Old Order

Old order is subject to decay, they say, and when fate summons, old statues fall freely. Heart-held loves, friends, hatreds, foes: all. Yes, all give way to mighty time’s sway. Bright, fearless, grand, green youthful years with each passing year grow thick wisdom layers, while marching on its way, time fills with fears the cup

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Old Acquaintance

Old Acquaintance I hope to see you in the new year if my town isn’t on lockdown and your city lifts its restrictions you know it’s been a mighty long time You can’t really share a pint over zoom, now can you? And you certainly can’t pass it on the left-hand side no matter how

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Winter Writer

Fallen snow inspires a blank page Infectious germs excuse social solitude Shortened days awaken the dormant night owl Enduring darkness allures the secret soul-searcher Scant warmth sets the spirited pen in motion

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Seed Futures

Seed Futures catalogues arrive fill my mailbox in December barely weeks since the garden ceased to produce I have just tucked it up for the winter, in drab browns and greys lidded compost bin, raked brittle leaves scoured pots and trays but inside there is colour if only on the page – bright gold blossoms

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Your June

Your June Picture the year as a clock and it’s straight up 6. The world spreads before you like ketchup. Don’t shade your eyes, you miss a minute. You are thirsty—bee pollen is everywhere, so many flowers, so many flowering chances. No vagueness, just brilliance, each color, every contour— Awake! Anew! Alive!

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