The Storm – a poem

There is comfort in the storm that hammers at your window. As you lie in bed at night, embracing a warm pillow, It begs to be let in… And you are almost tempted, peering Around your curtain to see the bins overturned and emptied. Orange street lights are glaring into deep puddles as A caught-out-couple shelter, huddled, underneath a shop front. The neighbour’s dog barks … Continue reading The Storm – a poem

The Bookworm Riddle – a translation from Old English

Bookworm – Riddle 47 – from The Exeter Book   A moth ate words. When I heard about this wonder, It seemed to me a curious thing, that the worm gobbled The sayings of some unnamed man, That the thief in the dark stole his glorious speeches, The foundation of their mighty meanings. But – the thieving guest was not one whit the wiser For … Continue reading The Bookworm Riddle – a translation from Old English

Primrose Hill, 2nd October – a poem

They come on the first Sunday of October, to converse with the sun, Which warms the blades of grass and shards Of towering glass and even the hardest hearts, For what could be the last time until The seasons change again.   Laughter has no language here, And the city’s careless clocks do not tick, As couples walk backwards, hand in hand, Swallowing with fond … Continue reading Primrose Hill, 2nd October – a poem