gallery café
someone else's child
dancing for us

winter park -
white wings and blue lights
flashing

photo archive
the ice skaters' grins
frozen in time

... upon seeing a picture of Torville and Dean skating on home "turf" in our record office

a wasp
struggling in the web
last apples

rewriting
the first draft
coffee stain

chimp on the pump
a pint of
Blue Monkey

daughter's homework
even in my dreams
Fibonacci

lost in the country
the surprised yaw!
of a peacock

hazard lights
through raindrops
October leaves

Sympathy for the Devil
a wood pigeon
joins in

"konichi wa"
the parrot's blank stare -
only fluent in English

solid gold hits -
I wish the builders could be
California girls

far from home
the morning chatter
of flying foxes

winter sunset
the faded colours
of the fro-yo shack

Uluru sunrise
tourists armed
with selfie sticks

zoo shop
green ants haul
a cockroach skyward

under serendipity
I find my surname
in the hotel phone book

(When you have a rare spelling of a rare surname, chance phone book trawling is a requisite pastime).

clematis climbing
climbing through
the climbing rose

Off to Oz for a bit. See you next month.

aimless whistling
he goes about
his tasks

beyond
the allotment
the observatory dome

(Chesterfield. Also next door to both is the Eyre Chapel, the oldest building in town. So you have the earth (allotment), the heavens (observatory) and heaven in close proximity).

barking at his dog the leash snaps taut

my old toy box
a plastic soldier
still fighting the war

(My Frogpond debut vol 38:2)

fifteen Mississippi -
after the storm
the cockerels waking

the resting cat's eyes
open a fraction ...
overhead swifts

up early
transatlantic contrails
lattice the sky

As editor of Blithe Spirit I have set my readers a challenge for the next issue.

I want them to include a couple of poems inspired by encounters of a cultural nature. The idea was Ian Turner's originally, but I thought it might be interesting to see where it took people.

At the moment it seems that painting is the main inspiration.

Anyway, I've just written my contribution - by no means anywhere near the best. I was just flipping through my Cor van den Heuvel haiku anthology when the inspiration hit:


Hokusai bookmark
with every page
a tsunami

last one in
a moth enters through
the closing door

in the earth below
the old washing line
the glint of a sequin

or ...

old washing line
a sequin glitters
from the dirt beneath

pink moon
the cockerel
up all night

anti social behaviour -
all night the wind
kicks a can around

upside down
she waits
for gymnastics

evening sunshine
the horse tugs
at the hay bale

faster than me
cloud shadows scud
along the highway

posh suburb
the station rat slams
straight into my shoe

(Gospel Oak, mid nineties)

day off work
the telesales calls
never ending

pickpocketing
the ten pound note
vanishes when I wake

dead of night
the sound of a plane
going who knows where

day long weeding
the last dandelion
under my bench

allotment bolt-hole
the retired policeman
shares some advice

strewn around
the fly-tip
moorland daffs

leaving for London
the dawn chorus
sees me off

bouncing above
in the tractor cab
the farmer's shoulders

lazy rain
the solitary blackbird's
dawn chorus

tucking her in the extra deep breaths

whimpering
a dog tied to
the hospital

finding
the monster
an MRI
zaps my head
into slices

(approximately 7 years since my MS diagnosis and 11 years since my first major relapse)

night before the eclipse
the setting sun
puts on a show

the village 'character'
chatting to everyone
her yawning dog

war exhibition
the crawling toddler
has lost a shoe

(Weston Park Museum, Sheffield. 22 Feb 2015)

Sunday morning
the passing conversations
of joggers

bobbing above
the kids' pool
his hipster beard

expecting their first
the couple opposite
ironing baby-grows

feeling better she asks to die

It's eight and a half years since my mum died but these poems still pop up with some sort of regularity

halfway to the car park the away end's noise

out of the cup
yet all the way home
she sings blue moon

two nil down
gleefully my daughter
tallies the swearwords

after the thaw
her snowdog
still waiting

minimalism - the gallery loo

First published in Blithe Spirit, I think, a year or two ago. Reminded of it today.

snow forecast
the delivery driver
quotes Shakespeare

rough and ready haibun attempt

Living in Derbyshire, with two small kids, it's natural that I have a season ticket to my near neighbours, the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire's pad. It's literally within walking distance, as I proved a number of years ago in a twenty mile round trip across snowy moors.

For small children, it's an ideal day out. There's an adventure playground, trees to go exploring in, a petting zoo, a maze, a cascade to paddle in on hot days, the Emperor Fountain that shoots a single jet of water several stories into the air and countless hectares of Capability Brown imagined landscape. My personal favourite part of the grounds is the kitchen garden. As an allotmenteer, I like to compare the state of my crops with the banana pioneering Cavendish family's.

Highlights of the Chatsworth calendar include a yearly sculpture show, which can be a bit hit and miss, but never fails to rouse my interest. Artworks by Takashi Murakami (hit) and Damien Hirst (miss) have been showcased here in recent years.

Each Christmas the house is transformed into something magical. Last year the decorations were Narnia themed, this year it's Alice in Wonderland. No expense has been spared. Travelling down the corridors and terraces, you almost feel like you are falling down a rabbit hole. All the staff are dressed as playing cards.

Now, at the grand old age of ten, my eldest daughter has declared herself "bored" of Chatsworth. I have probably been visiting since I was her age and I can honestly say there's always something different to see or experience. Last year I found myself in unfamiliar surroundings with two older women, agreeing with the one who said "I've been coming here for fifty years and never knew this bit existed."

discovering
in the park's hidden corner
giant redwoods

matching socks
the long sigh
back to work