More Poetry
The​ ​Theme​ ​This​ ​Year
​
Forests of silver birch strewn
with wood sorrel, foxglove, fern,
arranged in neat rectangles
by the walkways of the Flower Show.
This year’s theme is wildness.
Toadflax, thistle, and feverfew
litter the roofs at Waterloo
where we sip elderflower cup
pretend this city is a wilderness.
As if we could control
the chaos of our lives
with heartsease, loosestrife, woundwort.
“
The​ ​hug
Today​ ​I​ ​sit​ ​in​ ​the​ ​cafe
where​ ​we’d​ ​watched​ ​the​ ​rain
run​ ​in​ ​torrents​ ​down​ ​the​ ​gutters
and​ ​I​ ​am​ ​wearing​ ​your​ ​last​ ​hug
like​ ​your​ ​old​ ​winter​ ​shirt
which​ ​still​ ​holds​ ​your​ shape
“
“
Guayaquil
The​ ​Contador​ ​had​ ​a​ ​lecherous​ ​grin
when​ ​the​ ​Carrier​ ​reached​ ​a​ ​dirty​ ​port.
Back​ ​to​ ​civilisation,​ ​the​ ​shock​ ​of​ ​shoes,
a​ ​stink​ ​of​ ​stale​ ​urine.
We​ ​shared​ ​a​ ​meal​ ​at​ ​a​ ​pizza​ ​place
with​ ​a​ ​destitute​ ​angry​ ​poet.
Barefoot​ ​boys​ ​grabbed​ ​our​ ​leftovers.
A​ ​woman​ ​lay​ ​dead​ ​in​ ​the​ ​street.
Forty​ ​years​ ​on​ ​I​ ​am​ ​back​ ​in​ ​this​ ​city.
The​ ​sleepy​ ​boy​ ​soldiers​ ​have​ ​soft​ ​smiles,
the​ ​streets​ ​washed​ ​till​ ​they​ ​gleam.
Guayaquil,​ ​Pearl​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Pacific.
​
​I will never forget you senorita, nunca, ​nunca
“
Acer
​
The acer in my garden is shedding its scarlet leaves,
as its slender branches flame bright against the spent day.
​
I love the tenacity of trees, their constancy.
Their promises always kept.
​
​
​