Sunday, 31 July 2016

Poetry 2015 / 075

Cronen Ground

Bittel reservoir
a hefty walk from home
especially for an art student
armed with a sketchbook and camera
(35mm SLR; monochrome film)
and two dogs, one past her sell-by date
the other overweight and grumbling.
The poetry of a twenty-something:
haibun, perhaps, though little did I know it.
Short poetry with brief sketches
the hills, the forest;
the desperate clutch of a rusting tractor
to the muddy riverbank of its demise.
In love with Lewty (his artwork, anyway)
I invented words; neologisms
for introspective emotions .
Mesi, Endrago, Ootpa.
The lichgate of St Bartholomew's
a sheltered haven beneath the lowering skies
where thunderclouds of Judgement
bear down upon an Unbeliever.


Image: Bittel Reservoir 2015 10 cm x 14cm Graphite on watercolour paper.  £30 inc P&P

short forms 31st July 2016

he takes
advantage of
her inibriated
state. Worry about pregnancy
later.


© Rachel Green 2016

crocosmia
rising above the bedding plants
pouncing cat


© Rachel Green 2016

close-ups
staring out of the window
the cat
what else can I do but take pictures
when she's sat on my keyboard?


© Rachel Green 2016

bathroom chores
painting the ceiling
in my underwear

so how did I get paint
on the trousers I wasn't wearing?
just a scarf to protect my hair

all the shampoo bottles turn white


© Rachel Green 2016

She's tired of bad dreams. Tired.

© Rachel Green 2016

Saturday, 30 July 2016

Poetry 2016 / 074

And What of Death

And what of death
that fateful realm we fear
and through our fear make worse
I say embrace
this night-clad marvel
for what harm can it do us
once we are gone from mortal flesh
and if naught there be beyond
then all the better
that I embraced my fill of life
and left regret behind.
Mourn not for the missing mass
of flightless atoms that was me
and laugh instead, for earth is room enough
without one more to clutter life
and steal the precious air.
Put me from your minds at once
and with the sooty scent of angels
release me to the great unknown.

short forms 30th July 2016

no doubt
about her mum
got over her dad's death
all too quickly if you ask me.
New man.


© Rachel Green 2016

orange tip
on knapweed bloom
honeybees


© Rachel Green 2016

Dead Girls
Still Love Kittens
because they interact.
They haven't gained cynicism
of cats


© Rachel Green 2016

morning walk
Poolsbrook country park
with Lu and Trickster

Sunshine and good company
and a stomach-churning breakfast
in the little cafe

Cleaning up dog sick.


© Rachel Green 2016

cheese panini. Now she feels queasy.

© Rachel Green 2016

Friday, 29 July 2016

Poem 2016 / 073

Cannot Unsee

A headscarf, white
with tassels that dip into the tin
of Dulux Bathroom Emulsion.
A white tee-shirt from a gym
I used to attend (before the class stopped)
with 'Trust Your Instincts'
on 96 point Times New Roman on the back.
And my knickers. No pants, no socks
just the surprisingly hairy muscalature
on my fifty year pins and bare feet.
Painting the ceiling is a messy business--
drips of paint rain down
but are easily wiped from bath and floor
(less so, my hair, as I found out yesterday).
I wash the brush in the kitchen sink,
warning Lu of an unpleasant spectacle
should she dare open the office door.

Never give a Kitten to a Sociopath.



“Taking over the animal sanctuary was a mistake. We should have sold it to the bloke with the massive car” Chloe trudged through the mud, a bale of straw over one shoulder. Her hair wasn't going to thank her for the abuse.

“What bloke?” Shellie, her best friend since the started infants school together ten years ago, hurried to catch up, the bucket of water she held in both hands becoming less full by the second. “What did he want it for?”

“How should I know? A Supermarket, probably. Or another housing estate. There's a moratorium on greenbelt use in Wiltshire. They all want brownfield sites to build on.” She kicked a sod of mud with the side of her Wellington boot. “And this is about as brownfield as you get. Shit-coloured, in fact.”

