughing carpets underfoot:
delirium of this hour gained.

Friday 28 October 2011


Early morning streets
muffled in a striped blanket
of moon and mist.

Thursday 27 October 2011


From behind: two chubby, near-the-ground West Highland White Terriers with a short, stocky woman in a black trouser suit - all three, the same gait.

Wednesday 26 October 2011


A man walks briskly in the rain with two luridly orange shopping bags - a matching pair of bobbing orange reflections in the wet, shiny pavement.

Tuesday 25 October 2011


A bright red crane looms suddenly above the trees and rooftops, out of scale, like King Kong - the monstrous beast of endless demolition and construction.

Monday 24 October 2011


The red bus-ticket machine and the woman in a yellow coat: same height, both slim and straight - two bright Brancusi statues on the footpath.

Sunday 23 October 2011

Whited out

The blue sky whited out -
the light still fierce,
but through a frosted pane.

Saturday 22 October 2011


The light so strong and, even at noon, so low: every shape and colour - this blue, this square, this curly edge - is distorted, over-emphasised.

Friday 21 October 2011


As it gets colder, everything seems further away - buildings and people shrink darkly into themselves.

Thursday 20 October 2011

Tuesday 18 October 2011


Two tiny girls with bobbing afros,
two tiny voices sing off-key,
but this one is silent -
oh, there are three!

Monday 17 October 2011


Liquid light
and airy shadows -
Autumn trembles.

Friday 14 October 2011


In the beam of passing headlights,
the footpath glistens:
it rained, invisibly, before we came.

Wednesday 12 October 2011


The bus has stopped and isn't starting: a change in the engine's thrumming and in the thrum of voices, which falters and assumes a plaintive, questioning note.

Tuesday 11 October 2011


Night wind's
restless ache
cries at the window.

Monday 10 October 2011


A pale, skinny girl in a battered leather jacket and...
oh, a brightly striped and wildly swooping and dipping flamenco skirt - for a moment, everything dances.

Friday 7 October 2011


Greasy grey paving stones suddenly cheerful:
fallen red berries line the cracks.

Wednesday 5 October 2011


Brittle oak leaf caught behind a windscreen wiper:
its pale, crisp serrations, shadowed on the glass,
stand out against the soft, reflected street-scene.

Monday 3 October 2011


Cold cloud hides the hot sun.
Boiled blood slips and shivers:
what cooks call a reduction.

Wednesday 28 September 2011


Big blue trumpet-blooms, the colour of the sky, crane over the garden fence, surprising the street with a bright, twiddly fanfare.

Monday 26 September 2011


The young man speaking, smiling in the crowded bus aisle has a smile so soft and wide it breaks open the surrounding, pressing chaos.

Sunday 25 September 2011


In the cafe window, a small old man with skin like a dark, bruised plum and greying, wispy corn-rows sits rocking and staring out.

Saturday 24 September 2011


The texture of a small, smooth, shiny book; the trails and patterns of words dancing up towards the eye as a featherlight page floats over.

Friday 23 September 2011


Endless trails of vapour cross the sky while endless trails of people cross the street: relentless, restless movement that pulls on the heartstrings.

Thursday 22 September 2011


Infinitely slowly downwards, past the window, floats a single brown leaf - a lone parachutist; soon there will be many.

Wednesday 21 September 2011


Through thick, sticky drizzle, a pale skyline against a pale sky; the cyclists in luminous yellow and orange a rather shocking foreground to this muted panorama.

Sunday 18 September 2011


Even the late sun,
turning old stones into gold,
cannot melt this fear.

Tuesday 13 September 2011


Everything is illuminated, golden, and seconds later, as the sun drops behind the domed Victorian library, everything silhouetted against a fast-fading sky.

Monday 12 September 2011


The twisted wreck of a bicycle crouches shockingly on the footpath, for all the world like an avant-garde depiction of a homeless street-person.

Sunday 11 September 2011

The end

In the darkness, a scarcely perceptible wave of sighing and sniffling. No one gets up as the credits roll.

Saturday 10 September 2011


Weird  weather: grey and wintry, humid and clammy, with chinks of sunshine and blasts of wild wind, it's all kinds of weather at once.

