Sonnet, woven over poets’ weekend, to birdsong, kisses, blue socks, caresses; long baths, silk scarves and Lichtenstein dresses. Vacate the room by eleven a.m. On honeymoon sheets. The duvet is penned by second breakfast: Zimmerman verses; the cadence of their kitchen voices. Bend the bow, release; villanelle ascend the roads and bridges of Northumbria. Greetings … Continue reading Sonnet (Bus To Dungeon Ghyll).
1 The frame is glazed with October hugging brick and black mackintosh, anvil noise, pedestrian crush. 2 Train-bent, late and suddenly lost, I search my face for tell tale signs. Pulp paperback roof for my head. 3 With pockets of galleon moths a jam jar collection of copper I thumbed The Road To Wigan Pier. … Continue reading I Thumbed The Road To Wigan Pier
Tuesday 23 November 2014 Crystal Palace I have marked out the bare boards in the front room with black masking tape. It is a rectangle (5m x 3m: van size). Everything that is coming north from here is stacked precariously within the space: cardboard boxes marked with felt tip - art, bedding, books, cds, cutlery, … Continue reading Notes From a Fragile Island…30
My piece, 'A Surprising Success: The Maas Ice-Cream Empire 1935-76' (A Family History by Henry Eves), is published today in the anthology 'Nothing Is More Real Than Nothing: Writings On Ezra Maas' [Valley Press] I first became aware of the reclusive artist, Ezra Maas, several years ago through the writings of his biographer, Daniel James. … Continue reading Nothing Is More Real Than Nothing.
1. I will remember. A rhyme yet to come. All is rhythm. Horn and drum. It was autumn. I will remember. 2. A rhyme yet to come. Glance her mirror. All is beauty. Glimpse and glimmer. It was November. A rhyme yet to come. 3. All is rhythm. Six bells chime. All is hum. Her … Continue reading Her Hymn In Waltz Time.
27/10/22 Somewhere south of London in a sort of 1980s that never happened, I am sitting on the top deck of the 466 bus with mum. The rest of the bus is empty. We gaze out of the bus window, through the tree tops and into the first floor windows of the semi-detached: orange leaves … Continue reading dream diaries…114
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