“Who was this bloke, then? Was he rich?” Shellie put the bucket down to open the latch to the stables. In the kennel block on the other side of the courtyard, the dogs were already barking, expecting their dinner.

“Must have been.” Chloe put the bale down. “His driver gave him a piggy back so he didn't get his feet muddy.”

“But your dad wouldn't sell?”

“No. 'Profit mongering begger' Dad called him.”

Good to know your dad has ethics, though.”

Ethics? He wanted twice what the bloke was offering.”

short forms 29th July 2016

Gran's house
still has the loo
in a separate shed.
She didn't agree with bathrooms.
Tin tub.


© Rachel Green 2016

light rain
we tiptoe through the garden
snail party


© Rachel Green 2016

jiu-jitsu
exhausts my body
fires my brain
the delight of confidence
as my body tones up


© Rachel Green 2016

horrendous nightmares
about powerlessness and
victimisation.

carrying my laundry
to an all-girls' school
where they hate me

An ex-friend, spiteful


© Rachel Green 2016

up at 6:30. Sweat-soaked sheets.

© Rachel Green 2016

Thursday, 28 July 2016

Poetry 2016 / 72

TIA

I cannot help but praise Fluoxetine,
despite my nightly terrors, for
where was I without them? A puddle
of neuroses and depression. And what
would I become without Thyroxine?
More overweight, immobile, subject
to a heart attack (I had a scan
yesterday and heard the blood swirling)
and the ramipril to keep the blood
at an operating pressure, rather than blow
my arteries like classroom condoms.
My estrogen tablets keep the hair
from crowding my upper lip, my
internal pleasures lubricated; Lipitor
and Clopidogrel last thing at night
to calm away the threat of stroke
(again). Stress I could do without.



Image: Flying Unicorn 2015 12" x 8" Watercolour on book page. Framed.  £40 inc P&P

short forms 28th July 2016

dreams of
architecture
her dad's house, unfinished
because he ran out of money.
Contracts


© Rachel Green 2016

spikes of montbretia
in the middle of the lawn
next door's dog, squatting


© Rachel Green 2016

restful night
neither palpitations
nor nightmare.
Then I get up
and it all starts.


© Rachel Green 2016

edits
for the novella
now complete

Happily the ending
is a peaceful one for Mel
her lesbian friend

becomes her sister


© Rachel Green 2016

Waiting for the post. Something accomplished.

© Rachel Green 2016

Wednesday, 27 July 2016

short forms 27th July 2016


a ghost
in her gran's room
seems to be terrified
as if all the demons of Hell
were there


© Rachel Green 2016

sunshine
through the open window
curious wasp


© Rachel Green 2016

Jack
watches me eat
Breakfast buddy.
The occasional paw
for the leftover milk


© Rachel Green 2016

trepidation
heart scan today
four o'clock

The other night
a series of palpitations
kept me awake.

Bad dreams


© Rachel Green 2016

Sleeptime horror movies. She's the star.

© Rachel Green 2016

Tuesday, 26 July 2016

poem 2016 / 071

Gallery Show

Clinking glasses, the muted
conversation of intelluctuals
(and those trying to pass as one)
cigarette smoke curling up to the oak beam ceiling.
This is the eighties and we're all artists,
thin Virgins and Old Holborn Borstals;
roaches made of rolled Rizla packets
to stop dusty tobacco caking your lungs.
The paintings are charming, primitive style
depictions of middle class families;
kids playing football while dads fight
with broken bottles over who's the better goalie.
The artist herself is petite, huge,
about to drop a baby but she doesn't know
who the dad is (she's narrowed it to three.)
I pay her attention but Steve is not amused.
At home he backhands me,
puts my cheek through my back teeth.
Blood on yellow walls.
“You fancied her, didn't you?”
Yes, of course, she was lovely but
I didn't make a pass at her. (She seemed
pretty straight anyway, to be honest)
I've said the wrong thing again.
He makes me gargle honesty with silence.