Friday 9 September 2011


The blue-overalled men are jerking and pulling the joints of the steel poles; the canvas roof, a raft of darker blue, dips and flails in the wind and rain.

Thursday 8 September 2011


Silhouetted against the blue steel shutter of a closed shop, the young woman waves her hands wildly as she talks and her long curly hair bounces.

Wednesday 7 September 2011


While their respective humans chat, the three terriers - brown, white, spotty - dash to and fro, twelve little legs twinkling like animated cartoon dogs.

Tuesday 6 September 2011


Alongside the bright billboard, leaves are curling, fading and waxing anew in the same flat yellow as the giant lettering.

Wednesday 24 August 2011


The church repairs are finally finished and instead of the cumbersome tower of scaffolding the puddle again reflects only the slender, ethereal spire.

(exceptional addition of photo to kind-of make up for missed days)

Tuesday 23 August 2011


Bus stop: alighting passengers surge towards the back door. The first one teeters, turns and pushes back - outside is a deep, dark puddle too wide to step across.

Saturday 20 August 2011

Sheepish sky

Clouds from a child's picture book: plump, puffy sheep dozing on a blue blanket.

Thursday 18 August 2011


Smoke and sirens:
the smell and sound
of unease.

Wednesday 17 August 2011


Green, gloopy, grainy, creamy, clumpy, tangy, fibrous, viscous, luscious fennel soup.

Tuesday 16 August 2011

Office, evening

The framed view of brick wall and windows grows darker as the clamour rising from the unseen bar just below grows louder.

Monday 15 August 2011


The long, straight, sunbleached path is a tunnel between shadows: mindlessly, one foot in front of the other.

Sunday 14 August 2011


Edible necklace of red glass beads: all these small, sharp pop-pop-pops of pleasure strung together.

Saturday 13 August 2011


This dull warmth with low, puffy clouds and the air thick with emotions like a sponge full of water and waiting to be squeezed.

Friday 12 August 2011

Rosebud Gong Fu

No rosebud in the first expectant sip, but then a bitter-sweet, dried-pink flowering on the tongue.

Thursday 11 August 2011


The streak of orange is a fox in the road - we hear, but never see them; so much suddenly unleashed and surfacing.

Wednesday 10 August 2011


The dark, silky cover, painted with yellow letters, opens to creamy pages where fingers love to trail and linger: no such sensual pleasures from an e-reader.


I'm finding it hard to continue this exercise right now. There are difficulties in my personal life that sometimes feel too much, and then I find myself withdrawing increasingly from the present moment, operating in robot mode, seeing little of what's around me. On top of this came the riots in London, a shout-out that it's not just me: the whole of life, of our society at least, teeters as close to the edge as I often do as an individual. In the face of all this, I think it's more important than ever to have a practice of being quiet, being present, paying attention. So I don't revoke my commitment to doing this, but there may be days when I don't manage it.

Tuesday 9 August 2011

Rumours of riots

8 pm: the sky grew dark and rain began to fall. The street was empty and almost silent. The shops had closed their eyes, pulled down their steel eyelids.

Monday 8 August 2011


Sunshine: fragrant, toasty, blackened at the corners
- needs some butter.

Sunday 7 August 2011


Wake again to the sound of raindrops pooling in my navel.

Saturday 6 August 2011


A fine and fragile
water glass
with bell-shaped rim -
like drinking from
an open flower.

Friday 5 August 2011


The rain has stopped. Today's damp comes from trickling sweat and tears.

Thursday 4 August 2011


Through the front window of the bus, a back view of the cyclist's madly pumping calves in tight white trousers.

Wednesday 3 August 2011


Clutched awkwardly under her other arm - the one not wielding the mobile she's bellowing into - is a large, battery-operated wall clock.

Tuesday 2 August 2011


The sky is the colour of the overripe lavender flowers whose perfume rolls on the stormy air.

Sunday 31 July 2011


Sunshine on dusty, yellowed pages and a shabby, gilded cover with curling corners.

Saturday 30 July 2011


Quieter, softer: early morning - we should get to know each other.

