The house that poets built
Come with me to Poets’ Corner
Let’s visit the house at the end of the block.
Through the dooryard where the lilacs last bloom’d,
Doon the road
A small child is poking her foot into a patch of sticky tar on a narrow country road. The gooey bubbles are irresistible.
Cumulonimbus
Cloud poem
Old country ways
A chatter, then a chink, made me turn round. Flash of feathers, black and white, and it had gone, out of the kitchen window.
Circling home
Three generations are looking out across the fields and woods. My father pulls on his cup of tea. His eyes are on the horizon, where the saddle between two distinctive hills frames the view.
Silent sparks
Tired travellers under a sullen sky, we pass the sheds behind the taverna. Then an earthly shooting star appears. A firefly, looking for love.
Fieldwatch
More white flowers than a high-class wedding
Across the earth, across the sea
A stocky brown cow approaches the water. She sniffs it and hesitates, lifting her head up. Behind her the herd baulks and shuffles.
‘A symphony of ancient trees’
I’m at a music festival. I’m lying on the ground and letting the sound wash over me.
Two trees
Here’s a poem for you. Only I haven’t written it yet.