Image: Red Demon 2016 30" x 30" Oil on board. £120 inc P&P

short forms 26th July 2016

model
looks just the part
Stevie now brought to life
with a bit of photoshopping
Cover


© Rachel Green 2016

bin day
a brown slug investigates
kitchen waste


© Rachel Green 2016

early morning
the lack of traffic
school holiday
Today seems complicated
late night jiu-jitsu


© Rachel Green 2016

plagued by dreams,
nightmares and
heart palpitations

hard to wonder
what I'm worried about.
Money, probably.

I need to sell paintings.


© Rachel Green 2016

Night Hare. Her next planned painting

© Rachel Green 2016

Monday, 25 July 2016

poem 2016 / 070

Night Cream

Bathroom ablutions,
my face pink from hot water
as I dab the heat from my eyes.
The mirror has steamed up
despite the heat of the night;
his late arrival from band practice
timed for me to be long abed
but I waited up.
Hot tea and digestive biscuits,
late night American sit-coms.
He slips off his clothes,
drops them in the laundry
“Hurry up with the sink.”
I see the lipstick stain,
Ruby Red, smeared across
one collarbone
as she slid to one side.
I don't look down.
I don't want to see his flaccid cock
that hasn't touched me in more months
than I can count Sundays.
“All yours.”
I slip into bed, trying not to imagine
what she looks like.
A younger me?
I reach for a book
and hear the shower start up.



Image: Grinding the Rails 2016 by Rachel Green. oil on canvas board 89mm x 63mm  £35 free postage

short forms 25th July 2016

Bernie
can't remember
the sister she once had
twenty years of Da's denial.
wiped out.


© Rachel Green 2016

nasturtiam flower
a splash of red against the grass
head wound


© Rachel Green 2016

she wants
all the Star Trek movies
my kind of girl
I could spend quality time
with a Trekker lesbian


© Rachel Green 2016

Chesterfield Pride
in a fenced off area
of the local park

Sound system
leaves much to be desired
too loud / too quiet

Tranny with a voice to die for


© Rachel Green 2016

Nightmares. Repeated heart palpitations at 3AM.

© Rachel Green 2016

Sunday, 24 July 2016

poem 2016 / 069


Take On Me

My thoughts are hidden
among the swirls and leaves
of a mature cherry. Around me
a multitude in rainbow flags
and evening dresses, wigs askew
and sweating under a cloud
of prideful heat. A tannoy blares
and the crowd sings Abba but
I am separate but included,
the lure of a safe place with the earth
against my back. No hate here
but for the inevitable litter. Why?
I mull problems; a missing baby
cries for its mama too soon
and I smile at a woman,
rainbow make-up run under rain
or sweat, a palette of pigment
splayed across her cheeks.
I'm not hitting on her
but she assumes otherwise, turns away.



Image: Under the Wire 2016 oil on canvas board 89mm x 63mm  £35 inc. P&P

short forms 24th July 2016

a cut
from her homework
bleeds profusely floorward
but her mom doesn't have the time.
bandaid


© Rachel Green 2016

sparrow
gathering grubs
honeysuckle rain


© Rachel Green 2016

my hand and arm
itching like a dozen ants
have set up home
Am I allergic to something
or am I infected?


© Rachel Green 2016

more nightmares
as I try to figure out
a secret birth

my insecurity
bleeds through my Id
invades my Ego

Dark morning eyes


© Rachel Green 2016

Agony. A splinter in her hand.

© Rachel Green 2016

Saturday, 23 July 2016

Poem 2016/068

Not Looking

Bad dreams leave her breathless
bathed in sweat. The sheet
rucked up beneath her. Her fear
of abandonment rises,
unbidden,
bile in the throat of expectation.
Divorce.
Moving out (again).
Where would she go
and with whom? (all her friends
are their friends and thus,
not hers to retain).
At least she has a dog
and a sleeping bag to keep warm
amongst the spike infested doorways
of Theresa May's New England.


© Rachel Green 2016


Image: Huddled in Fear 2016 oil on canvas board 89mm x 63mm  £35 inc. P&P

short forms 23rd July 2016

plot point
missing baby
why is it a secret
that the child  has disappeared?
Knowledge.


© Rachel Green 2016

summer heat
an absence of birds
where do the crows go?