Friday 29 July 2011


Mexican chicken salad: green, pink, brown, herby, spicy. Gently, it bites.

Thursday 28 July 2011


Today I was unanchored to the world - my eyes saw nothing. Try again tomorrow.

Wednesday 27 July 2011


The abandoned freight container has become a work of art, its deep-blue panels patterned with layers of half erased graffiti and the peeling traces of fly-posting.

Tuesday 26 July 2011


Four slender white legs come flash, flashing on the grey road. Four dainty black shoes tap, tapping. At the edge of vision: green, amber, red.

Monday 25 July 2011


Despite the soft, stippled sky, there's a small, insidious chill that makes the body stiffen. It's as if the cold is a worm within.

Sunday 24 July 2011


My painted plate: the white yoghurt runs into the burnished yellow of turmeric, the smooth surface broken by floating beads of channa dal.

Saturday 23 July 2011


The men sitting opposite read the news on their phones. It's an undignified activity: two outsize, baggy children poking and peering at their tiny screens.

(I've been away for a week without internet access, but continued to write these every day)

Friday 22 July 2011


In the sculpture park, everything is sculpted by the eye, aesthetically heightened: tree, gate, sheep.

Thursday 21 July 2011


The big, rectangular window in the white gallery wall is a picture that dissolves and re-forms with the shifting angle of view.

Wednesday 20 July 2011


In the millpond,
time’s unchanging

Tuesday 19 July 2011


The heron is invisible – so still – until it unfolds wide, blue-grey wings and floats above the water.

Monday 18 July 2011


The wavering reflections of tall windows in the dark canal conjure a fantasy of living in this elegant, haunted place.

Sunday 17 July 2011


These ragged purple flowers that sprout against the old, red bricks must have bloomed here unseen when this was all dereliction.

Saturday 16 July 2011


Rain on the train window turns the landscape into an unfurling pointilliste fresco.

Friday 15 July 2011


Muggy heat, but it might be cold tomorrow. Noisy electric fan, but behind it is silence. Mounds of work, but no urgent deadlines. Floating anxiety.

Thursday 14 July 2011


Suddenly, vibrating warm air and deep colours:
a storm approaching - or passing over.

Wednesday 13 July 2011


The office pot-plant crouches miserably on the window-sill: a thick layer of sticky black dust coats its once shiny leaves.

(after writing this I washed it and talked nicely to it)

Tuesday 12 July 2011


Deserted office after hours, but noisy still: a tumult of voices funnelled upwards in the cleft between buildings and a roar of low-flying aircraft funnelled downwards.

Monday 11 July 2011


The man is all grey - hair, clothes, aura. He moves so slowly. Doesn't want to get to where he's going. Doesn't want to get to anywhere.

Sunday 10 July 2011


On a warm day the cool pleasure
of clothes holding skin less tightly,
skin holding flesh less tightly.

Saturday 9 July 2011


Baggy, mournful eyes,
ears of long, grey, silky hair -
spaniel woman.

Friday 8 July 2011

Red-black and blue-black

Cherry and blueberry
Red-black and blue-black
Shiny and velvetty
Bite one and suck one
Neither too sweet

Thursday 7 July 2011


White smudges all along the street - the paw-prints of an alien visitation?

Wednesday 6 July 2011


The sun comes out. The thousands of old pink bricks in the wall opposite my window light up softly and emit their infinite gradations of rosy glow.

Tuesday 5 July 2011


Chill rain pounds on the roof, which hunches self-protectively, dribbling at the edges.

Monday 4 July 2011


Back-to-back in the bus aisle, two floral cotton dresses, two flushed bare arms, swaying in the clammy heat - they could be a single, two-faced creature.

Sunday 3 July 2011


The deep, gentle, oily scent of lavender reaches over the low garden wall, clings to trailing fingers, fills the pale London air with purple.

Saturday 2 July 2011


The man in the green dragon suit bends over, carefully packing his groceries into a big back-pack. His stiff, bright-green tail sticks straight up.

Friday 1 July 2011


Behind the fluffy tree, two perfectly diagonal contrails cross at right angles - a thick, bright X chalked on the sky.

