Sunday, 22 July 2018

22nd July 2018

that deep yellow look
Chesterfield Pride

© Rachel Green 2018

Lickey End

wandering under moonlight
doing their own dog things
unrestrained by people.
In the south
the red, baleful eye of mars
tinges the midnight water.
A distant groan
as a motorbike flashes along
hedge-darkened roads
and the blink, blink, blink
of a silent passenger plane.

© Rachel Green 2018

Saturday, 21 July 2018

21st July 2018

overnight rain
making no difference to the heat
the cat's fanning tail

© Rachel Green 2018

The guinea-pig
has existential crises
"Why is my bowl empty"
and "If I tip my water bowl, where does it go?"
Why does carrot appear when I squeak loudly?
Is the universe made of carrot?
and dandelion leaves
and banana.
Does an empty bowl stare back at me.
These and other questions
after the break.

© Rachel Green 2018

Friday, 20 July 2018

20th July 2018

Festival Orchestra 2018
bright in the night sky

© Rachel Green 2018

"Festival Orchestra"
acrylic on canvas
with a 360 degree rotation.
Hang it anywhere you like.
Just a gimmick, I suppose,
nobody wants them,
or at least, not enough to pay for them.
I enjoy painting them
and they'll make a spectacular bonfire
after I die

© Rachel Green 2018

Thursday, 19 July 2018

19th July 2018

autumn in July
the cemetery path littered
dried up leaves

© Rachel Green 2018

the cat
seventeen years on
and thin as a starving dog
still active
running, jumping
trying to teach me
to catch birds and mice.
She's got fussy about food
likes only one brand
until make a bulk purchase.
Then she hates it.

© Rachel Green 2018

Wednesday, 18 July 2018

18th July 2018

"Jackyard Backoff" (detail)
occluded sunshine
clouds renege on promises
at least it's cooler

© Rachel Green 2018

council houses
back onto the cemetery
I'm almost jealous.
Still they're being built cheaply
breeze-block walls covered in shingle
each house
separated buy a gap too small
for a dog to turn around in.
"Four new houses" claim the headlines
as they're built next to the private ones
each with four times the footprint.
Still, the alternative was traveller parking
but the locals appealed:
it would impact the local business
of Rufford Close drug dealers.

© Rachel Green 2018

Tuesday, 17 July 2018

17th July 2018

shining in the night sky
the BabyTrump blimp

© Rachel Green 2018

in the morning post
an invitation to a wedding.

she doesn't want to go

her sister is a conservative Christian
rattling on about Leviticus
while sporting her new tattoo
and eating lobster at the Hotel

There is no irony.

In her mind the Bible says
"Do What Thou Wilt"
though there is some confusion
about just where that is
Deuteronomy, maybe,
or "The Letters of St Paul the Self Important"

The wedding is at 2PM
and the hotel has bed bugs.
She leaves, quietly,
asking for her money back

and wishes she could get her sister, too.

© Rachel Green 2018

Monday, 16 July 2018

16th July 2018

Septagenesis 2018
seven butterflies
feasting on the lavender
a solitary bee

© Rachel Green 2018

next door's football
shattering the window of my potting shed
sending shards of glass across the floor;
a jagged spike
left in the window frame
enough to sever a jugular.
I was away at the time --
a summer wedding, full of hot guests
getting pissed on champers before midday
while we drink bottles of water
from the shade-parked cool of the car
instead of the silly prices from the bar.
They fetched the football sharpish,
breaking the fence to climb over
but didn't clear the broken glass
despite my dogs running loose.
It could have been bad news
but the only blood spilled was mine
dragging out that wicked shard
and wrapping the bottom third in duct tape.

© Rachel Green 2018