© Rachel Green 2016

3AM wake-up
four twenty-something lads
roughhousing in the front garden
My plants have been crushed
solar lights broken


© Rachel Green 2016

creeping about
morning ablutions
in the bedroom

Jack's claws scrabble
across the laminate floor
"Shh! You'll wake DK"

Oops! Too late!


© Rachel Green 2016

Busy road. She blackens her thumb.

© Rachel Green 2016

Friday, 22 July 2016

Mall

Mall

The cat was desiccated, though still intact if one didn't count the gaping eye sockets of the mouth opened in what could only be a scream. Jack used a cold chisel to lever away another couple of bricks, then snaked an arm in to lift out the creature.

“Bloody hell,” he said, keeping it at arms length as he twisted the long tail out of the hole. “How long's that been there, I wonder.”

Jepherson shone a torch into the hole. “Since the wall was built, I reckon. There's only just room for it in here. It's not found its way in afterwards and got stuck.”

“You mean it was bricked up in there? On purpose?” Jack kicked his daily newspaper flat and put the creature on it. “Reckon the boss will want to see it.”

“Reckon he won't.” Jepherson nodded at the wall. “This is fifteenth century, if not older. It makes the whole excavation a site of historical interest, and the walled-up cat will make it headlining news. The new supermarket will go on hold along with our jobs.”

“Right.” Jack nodded and picked up his sledgehammer. “Best we never saw nothing, ey?”

Poem 2016/067

Display Window

Cherry trees,
long gone, vanquished
by the buzz of the chainsaw,
the bronzed bark left to rot
among the nettles and nightshade
of an orchard corner.

Light floods the study;
denies me the right to hide
from the world.
I am on display to the street.
No more haiku about birds and squirrels
but observations on my neighbours
as the creep like snails to work and school
or sail down the road on skateboards
and tiny yellow motorbikes.

The old lady across the way smiles,
waves a packet the postman left her
because I was out walking dogs.
Twelve years here and I still don't know her name
though she knows me well enough.

Clouds crowd out the sun,
our local star a whisper of promise
behind the sullen skies
left open for my pen.

short forms 22nd July 2016

pine floor
laid over old  oak
stripped for renovation.
What are these old stains on the boards?
circles?


© Rachel Green 2016

blank stares
multicoloured verges
roadkill


© Rachel Green 2016

limping computer
I get used to the fan noise
"not responding"
waiting for the page to load
gives me time for housework


© Rachel Green 2016

1974
the year I turned eleven
August moon

I was aware of change
the blurring of gender
mostly from 'Carry On'

racism on the Beeb


© Rachel Green 2016

small car. She's nothing to prove.

© Rachel Green 2016

Thursday, 21 July 2016

short forms 21st July 2016

dusting
the lifting of
several ornaments
reveals a distinct pattern.
five-star


© Rachel Green 2016

bare patches
on the newly sown lawn
neighbour's dog


© Rachel Green 2016

groaning noises
from the computer
constant reboots
I think it's time I start
saving for a replacement


© Rachel Green 2016

I despair
of my grotesque belly
six months of inactivity

two sessions of jiu-jitsu
just doesn't cover it
more work required

but I'm so lazy...


© Rachel Green 2016

Sex film. She mourns lost youth.

© Rachel Green 2016

Wednesday, 20 July 2016

short forms 20th July 2016

reboot
her child cries
no more the clever girl
just a very lucky option
Distress.


© Rachel Green 2016

soft buzz
bees on the lavender
next door's mower


© Rachel Green 2016

barking dog
doesn't seem to shut up
over stressed?
I order some natural pills
to help calm her down


© Rachel Green 2016

heatwave
across England
plants die

only last month
I was complaining of rain
now I want it back

approaching clouds


© Rachel Green 2016

Fitful sleep. The violence in France.

© Rachel Green 2016

Tuesday, 19 July 2016

short forms 19th July 2016

moonlight
spilling through trees
seeping through the pastures
among the gorse and the heather.
Footsteps.