Thursday 30 June 2011


A thin ankle falters, high heel caught in the uneven pavement - for a moment it looks like a pile-up, then she rights herself and the surge of walkers moves on.

Wednesday 29 June 2011


She has rosy cheeks. Can black cheeks be rosy? Perhaps it's a reflection of the pink tint in her cap of shiny, straightened hair.

Tuesday 28 June 2011


The darkness deepens
and grows tense - everything sweats
as we wait for rain.

Monday 27 June 2011


4 am: the dissonant croaking of an unfamiliar bird cuts through the thick damp air that heat will soon burn away.

Sunday 26 June 2011


In this sudden heat,
slow-moving shadow puppets
on the raw, bright ground.

Saturday 25 June 2011


Pale girls in skimpy dresses tramp the grimy streets, on their determined way to somewhere.

Friday 24 June 2011


On the side of the street in deep shadow floats a vague, slight figure in a long, dark dress. Blink and she's gone.

Thursday 23 June 2011


Outside the junk shop, five broken, battered kitchen chairs with blue seats are lined up expectantly like very scruffy baby birds.

Wednesday 22 June 2011


The heaving rain has stopped as quickly as it started. Dazzling sunshine sweeps the shiny street; steam rises from the puddles.

(Rather a lot of weather here lately - it's been quite hard to see around it)

Tuesday 21 June 2011

Today's is here.

Monday 20 June 2011


A pair of light aircraft buzz and bumble fretfully, trapped by the lid of low clouds.

Sunday 19 June 2011


The church spire bursts
a ballooning black cloud,
unleashing torrents.

Saturday 18 June 2011


After the storm,
sunshine licks
the fallen red petals.

(Fiona and Kaspa's wedding day - 
send them a 'small stone'.)

Friday 17 June 2011


The pounding, sloshing rain, the chill, the lurid orange lights, the siren howling and the howling child, face downwards in a puddle.

Thursday 16 June 2011


Water bounces on the glistening, slippery path. Everyone walks carefully. Soft footfalls, noisy rain.

Wednesday 15 June 2011


Always beautiful, now half the size she was, she still lumbers, hauling a phantom weight.

Tuesday 14 June 2011


The sunshine strokes and dazzles, prods and hovers, lingers, rippling, insistent on something as yet unknown.

Monday 13 June 2011


A runner threads her way through the surge of shuffling commuters, lifts a foot and searches, vibrating with quiet energy, for a place to put it down.

Sunday 12 June 2011


Das Lied von der Erde: I listen lying down, feel my stomach muscles unclench, my hair want to leave my head and float away.

Saturday 11 June 2011


At six the bells are pealing from St Clement's pale tower. Their mellow resonance outplays the frantic roaring of the traffic.

Friday 10 June 2011


Nine of them, gathered around an outside cafe table. One, at the head, is speaking, waves his arms - conductor of some group project for the day.

Thursday 9 June 2011


The old, wood-panelled walls seem to foster a slower, deeper, more relaxed conversation - or at least the illusion of this.

Wednesday 8 June 2011


Outside the Travelodge, a flat, unadorned building with masked windows, a woman stands smoking, her watery green jacket almost bright against the pallid wall.

Tuesday 7 June 2011


Under the long line of trees, a rippling, monochrome shadow-world distinct from the rest of the clashing, chaotic street scene.

Monday 6 June 2011


The mashed purple flesh of fallen petals is an impasto painting, increasingly abstract, dissolving already as the rain continues.

Sunday 5 June 2011


The rain is dirty, sticky, simultaneously cold and warm - surely this cannot be mainly water?

Saturday 4 June 2011


The wind that purrs and rattles in the tall beeches fringing the park tells of warmer, wilder places.

Friday 3 June 2011


Lurid teeshirt, tight trousers and very high-heeled bright pink shoes: tenderly manoeuvring a harp in a wheeled case, she defies every stereotype of the lady harpist.

Thursday 2 June 2011


The fierce contrast of sunshine and shadow makes the jagged metal outline of the railway bridge's underside so sharp it could slice you.

Wednesday 1 June 2011


The brown, barely moving river has a suddenly eerie look - the whole city starting to congeal.

