I turned off …

 

I turned off the world,

stayed in pyjamas, 

watched telly, read 

a forgettable novel …

so far no repercussions.

After only a few weeks ...

 

After only a few weeks

of plant-based eating,

I’m losing my ‘sweet tooth’

in favour of new pleasures.

Why didn’t I do this years ago?

All alone in my living-room ...

All alone 

in my living-room

whooping loudly,

jumping out of my chair –

as the Matildas win again.

Summer interrupted ...

 

summer interrupted

rain all night

today all drizzle –

even my garden statue

looks miserable

 

 

After good food ...

After good food,

astonishing art

and dear company –

too calm and replete 

for making poems!

My little deaf cat ...

My little deaf cat

sleeps through thunder 

and the vacuum cleaner,

but her ears twitch to alert

whenever I tiptoe close.

Late Christmas present ...

 

Late Christmas present

a book of haiku —

really good haiku.

I read slowly, savouring

just a few each day.

reading haiku —

my Sunday treat breakfast

forgotten

The micropoems ...

The micropoems 

are getting longer.

That’s  the trouble 

with writing:

it begets writing.

You have memories with ...

'You have memories with'

says facebook, naming

the friend I called brother,

who died in 2019. Yes I do,

and don’t need reminders.

Summer flowers ...

 

summer flowers

finally arrive 

as summer ends –

sliding into autumn

with a burst of warmth

Sharing with Poets and Storytellers United at Friday Writings #67, where the prompt is "love letters to wild flowers". I had in mind garden flowers in this piece, but still ...

Some online friendships ...

 

Some online friendships end suddenly

without explanation. On social media

families post the sa news of their deaths

and tell us how much we were all appreciated.

Lonely poet bloggers, though, just disappear.

She knows ...

She knows my love

in my care for her needs

and feels it in my touch –

this is her simple happiness

my small cat.

Morning with a friend ...

 

Morning with a friend

talking poetry. Sharing

scrambled eggs for lunch.

Later, reading wise words 

on happiness — as if I needed them.

There are things ...

 

There are things you lose

things you mislay —

and some which disappear

mysteriously ‘into thin air’

against all reason. The fairies?

Beating the rainstorm ...

 

Beating the rainstorm —

a few big splashy drops

when I arrive, thinking

I didn’t quite time it right.

Then ferocity, once I’m safe in. 

Evening cools down ...

Evening cools down. 

Birds chirp in gardens 

and walk nature strips.

Where did they go

in the long hours of heat?

How can you bear ...

 

‘How can you bear to do 

all that writing?’ she said. 

Ah! she’s an academic

who must walk between strict fences.

I make poems, which is play.

She sends me photos ...

 

She sends me photos from the island,

lovely sharp images clear in the cold:

hilly, red-roofed towns under mountains.

And I’m almost homesick — but not

for that cold air; though, looking, I taste it. 

Again he invites me ...

Again he invites me

to something I’d love to attend

but I’m too far away —

ignoring how often I’ve told him this.

Too frustrating! I unfriend.

My friend and I ...

 

my friend and I agree

the Phantom would surely

be a great reader (even

in the jungle) – knowing:

fictional / real, he lives