11 am, at Foster Hill Rd. My name is no longer my own. My name is directing people to the farthest room. My name is a pig in Latin. My name is forgettable … I seem to recall. My name is not a number. My name is 23 million results on Google. My name is…
Morning Haiku – 16
Rejected again. Summer is no different from a raven picking.
Morning Haiku – 15
John is so simple. He is a Summer jester and dances feebly.
Jul26
Subtle Psychology One hundred pairs of eyes observe, critically. One hundred staring people, transfixed. Some big, some small, but all watching analytically. Some young, some old, but all inter-racially mixed. They watch my momentary motions, shallow shuffles. They note down my evident thoughts, quivering emotions. As my body language is translated, in murmuring kerfuffles, They…
Morning Haiku – 14
Comet tail smudged white across July twilight morn a crow cries for sparks.
Jul25
Modern Life is Rubbish III This is the life he was expected to lead: Dumb, compliant, in mindless slavery. Bow to your master! He was taught by the sting of a whip across his back, gouging in the lessons. Lined in identical queues, brothers, same hair, same shoes, same scars, same demands. In those life…
Morning Haiku – 13
My dolly had four eyes. One for every season. Only Summer saw.
Jul24
The Shadow Garden. As the Sun paints new shadows of the Mountain Ash across my neighbour’s car, the vague old silhouettes of family that age painted upon me dissolve, as I weather the middle years like a prisoner planning his escape to the country air where clear, crisp outlines of Roses will freshen up his…
Morning Haiku – 12
Panic eats a Cat. Summer holidays wailing, trapped in a hot car.