Tuesday 31 May 2011


Workmen in luminous jackets and white hard hats are pulling down a fence, dwarfed by the high, blank-faced new building now set free to lean into the street.

Monday 30 May 2011


Liquid light pours through a window, flickers like flames across cool shadow and the open, white pages of a book.

Sunday 29 May 2011


In the small darkness under a parked car, the beady eyes of a squirrel: look right, look left and a mad dash for the nearest garden!

Saturday 28 May 2011


Gloomy clouds descending, pressing down on the day. Not really cold, but a chill stagnation in the air.

Friday 27 May 2011


Cold air, dark clouds and - was that distant thunder or just a crescendo in the constant background rumble of the city?

Thursday 26 May 2011


The footpath resonates with all our hurried steps: grey and greasy, hard and long as the day to come.

Wednesday 25 May 2011


The concrete building so intensely grey, the sky this morning so intensely blue that their sharp, intersecting angles evoke an abstract painting.


Tuesday 24 May 2011


Assorted teenage girls in brown school uniforms: they cluster and peck like free-range hens.

Monday 23 May 2011


A tantalising sparkle in the air. The trees shift almost imperceptibly. The pavement glints.

Sunday 22 May 2011


Boistrous rain in the night, but waking again to a sky of the softest blue like a little girl's smocked blue velvet dress.

Tuesday 3 May 2011


a short

Monday 2 May 2011


Lengthening shadows
in an empty yard -
the last evening.  

Sunday 1 May 2011


A jagged wind
punctures the sky -
holidays ending.

Saturday 30 April 2011


Caught between
March and May,
the days flicker.

Friday 29 April 2011


Grey curtains part:
the afternoon
is shiny.

Thursday 28 April 2011


On a sunny plinth,
the pigeon imagines
being a statue.

Wednesday 27 April 2011


On a blank wall,
phantom windows 
entice the eye.

Tuesday 26 April 2011


Sacks of sand
slump in the fading heat -
building-site blues.

Monday 25 April 2011


We drift like
fallen blossoms -
too long a weekend.

Sunday 24 April 2011


marries gold
and green.

Saturday 23 April 2011


drape the sky -
grey and sweaty.

Friday 22 April 2011


Here, where the sun 
meets the shade -
my habitual seat.

Thursday 21 April 2011


Now the heat thickens,
dusty and insistent -
too early for this!

Wednesday 20 April 2011


After the gallery,
is a painting.

Tuesday 19 April 2011


The evening wraps you
in a generous cocoon
of heated shadows.

Monday 18 April 2011


The slothful mind
of this unanchored day
postpones words.

Sunday 17 April 2011


Iris, your blue wings
and tiger heart
encourage me.

Saturday 16 April 2011

Coming and going

A shifting wind:
the scent of freedom
comes and goes.

Friday 15 April 2011


The rain whispers
damp little words like
trickle and drip.

Thursday 14 April 2011


Savagely scrubbed clean,
the concrete sparkles -
such renewal!

Wednesday 13 April 2011


In the grey morning
of my heart, these
purple flowers persist.

Tuesday 12 April 2011


Yellow petals fall
beside the garden wall:
drifts of gold-dust.

Monday 11 April 2011


Drink up the sun -
cold will be back
tomorrow, they say.

Sunday 10 April 2011


Music rises
in the light
like dust.

Saturday 9 April 2011


Dress rehearsal:
spring pretends
to be summer.

Friday 8 April 2011


In the sunshine, words
dance across the page:
London Review.

Thursday 7 April 2011


Seamless blue cloth
stretched across the sky -
look up!

Wednesday 6 April 2011


Today, sunshine:
the young tree
casts a small shadow.

Tuesday 5 April 2011


Back-garden bonfire
burns away
what's left of winter.

Monday 4 April 2011


Warmth invades
winter-weary bones -
I sleep late.

Sunday 3 April 2011


Grey dawn
climbs the sky,
bird over bird.

Saturday 2 April 2011


White magnolia
floats into view
on a city street.

Friday 1 April 2011


A raw wind shakes
the unfurling froth
of new leaves.

