The London Plane
SYNOPSIS
The poems are all written in iambic pentameter. They include general observations on life, the environment, and surprisingly for me, nature.
BACKGROUND
I started writing in iambic pentameter. I don’t know why. Life is hard enough already. I don’t always write poetry with a view of it being read out loud. These poems, however, are meant to be read out loud. This structure lends itself to that medium.
There was surprisingly little wastage during the writing process. I normally discard, say, three or more poems for each one kept. In this case, a much higher proportion made it into the final book.
The event described in The Fox is a precise account of what happened. An extraordinary and unexpected event. I tried to capture the episode faithfully.
SAMPLE VIDEOS
SAMPLE POEMS
Empty Church
The darkness paired with total lack of sound,
it took a while for senses to reset.
A peaceful calm immediately found,
our careless discourse paused out of respect.
Stillness, enough, to hear a sinner’s prayer
or sanctify the candles lined in racks.
A cast of angels, incense in the air,
the walls a host of gilded artifacts.
The central nave a trail of worn flagstones,
all witness to the souls who worshiped here.
Departed now, two women kneel alone,
at labour in the gloom to catch God’s ear.
Drab Thursday
An overcast morning. Nothing to say.
The cold seeps through an open windowpane.
It promises a bleak and windy day.
Although no clouds, the sky is grey with rain.
A couple with a pram absurdly dressed.
As parents do, have packed to fight a war.
A thickened plastic sheet unfurled which rests
across the child. So large, it skims the floor.
Another woman walks along the road
and wearily adjusts her clothes and hair.
Then scans the heavens trying to decode
the need and aptness of the coat she wears.
And later, as the world awakes from sleep
and people start to scatter from their homes
a muddy palette washes through the street.
No dabs of colour only muted tones.
The Fox
I heard the screaming long before I saw.
At first, a mild annoyance then it grew.
The fox, a magpie clamped within its jaws,
emerged from nowhere. Trotted into view.
It crossed the tarmac path onto the grass.
It serves as lawn. A meagre stump of land.
Head raised, and with its feathered prey held fast,
then slowed for no good reason. Chose to stand.
Four birds had trailed the fox. The strangest sight.
Two magpies barked their harsh, staccato calls.
One nameless bird screeched overhead in flight.
A crow perched in a tree, loudest of all.
The magpies on the ground seemed unafraid.
Despite their size, intent to block its way.
That boldness took them closer every raid.
So close, you knew they could not get away.
Throughout the spat, the fox gave no response.
Made no attempt to venture from that spot.
The noise incessant. Ever more intense.
You thought it must react but it did not.
When suddenly, the argument was done.
It bowed its head and let the body drop.
Now unconstrained, continued on its run.
The moment that it did the protest stopped.
The carcass never stirred. A lifeless thing.
A few clipped calls before the crow moved on.
The others held their place as if waiting
though seconds later all the birds had gone.
Why would the fox return what it had claimed?
Reviewed the scene. Could find no reason why.
At one point, I would swear it looked ashamed
but that was to my biased, human eye.
Untidy Garage Space Opposite
The weeds have formed a barrier to leaves
who draw a line of brown along its edge
as yellow headed flowers spit and squeeze
between the paver’s cracks up to the hedge
which, overgrown, has blocked a window’s light.
And yet, they have not thought to trim its spread.
There is no trace of conscious hand in sight,
the plot a shrine to nature’s whims instead.
How odd to see this littered, unkempt space
among its peers so ordered and pristine.
While neighbours passing by reduce their pace.
Pretend to look ahead but scan the scene.