621 - Unnatural light

The late spring evening light a ghostly glow
The trees in full leaf a green Berlin Wall
Through the French door light turns into shadow
Created by the table, chairs and all
Such seasonal impressions can soon fall
Like autumn leaves, like reasons and like love
Someone walks in, depresses switch on wall
And harsh electric light glares from above
Scaring nature away with brutal shove
Boxing glove charm despatching those below
From momentary communion with it all
The real world, inhuman as it wove
Its invisible silk web we can’t know
Until deafened to evening TV’s call
Sat 17 May 2008

569 - Flat broke (don't fix it)

Wednesday's bin-emptying day at the flats
When Phil the caretaker wheels all the bins
To the main gate. Binmen pull up in that
Smelly red lorry of theirs (cos within's
All sorts of disgusting stuff, like old tins
All caked in slime). I feel sorry for Phil
Having to do that to earn dough. These things
Have to be done, though, cos dirt and germs kill.
They're also cutting branches off trees till
They no longer overhang footpaths. What's
The worry? Heads at risk from bird droppings?
No, just routine site maintenance, says Phil.
A day in the death of the Salford flats
Off Regent Road, near Sainsbury's and Maplins.
Wed 26 Mar 2008

565 - Cuckoo to you too

That cuckoo keeps on calling steadily
Presumably it has a secure place
It can’t have nested in the chopped-down tree
Or if it did it’s moved to a new base
The cuckoo heralds spring’s returning face
This year that face is cold with winds that whip
Yesterday, motorway driving at pace,
My car was buffeted. I felt it slip
Sideways. I rushed home and cancelled a trip
To see a film, to read some poetry
But the reading was cancelled too. A waste
Of time, like so much is. Now I must flip
Open my car and pour in oil, or the
Engine will die. It’s desperate for a taste.
Sat 22 Mar 2008

564 - Cut down in your prime

I see just blue sky where the tree once stood.
Now empty space rules, punctuated by
A tiny cloud which has now exited
Stage left. All is bare. Only the wind’s sigh;
No more rustling pine branches reach for my
Second floor window. Oh, my dear green friend,
Where are you now? Do dead trees climb the sky,
Higher even than when alive? An end,
Or a beginning? Why then did you bend
Majestically with the wind? Where’s the good
In your existence, now you’re gone? I try
To picture a tree heaven. It offends
Intelligence. We tell ourselves we should
Win immortality. But trees don’t lie.
Fri 21 Mar 2008

563 - Treeless in Salford

They’ve chopped down two of the trees just outside
My flat, one at the front, one at the back.
Now it feels like they can all see inside
My flat, the folk at front, the folk at back.
I’d better dress well, not wear some old sack
When wandering aimlessly round the flat,
And I must make sure that I never lack
Clean underwear when I’m around the flat.
They hear everything, now they see all that
Goes on when my curtains are open wide.
They see it from the front and from the back,
Welcome, neighbours one and all, to my flat.
They’ve chopped down two of the trees just outside
My flat, one at the front, one at the back.
Thur 20 Mar 2008

457 - Leaving leaves

I’m looking out of my window. Between
The two tall evergreens, I can see, through
Deciduous branches where leaves have been
And gone, a distant tree gracing the view,
Majestically filling space. Thank you,
My noble chap, my cheerful friendly fellow
Behind the green and brown foreground. Below
The grey Salford sky, your distinctive yellow
Has coloured in my morning. I could wallow
In your mystical distance, golden sheen
Suddenly lit by sunburst for a few
Seconds (almost missed while typing). The shallow
Concerns of life mean I must leave, though keen
To watch your short-lived show. I hear my cue.
Wed 5 Dec 2007

406 - Les feuilles mortes

The orange leaves peer in through the window
Of my third-floor flat, their wind-powered wave
A gentle farewell. "Enjoy us! You know
We'll soon be sodden rubbish with no grave!"
Methodically, nature knows how to save
The value from this waste that is not waste
The fuel in coal, or symbol of the brave
And stubborn English, those white cliffs all laced
With aeons of sea-dwellers, ground to paste
Then hardened into sacred land, the flow
Of scouring salt sea halting. As we crave
More heat and power, extracting wealth in haste
We overspend, but we'll reap what we sow
So repay earth's account with what it gave
Mon 15 Oct 07

291 - I'm turning into a vegetable

I’m turning into a vegetable,
And this ain’t a good metamorphosis;
I’ve lost all thought, sat here at the table,
Brain and computer equally useless.
My toes are roots, my hair’s a leaf-green mess,
My limbs are gnarled, sprouting limbs of their own,
On which some feathered friends have found, I guess,
A new home, safe from rain’s lash and wind’s moan.
Now that it seems I’m permanently sown
Into the floor, it won’t be possible
To do much more, apart from reminisce
About her kiss; she won’t like how I’ve grown.
This stress-free existence may enable
Me to think more, and solve life’s mysteries.
Fri 22 June 2007

261 - Snow falls on fir trees, slowly. The eyes see

Snow falls on fir trees, slowly. The eyes see
Them filling. Nothing solitary, unique.
Each tree seems the same, each snowflake, icy
White blanket on the ground, surrounding peak,
Slightly distinguishable, ground down, bleak
Equally, under uniform grey cloud
Stretching unbroken. In vain the eyes seek
A dark or light patch there within that shroud,
Evenly woven from a heavenly crowd
Of particles, all far to small to be
Told apart. Yet each one of them could speak
With cold and windy tongue so sure and proud
Of its difference from all the rest. Each tree,
Snowflake or drift of air has its distinct mystique.
Wed 23 May 2007