Thursday 31 March 2011


Along the low wall
purple aubretia creeps
towards April.

Wednesday 30 March 2011


The extra hour of daylight: squeezed flat by descending black clouds.

Tuesday 29 March 2011


Outside, the jangling din and vibration of a drill attacking concrete. Inside, the strung-tight tension of jangled minds.    

Monday 28 March 2011


Above the rooftops,
a steady, expert hand
has painted blue, blue, blue.

Sunday 27 March 2011

Spring sun, not yet grown

Like a heedless puppy, it plants warm, cushiony, slightly damp paws on my face and licks my nose.

Saturday 26 March 2011


A flock of gaudy tulips; far above them, a flock of squawking geese.

Friday 25 March 2011


The hazy almost-warmth of late afternoon: 
a dreamscape seen through a voile curtain.

Thursday 24 March 2011


The morning cold is shiny with a film of gold and green, melting already. It reminds me of the south of France in winter.

Wednesday 23 March 2011


A slim young woman in tight, black jeans and teeshirt lopes along. Bare arms - oh my. Smooth, brown arms. No goose pimples.

Tuesday 22 March 2011


Loud birdsong soars and grates; the air has an edge of sunshine and an edge of cold.

Monday 21 March 2011


Seared pink salmon with melting yellow plantains, a scattering of peppery rocket leaves and a small glass of bright, slightly flowery Sauvignon.

Sunday 20 March 2011


The visitors arrange themselves before each painting, posing, then shifting: harmonious and inharmonious tableaux.

Saturday 19 March 2011

Tangled shadows

The park is all dazzling sunshine: bare trees cast long, tangled shadows that worm their way through crowds of walkers, crowds of daffodils.

Friday 18 March 2011

The Hare with Amber Eyes

A book that shines: the smooth, cool cover; the thick pile of pages promising story and intelligence.

Thursday 17 March 2011


The grass is a pale-green sea of dewy sunshine. Near the horizon, a white streak of dog.

Wednesday 16 March 2011

More like Autumn

A mist that chills and a crying of crows: this is more like Autumn.

Tuesday 15 March 2011


Morning damp: the budding hedge steams and drips.  A great darkness over the horizon. Here and now, this small cleansing and resurgence.

Monday 14 March 2011

A day missed

For the first time this year, no small stone of observation. The fear and horror of events in Japan overcame the capacity to be present.

Sunday 13 March 2011

Gooseberry yoghurt

Clean and green; sharp and satiny; sour and creamy: a rare taste whose complexity rivals rhubarb.

Saturday 12 March 2011


The earth is softening into grass and flowers, while elsewhere it convulses.

Friday 11 March 2011


A contrail parallels the church spire, then shoots up, up, up towards the sun - a clear, strong line in this mottled morning.

Thursday 10 March 2011


Outside the shop with the apple-green sign stands a woman in an apple-green coat, and next to her a girl with an apple-green backpack.

Wednesday 9 March 2011

Daffodils, still

Even wider open, they breath and stretch out their petals to the four directions, like a yoga class in two-tone yellow leotards.

Tuesday 8 March 2011

Dark figures

The naked sun dazzles. Dark figures stalk the sidewalks criss-crossed by their elongated shadows.

Monday 7 March 2011


Daffodils pose on the windowsill, wide open, chests out, yolk-yellow petals pointing and peering this way and that.

Sunday 6 March 2011


As the light dies
and the cold pinches,
a long trill from the bare tree.

Saturday 5 March 2011

Trying to be March

Tiny pockets of blue squeezed between coarse, giant puffs of grey: an undecided sky, sporadically trying to be March.

Friday 4 March 2011


The bus is on diversion. Suddenly, a strange city, not the daily route imprinted on my expectations, which abruptly flex and flux and readjust.

Thursday 3 March 2011


The world became quiet and blurry - as though an invisible, compassionate hand had lowered the volume, dimmed the contrast, allowed a weary brain some respite.  

Wednesday 2 March 2011

Cold night

The return of cold: skin shrivels; breath rises like puffs of smoke in the black chill.

Tuesday 1 March 2011

Yellow legs

A tiny girl overtakes me on her scooter, yellow-stockinged leg pumping vigorously.

