The State of It
The train
cuts across
the marsh.
The fence
cuts across
the forest.
Ghazal (Fire)
When the beloved is present, presence lights a burning fire.
When the beloved is absent, memory sparks a yearning fire.
Advice to a Monolith
To mirror the desert, you must wear away.
I learned this on a long walk, long ago.
My skin went dark past bronze. My hair grew dust. Sun washed my clothes into rock-colored gauze.
Three Haiku
The reading and writing of Japanese style short-form poetry is my grounding mechanism, be that ground high or low, urban or rural, external or internal. The poems included here were written while living in Bristol and in the past six months since moving to Wells, in the heart of the Somerset countryside, though in many instances their gestation can be traced to my South London childhood. I only wish I’d had access to haiku and its associated forms back then.
The Things We Forget
My dentist warns that my gums are letting go; they’re
threatening to set my teeth adrift on a current of words.