#poem #poetry #amwriting when we were giants

and we could if we wanted
and in one stride
step out to the mountains on the other side
but instead we sit on the gate
calling out to the birds
who follow the tide

#poem #poetry #amriting #sketchbook parents

the hand still offers the flat-palm grass
to the nervous pony behind the wire

the eyes still shine with delight
at tinned pears and tinned milk on sunday

the voice can clearly be heard - and the phrasing -
when I find myself saying what I swore I never would


my son asks if he allowed to say 'pissing it down'
I tell him I'll allow persisting

we are both soaked

I am frozen from mid thigh to knee cap
by the run off from my coat

but we soon dry

my son asks if he is allowed to say 'fuck'
only when standing on lego I say



#poem #poetry #amwriting on catching sight of autumn

On Catching Sight of Autumn

at half past four
   the farthest moor
ran blood red
   with sinking sun

early gathered guttered leaves
   catching hint of winters breath
   decorously quiver
in the lingered still of dusk

while in one hundred kitchens
   baked beans simmer
beneath the steam-whistle of transition
   from the polarities of the classroom
   to the less defined contests of the home

this samian splendid seeping sun
   curls in upon us
like the crabs we chased laughing
in the shallow pools of summer


#poem #poetry #amwriting sonnet to 1680

Sonnet to 1680

before the vagina was the mop
beneath the merkin of the cropped
the sheath or scabbard took lusty knife
or plump the grain of the trusty wife
thus passed the girdle to the hips
never more to shape the lips
   of the fabled vase

the cover torn to make a rip
was rooted by the wag - to break or bite
the hollow root of wood so tight