217 - My friends, the trees outside my window, soon

My friends, the trees outside my window, soon
I shall be gone. I’ve seen your four seasons.
Through this day’s gloom you brightly bloom; festoon
Your branches, you at left, with white blossoms;
You, there, with red-green leaves, pink petals; come
Into your glory. Soaring evergreens,
You stand, like proud parents who gaze on sons
Maturing suddenly (familiar scenes
For sure), chips off your block. Strong offspring means
A growth of hope. Are older trees immune
To hope? Growth, alone, sees new horizons.
Or, when their sap’s rising, perhaps their dreams
Gain eyes? So, hoary woodwind, blow your tune.
Like you, I wave my arms - goodbye, my friends!
Mon 9 Apr 2007

209 - Sunday in April - beautiful, sunny

Sunday in April - beautiful, sunny;
The daffodils in bloom, blossom on trees.
Just right for driving down the lane to see
Brother and sister and their families.
Birds circle in the sky, borne by the breeze
Above a country churchyard where we play,
Looking at graves and Roman ruins; these
Are moments captured for another day
On film: the little things that children say
That may not be correct, grammatically,
But make such entertaining DVDs.
The church, locked, doesn’t ask us in to pray,
But bells ring out at four, the memory
Of rural order and old pieties.
Sun 1 Apr 2007

173 - I remember 1973

I remember 1973
A sunny summer with two holidays:
One in Weston with Norman and Ivy,
And one in Kent (with day trip to Calais).
We stopped going to Sunday school, Sundays
And stole some stuff from W.H. Smith.
We went swimming after school on Wednesdays
And I discovered praying was a myth.
In English I was best, in maths just fifth.
My soccer club the Rams sacked our Cloughie.
Tom Browne played the Top Twenty on Sundays.
We climbed and cycled, ran till our last breath.
A sticker said that we should ‘Plant a tree
In 73.’ Clear sight through the haze.
Sat 24 Feb 2007

111 - Bare branches through a steamed-up window pane

Bare branches through a steamed-up window pane.
A TV noise from under the floorboards.
The washing machine is now out of pain,
It’s scream subsided. (Has it been to Lourdes?)
Its vomited offerings adorn the room,
Carefully displayed on radiator,
While ironing pile higher than Pharaoh’s tomb
Waits for almost as many millennia.
Meanwhile, among the unread books, papers,
Forms uncompleted, pens, beermats, guitar,
The unwrapped presents whisper: ‘Forget us
If you dare, mister.’ Can’t avoid that chore.
The preparation’s almost done - hooray!
Now everyone have a great Christmas Day!
Sun 24 Dec 2006

89 - Red berries grimly clinging to the top

Red berries grimly clinging to the top
Branches, left leafless, of the tree outside,
See lower branches stripped of fruit. Inside,
Their contents sour, they know they must soon drop.
On either side, the evergreens stand tall,
Proud, preening; in winter, pre-eminent.
They stretch their necks above rooftops, and call
And wave to each other with each breeze sent.
Salford means nothing to them, Manchester
Neither, nor England, nor even the Earth.
They don’t invent or worry, but bless the
Birds and the squirrels. But, to us, their worth
Is in the way they screen from sight and sound
The doings of the Joneses and the Browns.
Sat 2 Dec 2006

36 - I drove to where my father's ashes lie

I drove to where my father’s ashes lie,
In Lichfield (which may mean Field of the Dead),
And also patted little nephew’s head:
One more blond in the Baxter family.
I saw the sights of childhood with fresh eyes -
Three spires, the lakes, the market square and all -
And we three siblings chatted, had a ball.
It seems our father’s death strengthened our ties.
So we are halfway from cradle to grave.
I say this is a fine old place to be,
With half a life enshrined in memory,
And half a life left, all experience saved
And banked. We are rich in humanity,
And we shall plant our Dad’s memorial tree.
Tue 10 Oct 2006

34 - All is all - and yet all is nothing, too

All is all - and yet all is nothing, too.
You doubt that? Then let’s consider the trees:
Each one complete, with its own boundaries,
Separate. This illusion deceives you!
There’s roots and trunk, and sap and branch, and leaf.
Now get your pocket high-powered microscope.
Observe each separate cell, each curling rope
Of DNA, each swirling atom. Brief
Thought tells you that these atoms are not trees.
A distant view, now. See the earth from space:
Again, trees vanish. Telescope to face,
There’s only green, blue, white. I know I tease.
If size is relative, we are their kin.
But are we Cain? Our axe bites deeper in.
Sun 8 Oct 2006

20 - Is there a God? I hope you don't ask me

Is there a God? I hope you don’t ask me,
Because I’m not all-knowing in such things.
When I look at a body or a tree
I see such beauty growing, and I think:
The limbs are so well-proportioned. They must
Have been designed. But that’s just me. The link
Between the ego’s distortion and just
What is, my mind alone has made. I blink
And then only see darkness. One day death
Will take all beauty from my sight. It will
Remain without me. Heartless, out of breath,
My worldly duty done, I shall be still.
Is sleep so terrifying? I love it.
Eternity can pass in a minute.
Sun 24 Sep 2006

2 - The ripe red clustered berries hang and wait

The ripe red clustered berries hang and wait;
Their canopies are leaves of luscious green.
What rain-intoxicated lusty state
Lies in them, trusting that they will be seen?
Their neighbour tree still reaches for my pane,
With yellow features in her loosening leaves.
Time teaches that her grip is on the wane;
Her sun-bleached heady days won’t be relived.
But, evergreen, the titans stand in line,
Prepared to guard me from the sight and power
Of grey and white, and cold and rainy sky;
They’ll brighten me and keep my thoughts in flower.
I see them: temptress, hag and sexless gods.
The season comes when only one applauds.
Wed 6 Sep 2006