© Rachel Green 2016

morning sun
racing along the path
tardy slugs


© Rachel Green 2016

bin day
I raid the teen's bedroom
for rubbish
sorting out plastics and glass
from all the crisp packets


© Rachel Green 2016

getting into shape
I feel a whole lot thinner
diet improving

There's a fat old lady
who stands in front of me
invading personal space

wait! That's a mirror.


© Rachel Green 2016

Internet trolls. She takes the bait.

© Rachel Green 2016

Monday, 18 July 2016

short forms 18th July 2016

she wears
a green jumper
in the style of Peanuts
The other kids at school call her
Charlie


© Rachel Green 2016

fresh-cut grass
morning sun picks up the colours
crisp packets


© Rachel Green 2016

eighties culture
big hair and shoulder pads
public libraries
a young lad takes pride in his
record collection


© Rachel Green 2016

altered plot
no longer three days apart
but a few hours

they are still separated
by the rigid cut-off line
of school attendance age

Oldest in her class


© Rachel Green 2016

simple thoughts make her sad. Tears.

© Rachel Green 2016

Sunday, 17 July 2016

short forms 17th July 2016

precis:
a synopsis
of a thirty-five K
makes the story seem a bit thin.
Boring.


© Rachel Green 2016

scintillating sun
the shadows of leaves
on my eyelids


© Rachel Green 2016

edible fungi
on a cemetery oak
collected
a feast fit for kings
(if the king was poor)


© Rachel Green 2016

a bowl of food
but the old dog
isn't hungry

I pick it up
to stop the others scoffing it.
He'll have it a bit later.

The cat ate it.


© Rachel Green 2016

walking into town. My twisted knee.

© Rachel Green 2016

Saturday, 16 July 2016

short forms 16th July 2016

nightmare
completed tale
a synopsis is required
have I mentioned I hate edits?
novels


© Rachel Green 2016

wild geraniums
wave pink faces at the sky
pokemon children


© Rachel Green 2016

Scots man
updating Lu's insurance
causes concern
Despite his accent
terms and conditions vary


© Rachel Green 2016

eBay
no delivery made
despite "item posted"

I open a dispute
but no reply from the seller
I just want the jeans

Money back in three weeks?


© Rachel Green 2016

insurance problems. Should she not drive?

© Rachel Green 2016

Friday, 15 July 2016

short forms 15th July 2016

Brexit
a slice of pain
through rural England
Prevalent seventies racism
returns


© Rachel Green 2016

sparrow
perched on the handrail
mom looks for worms


© Rachel Green 2016

freshly  mown grass
the scent of summer
English gardens
a line of solar lights
from the pound shop


© Rachel Green 2016

old dog
can't manage long walks
sits when tired

sometimes
I have to carry him for a bit
grey Jack Russell

Glad he's not a big dog.


© Rachel Green 2016

exhaustion. The weakness after sparring sessions

© Rachel Green 2016

Thursday, 14 July 2016

short forms 14th July 2016

edits
to a novella
frighteningly detailed.
I have to rethink the ages.
separate twins


© Rachel Green 2016

blooded garden
the first ripe raspberries


© Rachel Green 2016

exhaustion
renewing my acquaintance
with bottom guard
attempting to sweep
a mush stronger man


© Rachel Green 2016

gold thread
snakes through canvas
draws the eye

the majesty of scale
Hannibal crossing the Alps
dwarfed elephants

a belt of straw


© Rachel Green 2016

feeling the burn. Another pulled muscle.

© Rachel Green 2016

Wednesday, 13 July 2016

short forms 13th May 2016

cable
snakes to the shed
hardwired internet
her fortress of solitude in
old pine


© Rachel Green 2016

nasturtiam leaves
chewed by abundant slugs
lavender stalks


© Rachel Green 2016

night scratching
the old dog wants out
closed door
just as I fall asleep
he wants in again


© Rachel Green 2016

back from the editor
my 'Deals in Darkness'
novella

Never have I seen
such a detailed analysis
of a story

Colour me impressed. And dismayed.


© Rachel Green 2016

A week of her future, lost.

