Thursday, 31 January 2013

thirtyone

the last day of January thirtyone stones paving the path.......


 aby bird spirals
like a falling leaf
learning to fly

Wednesday, 30 January 2013

thirty

and waka three   koko/maturity


old familiar chipped green tiles
swept away by a rising tide
of smooth new grey



Tuesday, 29 January 2013

twentynine


alone on the ochre winter plains
a stark and windbent quercia
stands guardian to a circling of ragged sheep

Monday, 28 January 2013

twentyeight

 and waka day one /fukinsei/ assymetry


the perfume exhaled
by an early morning bath towel
awakens memories of a long forgotten hotel

memories of a long forgotten hotel
the perfume exhaled
by an early morning bath towel





Sunday, 27 January 2013

twentyseven

Reflected in the shop window
He yanks the lead and shouts.
I close my eyes and check myself.

Saturday, 26 January 2013

Friday, 25 January 2013

twentyfive

I know, by the way she runs her tongue over her teeth, that I have lipstick on mine.




Thursday, 24 January 2013

Wednesday, 23 January 2013

twentythree


Living smells streaming like banners
In the pungent seasalt wind,
And the cat is driven to a shapeshifting frenzy.

Her small black shadow spins,
A flying fox
A giddy goat
A gecko clinging to the floor,
A dying swan
A bullet from a gun,
All seven samurai swords.

Edit 25 Jan
Talking to fellow smallstoners confirmed my thoughts, the first three lines would have been adequate by themselves..


Living smells streaming like banners
In the pungent seasalt wind,
And the cat is driven to a shapeshifting frenzy.

And the second part needs to be something by itself, the dynamics are there, it's just a matter of working out how to link those to the movements of a cat..for now it could be

The cat spins shadows on the wall

A flying fox
A giddy goat
A gecko clinging to the floor,
A dying swan
A bullet from a gun,
All seven samurai swords.







Monday, 21 January 2013


 And today the sun with biblical rays can only reach the elusive, unattainable, illusory  horizon, transmuting it to rolling, liquid silver.


Sunday, 20 January 2013

day twenty twenty vision


And suddenly the sun breaks through, 
Transforming the miserable, grey soaked fabric of this day
Into a twinkling curtain of radiant, glistening beads.


Friday, 18 January 2013

peelings


And peeling the potatoes
I found myself thinking of  layers mash
And remembering all  those chickens
And the  bantams
And the game bird
Blue and green eggs
And someone telling me not go in the coop
Wearing red toe paint.
The fox that killed them all
The giant goat mad with grief
The black kitten dragging in a rabbit
Twice his size.
The welsh settle,
Riddling the aga.
The enormous fireplace that we could all stand in and look up at the moon.
Mike's joke about the shovel.
Your joke about my mince pies.
The pink front bedroom
The sloping bathroom floor
The pub sign I painted
Your yellow van
Your blue green eyes
Your dark celt heart.
A tarnished wedding band
That I no longer wear
And a welsh last name
That I no longer bear.

day eighteen birdspotting




 irst a fluster and a flurry  
a soft grey smudge
a fat feathered belly
a pearl of a downy head
and  then suddenly
                a veritable comet of a tail 
                blazing a trail of gorgeous orange glory across the tangling green foliage.

Thursday, 17 January 2013

sweet seventeen



rain beats a steady tattoo 
on my sou' wester coloured umbrella
marking time for the watery symphony
playing in the gutters and the drains.

Wednesday, 16 January 2013

day sixteen


The  black bird with a yellow beak  flirting and skirting the black cat with yellow eyes, a vast schism behind the same colours



Tuesday, 15 January 2013

Monday, 14 January 2013

Day fourteen, something completely different.




n  the orange pool of a street light,enveloped in  the smell of french fries and pizza by the slice, I turned  from the evening hustle of people, cars,scooters and bikes, dogwalkers, floppy teenagers and pushchair mums and  looked at the sea out there in the dusk. Dark, surly, lowering and boiling, immense, oily and roaring, blanketed by an endless squalling  purple bruise of a sky, a terrible, untameable, alien force just feet away from our funny,busy, little lives.

Sunday, 13 January 2013

thirteenth





During the storm
A hooded crow pauses for respite on a nearby roof
Giving rise to a pearly fluttering of doves.

Friday, 11 January 2013

day eleven


sing that sample sachet of
expensive Viola shower creme

I'm suddenly rapt with memory.

An intense taste of childhood.
Those slim cellophane wrapped tubes,
The beautiful  colour
That slightly soapy taste
The way the centre dissolved first
The exotic foreigness of Parma
The romantic mystique of violets.

Thursday, 10 January 2013

day ten

at dusk a sudden  raw and  bone bleaching wind 
ushers in an ethereal symphony 
of high running seas and wheeling gulls

Wednesday, 9 January 2013

the ninth ray day


the reverse-thrust sound of the moka 
startles  the slatey pink and birdwhistling dawn


Tuesday, 8 January 2013

the eighth day


waking suddenly in flu bound confusion
muffled mind struggling 
to where a slivering light gleams
the sensation of fighting against dark green water
held in the sharkish jaws
of relentless fragmentary dreams


Monday, 7 January 2013

Sunday, 6 January 2013

Day Six Sunday


cool dawn hot coffee
white breath black cat
bells ringing birds singing
a horn, a dog, a shout
someone calling
someone whistling
green finch and silver doves
door slamming, engine revving
the sky,
the sea, 
the blue.

Saturday, 5 January 2013




Rabbit at the cat door
Outside looking in.
Waiting patiently
For The Prestige to be revealed. 

Friday, 4 January 2013

day four fast food stone

Oh the guilty pleasure
In the golden buttery peppery dripping saucy heaven 
That is a fried egg sandwich.

Thursday, 3 January 2013

Day Three Ay Me


I should be studying the dharma,
I should be writing a small stone,
But feeling sniffly and full of a cold
Feeble excuses raise their ugly heads.
I look down at the crumpled tissue in my hand,
A piece of humble kitchen paper...
And then I see it.
A simple truth lives within its border design
A lotus and a butterfly.
The lotus chases the butterfly,
The butterfly chases the lotus,
And in the empty paperwhite pauses
there is an open,waiting spaciousness.

Wednesday, 2 January 2013

Tuesday, 1 January 2013

The First Small Stone 2013

The cousins' dog
comes wheeling and bounding among us,
his bark a great bursting hymn of joy,
his yard broom coat whiskery and coarse,
the love on his tongue
rough, indiscriminate, unquestioning.
He lifts and  lightens the day.