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

s u b w a y |everyone|crammed|sofarapart

Christmas Eve
under a sickle moon
I lose the end of the sellotape

my sick daughter
where normally there's song
just the sound of her shower

longest night
a horse whinnying
through the gale

without drawing breath
the didgeridoo busker
flourishes a sweet

(Brisbane 2013)

the trees now bare
my shed
through binoculars

email app
a haiku from Japan
wakes me

(for MF)