© Rachel Green 2016

Tuesday, 12 July 2016

ahort forms 12th July 2016

infants
going to class
she remembers  her time
of youthful innocence before
big school


© Rachel Green 2016

threatened rain
the brightness of raincoats
waiting for the school bus


© Rachel Green 2016

trickles of gold
the faintest of traces
in a familiar landscape
A vision of Heaven
in the darkness of Hell


© Rachel Green 2016

moving
a new phase
of creativity

ideas for paintings
come faster than I can ever hope
to afford the paint

story arc embryogenesis


© Rachel Green 2016

threatening rain. Her dogs don't care.

© Rachel Green 2016

Monday, 11 July 2016

short forms 11th July 2016

her dad
was never there
an early divorce when
her younger brother was run down.
His guilt.


© Rachel Green 2016

misting rain
on the chimney pots
two crows


© Rachel Green 2016

early drive
dropping Lu at the station
morning rain
a slight detour home
to put some petrol in


© Rachel Green 2016

garden shed
emptied and repaired
rotted floor

age-brittle plastic
replaced with pane of glass
saved from the old, old shed

refitted shelves


© Rachel Green 2016

she repurposes old junk for upgrades

© Rachel Green 2016

Sunday, 10 July 2016

short forms 10th July 2016

her dad
left them alone
and her brother was killed.
He couldn't take the subsequent
guilt. Left.


© Rachel Green 2016

sycamore leaves
the clatter of wings
fleeing pigeon


© Rachel Green 2016

brief trip
to the local gym
exercise
how I wish I were fit
like last year.


© Rachel Green 2016

edits
still waiting
on old novella

remaking Pinoccio
as an undead child
I lost interest in it

I want to be a real boy


© Rachel Green 2016

apple cores. The sadness of desiccation.

© Rachel Green 2016

Saturday, 9 July 2016

short forms 9th July 2016

her dad
used to be mom
before they got divorced.
Why is it so much easier?
Transmen.


© Rachel Green 2016

rain clouds
flooding out the parade
ant trail


© Rachel Green 2016

canvas
waiting for the right moment
to bleed into reality
a moment of my youth
reproduced in old age


© Rachel Green 2016

a painting
sold for a small amount
brings me peace

an increase in bank balance
allows me new canvas,
a new pair of jeans

dammit! Button fly.


© Rachel Green 2016

lazy is as lazy does. Gaming.

© Rachel Green 2016

Friday, 8 July 2016

That Trick with a Wire Coat Hanger



“Is that your dad?” Mel's voice dropped to a whisper as she watched him chopping vegetables in the kitchen. “Is he a chef?”

“A chef?” Chloe followed her gaze as a wave of wafer-thin corgettes all but flew from his knife. “No, not a chef, but he's good with knives. All that side of the family are.”

“Why? Are they circus performers?”

Chloe snorted. “No. Ukranians.”

“Ah.” Mel fell silent as she contemplated the next question in the homework, her pen filling the margins of her exercise book with patterns. “Why do you call him 'Jules?'”

“Because that's his name.” Chloe used a ruler and a green felt-tip to underline her homework. “What do you want me to call him? Sebastian?”

“No, I mean, why do you call him 'Jules' and not 'Dad' or 'Father?'”

“Because he's not the person who donated sperm.”

Mel could have caught flies. “So you've got a real dad somewhere else?”

“No.” Chloe tightened her lips to a thin line. “No. Only a test tube.”

short forms 8th July 2016

Jenny
changes gender
and becomes Julian
but his daughter calls him Jules. Pulp
Fiction.


© Rachel Green 2016

laundry duties
the old dog asleep
on the duvet


© Rachel Green 2016

heated
his voice gets louder
to make a point
Louder and with more
Full. Stops.


© Rachel Green 2016

birthday girl
delighted by gift
she picked herself

we all get her accessories
and extra games
for her new 3DS

(it sends my eyes funny)


© Rachel Green 2016

Handstands. Learning to punch the wall.