Monday 28 February 2011


She shifts from foot to foot, her hair, hands, smile all aflutter. But her eyes are deep and dark and steady.

Sunday 27 February 2011

Only the rain

The only sound, only sensation, is rain beating on rooftops, windows, umbrellas and on the first daffodils, palely bobbing, their heads more bowed than usual.

Saturday 26 February 2011

A brilliant dusk

At dusk, the sky briefly flashes pink, orange, yellow against the weeks-old, glowering grey.

Friday 25 February 2011


The small girl in the lilac-coloured puffy jacket tips back her head and spreads her arms: a Spring flower opening.

Thursday 24 February 2011

Slow motion

They all walk so slowly, today on the bridge. Or am I walking faster and faster?

Wednesday 23 February 2011

Author event

The famous writer has all the austere charm, the steady, dusty vivacity, of his books.

Tuesday 22 February 2011

Reading on the bus

Much like the bus, the poem jerks and sways around its own axis as it moves forward on the page.

Monday 21 February 2011


A ribbon of dirty plastic flutters in a bare tree: I am lost and tainted.

Sunday 20 February 2011


Church bells peal, each note deepened and hollowed by this Sunday morning's thick, damp air.

Saturday 19 February 2011

Cambridge to Ely

Rain on the Fenlands. A huge, muddy sky leaks endlessly onto the black fields and tiny trees.

Friday 18 February 2011


A crane so high I squint to see the top, and stumble backwards.

Thursday 17 February 2011


The heights of the new tower block are lost in the mist. As we come closer, there it is again, hard and overbearing.

Wednesday 16 February 2011

My shadow

Morning, 7.30. My shadow, faintly, on the footpath. When did she last leave the house with me so early?

Tuesday 15 February 2011

A single wing

She steps fast. The white canvas bag on her shoulder billows, away from her body and back - a single wing.

Monday 14 February 2011

Pale sunrise

Intensifying white light, then suddenly, at its centre, a frosted-glass Christmas tree bauble.

Sunday 13 February 2011


Necessary Sunday nothingness. As if the week, set stiff with activity, requires the admixture of empty to regain a malleable consistency.

Saturday 12 February 2011

Black dog

A black dog ambles past - heavy, porcine, rather sinister. Poor old guy. He didn't ask to be a metaphor.

Friday 11 February 2011


The rain taps my face. The cold taps my fingers, my elbows, and crawls up the back of my legs.

Thursday 10 February 2011


In the rainy pavement, the reflections of two orange umbrellas like big, wet, bobbing flowers - the people are the stems.

Wednesday 9 February 2011


Along the road, a zigzag pattern of half a dozen fallen coathangers. Someone grabbed an armful of clothes from the wardrobe and ran?

Tuesday 8 February 2011


Throughout the showing of the film about the Zapatistas, the baby coos and sucks and, over his mother's shoulder, surveys the room with quiet composure.

Monday 7 February 2011

New moon

A tiny, perfect crescent moon, straight from the pages of a children's picture book, rocks gently above the multitude of glaring sodium street-lamps.

Sunday 6 February 2011

Mean and dirty

A mean wind slaps the house and whips a mass of dirty clouds across the sky.

Saturday 5 February 2011

Mayfair carpet shops

Behind the plate-glass windows of the Eastern carpet shops, the soft, dusty weight of woven gardens in the subtlest of colours.

Friday 4 February 2011

No harm in trying?

Outside at lunchtime, I try hard to notice something. A great big glutinous globule of effortfulness floats before my eyes.

Thursday 3 February 2011


Dazzling light from high above the city-centre skyline slants off the sharp, stretched-out shadows on the pavement. It's an unfamiliar contrast after all these weeks of grey opacity.

Wednesday 2 February 2011

Sycamore island

Inside the front door, a huge sycamore leaf has come to rest: pale-brown and brittle in my hands like an intricate cut-out from an aged parchment map.

(I wonder if I should ban metaphors and similes here, like in strict-form haiku?)

Tuesday 1 February 2011


A small space, like an empty matchbox, to be filled each day with words: light them carefully, one by one.