Easing brittle rim of plate
into warm wetness of sink,
a flicker of aroma rises
and, ah, there!
Recollection, arching like a cat,
swoons into a flash of what we shared last night;
and I stop for a moment, smile.
This, too, is making love.
Poem For a Sleeping Sooz
Funny, since I am a man for whom
Words are the loom
On which we weave our loves;
The warp of agonies concealed,
The weft of bliss confessed
All formed, or so I thought, a part
Of the proper garments of the heart.
Lacking such, love went about undressed.
Yet how much, so much more expressed
By this sleep-heavy arm
Thrown across my chest!
Published “The Spectator” Saturday 23rd June, 2001
Despair comes, a red-eyed crow,
thick beak tearing at my living brain.
“Cheer up!” you say, but what do you know?
I shake my failing fist,
it rises, circles three times
and lands again.
Published in “Dreamcatcher” issue 8, 2001
Calder Valley, June, 2002
Shattered tooth majesty of a derelict mill.
Flash of sunlight through broken cloud.
A bus disgorges Asian girls,
slender in shalwaar-kameez.
Streamers trailing, a flight of dragonflies
comes laughing up the street.
Knuckled up fist of hill crouches.
Summer here is brief.