© Rachel Green 2016

Thursday, 7 July 2016

short forms 7th July 2016

her dad
used to be mum
but embraces the change.
Her friends think it's a bit weird
but cool


© Rachel Green 2016

crow's call
over a neighbour's fence
elderflowers


© Rachel Green 2016

old dog
perpetually hungry
doesn't want dinner
the following morning
requests two breakfasts


© Rachel Green 2016

dead squirrel
on the tarmac
crushed by a car

older neighbours
visibly upset
but can't bear to look

new addition to my compost bin


© Rachel Green 2016

exercise agrees with her. Long breaths.


© Rachel Green 2016

Wednesday, 6 July 2016

short forms 6th July 2016

new plot
involves demons
and the need to travel.
A thirty year old photograph.
Her dad.


© Rachel Green 2016

garden snails
exposed to the elements
next door's chickens


© Rachel Green 2016

shattered plastics
litter the patio
clatter in the breeze
Plastic roofing sheets
sun-hardened and brittle


© Rachel Green 2016

several hours
removing Russian vine
from the lean-to

several buckets
of composted soil
from old leaves

hundreds of snails


© Rachel Green 2016

Out of practice. blue belt blues.

© Rachel Green 2016

Tuesday, 5 July 2016

short forms 5th July 2016

watching
Taming the Shrew
how unlikely is it
for a woman of modern times.
Missing


© Rachel Green 2016

warm day
an expanse of blue
lavender blooms


© Rachel Green 2016

cutting away
ten years of polygonum
from the lean-to roof
a thousand snails
lose their refuge


© Rachel Green 2016

her brother
went missing in 2015
her dad returned

remaining estranged
her mum's suicide
cemented the union

invisible friend


© Rachel Green 2016

Memories. The day my heart broke.

© Rachel Green 2016

Monday, 4 July 2016

short forms 4th July 2016

she looks
to her father
after mum's suicide
but he seeks solace in another
man's arms


© Rachel Green 2016

blackbird
examines freshly mown lawn
gleaning


© Rachel Green 2016

shed roof
replaced and felted
awkward task
mismatched ridge
bridged with pipe lagging


© Rachel Green 2016

mowing the lawn
when the grass is wet
ambitious

I remove the collecting box,
open the rear cover
get sprayed by wet grass

and then I hit dog poop...


© Rachel Green 2016

early shower. Grass fills the plughole.

© Rachel Green 2016

Sunday, 3 July 2016

short forms 3rd July 2016

acting
for attention
from the household adults.
Her sense of social justice is
right on.


© Rachel Green 2016

wet grass
occludes the lavender
overshadowed sky


© Rachel Green 2016

clicking claws
on the hardwood floor
in the early hours
the ancient dog can't settle
wakes us both instead


© Rachel Green 2016

plotting
the downfall of a girl
and her recovery

the demons in her head
seem ridiculous to adults
but not to her

or, indeed, the demons.


© Rachel Green 2016

Accidental flashing. Daughter gets full frontal.

© Rachel Green 2016

Saturday, 2 July 2016

Short forms 2nd July 2016

Chloe
dysfunctional
from a family of
hyper-functional queer folk.
Poly.


© Rachel Green 2016

morning sun
overshadowed by clouds
closed poppies


© Rachel Green 2016

UK politics
becomes a pot-boiling mess
post-Brexit
All the Tory bigots
"I didn't really mean it"


© Rachel Green 2016

bathing Trickster
in an attempt to relieve
her scratching

dog shampoo claim:
"soothes itchiness and
relieves disorders"

Perhaps she'll stop barking.


© Rachel Green 2016

Perpetual Worry. Her tea goes cold.

© Rachel Green 2016

Friday, 1 July 2016

short forms 1st July 2016

suffer
hatemongering
amongst her peer group
sometimes the demons are real
Brexits


© Rachel Green 2016

garden snails
climbing up the plum tree
anticipation


© Rachel Green 2016

ash keys
hang in abundant plumes
too high to pick
I use the plastic bags
to collect dog poo


© Rachel Green 2016

first of the month
new resolutions
for old dreams

I'll try to write again
Chloe's story nags
I can't move on

Brexit sufferer


© Rachel Green 2016

feeling the result of inactivity. Fat.

© Rachel Green 2016