Saturday, September 23, 2017

four tells


* * *

he says the gallery 

is full of women 

talking about soup 


* * *

she tells me 

her piano tuner hopes 

to get a new knee 


* * *

she says the 

last time I drove 

I hit a badger


* * * 


betting slip in hand 

he tells me 

he's started chemo 


*oct '15 
  

Friday, September 22, 2017

window cleaner's


the

window

cleaner's

ladder


leaves

two

small

holes


in

the

planet


*09 01 15 
(revised format) 
published online in Bones No 6, March 2015
and in print in Dwarf Stars Anthology 2016 from the Science Fiction Poetry Association 

unwrapping


unwrapping a sherbet lemon     as the hearse goes past

 
*26.08.16  

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

a dragonfly


a

dragon

fly

!

let's

all

wave

to

the

tiny

pilot

 
*5 09 16 
 

small hours awake


small hours

the gardener awake

and listening

to the rain
 
 

undulating


undulating cloud

an acorn in

the squirrel's pause

 

patches pale


patches pale where the fairground rides had been      autumn drizzle

   

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Friday, September 08, 2017

through an open


through an open window      the blustery music of the funfair

Monday, September 04, 2017

weighs down


weighs

down

a

pear

branch

this

side

of

the

wall


gibbous

moon

 

Sunday, September 03, 2017

past the last


past

the

last

beach

hut

and

into

the

dunes

we'll

meet

you

there


*23.08.17 
 

dune grasses


dune grasses      somehow we'll hold it all together

that sound


that

sound


not

the

first

few

drops

of

rain

but

acorns


*29.08.17 
 

beneath


beneath unripe conkers

two guys

practising bagpipes


*13.08.17 
  

at the centre


at the centre

of the park

far from any paths

a shopping cart

full of sunlight



*13.08.17 

a row of cacti


a row of cacti

frosted glass / and beyond it

the rain



*08.08.17 

scudding clouds


scudding clouds

33 white sails

on the lake


*06.08.17 

where they go


where

they

go

on

ahead

the

chime

of

an

untied

halyard


*06.08.17 

where i am


where

i

am

just

butterfly

scraps

of

sunlight


*04.08.17 

tiny lawn moths


tiny

lawn

moths

one

more

pale

word

struggles

free



*04.08.17 
 

summer evening


summer

evening


the

gardener's

knees


thrumming


with

nettle

stings


*31.07.17 

blue hydrangeas


blue

hydrangeas

&

other

things

we

do

differently

back

home


*15.07.17 

cloud shadows


cloud

shadows


his

face


a

rocky

outcrop


*17.07.17 
 

picked flowers


picked

flowers


the

car

full

of

thunder

flies


*15.07.17 
 

one week later


one

week

later

that

piece

of

sea

glass

in

a

pocket



*12.07.17 

self portrait



blue tilt



 

a red cloud


a red

cloud

dusk

swallows

a ghost

ship


*02.07.17 

view from


view

from

the

pier


down

between

the

boards


*01.07.17 

southwold

view from the pier

ideologues


can't bear it

naked emperors

everywhere
 

*06.07.17 
 

Orwell

George Orwell On The Pier

plucks my hat


plucks

my

hat

from

my

head

wild

rose


*14.06.17 

radio ku


" block its nostrils

and a shearwater

gets lost "



" three languages

in a sentence

to express herself "



Two found-haiku that leapt out of the car radio at me.
Guests talking on BBC Radio 4 programmes.

*01.07.17
 

Saturday, September 02, 2017

bleak day


bleak

day


throws

a

stick

for

the

black

dog


*28.06.17 
 

the rain


&

the

rain

has

dropped

black

slugs

every

where



*28.06.17 
 

turns the pillow


turns

the

pillow

to

the

cold

side

returns

to

the

dream


*30.05.17 
 

poppy heads


poppy

heads


the

fun

fair

all

packed

up

&

ready

to

move

on



*18.06.17 
  

catches on


catches

on

a

rose

thorn

her

cotton

scarf



*17.06.17 
   

left by


left 

by 

the 

wayside 

sometimes 



self 
   


*06.04.17 
   

preliminaries


So. An act of self-sabotage or one of self-preservation? Too early to tell.

For anyone stumbling into this page by chance, for eight years I was forgottenworks, which was my twitter-based nom de 'ku, and I had a haiku blog, both of which grew to very respectable readership levels.

Er ... Then I ditched them.

I am now back on twitter but under a different name and not among the poets; and I have this page. I am, at the moment, about as anonymous, invisible, and un-read as it's possible to be.

For most of this year, I have not been in the right frame of mind for writing. Well, we had a lot going on, with J's breast cancer diagnosis & treatment, which all coincided with the build-up to L's school GCSE exams (in which he did tremendously well, by the way, thank you for asking). But in just the last week or two there have been signs of the old enthusiasm returning.

On the off-chance that this blog does develop into something over time, there are a couple of things I'd like to get clear right from the start:

I am not a poet. I don't write poetry. These are not poems, even if they sometimes look that way. Think fragmentary prose instead.

Also, despite the fact that a seven word haiku of mine went off on its own to win a prestigious award, I do not think of myself as a writer at all. I don't write for money or to establish any literary reputation. I don't write in a myriad of different forms and styles. Often, I just don't write.

If I write, it is simply as a by-product of paying attention to whatever small moment may catch my mind's eye during any ordinary day. The word mindfullness makes me slightly queasy, but that's essentially what my blog title means. It's how my interest in haiku started, and I suspect that's probably the extent of what I can do. But we'll see.

Let's go beachcombing!

 

Friday, September 01, 2017

now


All that can be done, has been done. J underwent surgery, one round of chemotherapy (which resulted in a week's stay in hospital, so ill that the chemo, with five more scheduled cycles to go, had to be abandoned) and radiotherapy. So, that's that. As far as we know, she's ok. Unless there's anything else unpleasant lurking in the undergrowth, we can resume grazing by the waterhole.


small hours

reaching for each

other's hand