30th September 2018

grey mist
nasturtium leaves turn yellow
bitterness

© Rachel Green 2018

I should clean
the parents are due home
but I'm so tired
Googling the airport run
claims 42 minutes
so I need to leave at one
to get there on time
and the arrivals board
says the flight is early
probably because of the wind
from today's hurricane.
Global warming, anyone?

© Rachel Green 2018

29th September 2018

sunshine
through the yellowing birch
blue skies

© Rachel Green 2018

apples
bananas
easy peel oranges
maybe a conference pear
dates, figs, prunes
dried apricots
because I don't like the fuzz
Why are all the things I love
so full of carbs?
I could do without most things
but fruit is so wonderful

© Rachel Green 2018

28th September 2018

golden sun
a bumper crop of plastic bags
among the leaves

© Rachel Green 2018

gardening
a brief interlude
of lopping a birch branch
and carting it away.
Later, in front of the PC,
a itch across my bare shoulders.
I discover a caterpillar
late in the season
a species I don't recognise.
Returned to the birch
it seems happy enough
but all day long
I suffer formication
even after two showers

© Rachel Green 2018

27th September 2018

overcast
the newly-mown lawn
dead leaves

© Rachel Green 2018

News from the seventies
the IRA return with a vengeance
over Brexit.
Terror in my dreams
infiltrating a cell
where the chief yobbo
takes delight in stuffing grenades
up women's anuses
with a remote detonation.
Not a pleasant night's sleep at all.
Why did I even imagine that?

© Rachel Green 2018

26th September 2018

sunshine
among the foot-trodden leaves
dogshit

© Rachel Green 2018

fatigue
sets slowly in
interrupted sleep
nightmares and horrors
pursue my sleeping form
plausible tales.
Why did I spend a day in the life
unpacking and re-packing melodeons
in a warehouse of police agents?
or sorting out the dreck
from a houseful of objects
collected by my younger selves.
Actually, don't tell me
I don't want to know.

© Rachel Green 2018

25th September 2018

sparrows line up
on the telegraph wires
dangling sneakers

© Rachel Green 2018

bad dreams
beset by monsters from the past
old bosses, old foes
the bullying I sufrfered
from homophobes and transphobes
it's a wonder I survived
and I almost didn't.

© Rachel Green 2018

24th September 2018

warn sun
scattered on tear-stained earth
beech nuts

© Rachel Green 2018

warm sun
washing away the ashes
of a terrible night
so many bad dreams
colliding in my sleeping brain
school days and work horrors
forty years since I went to school
and twenty since I worked for the government
yet still they dominate
and terrify.
I was not a happy person
in the glory days of youth
gender disphoria
before there were words for it

© Rachel Green 2018

23rd September 2018

unshiny sky

littered with windblown leaves
the overgrown lawn

© Rachel Green 2018

far from the cliff walks
far from the beaches where we searched for sea glass
far from the olive trees and the massive pines
far from the rolling waves

at least Chesterfield has gulls
just over the refuse tips

© Rachel Green 2018

22nd September 2018

Robin red-breast
examining the garden
an unknown cat

© Rachel Green 2018

   Saying goodbye
never easy
after a wonderful week.
Tearful farewell.
A one-week love affair

fades into memory
on the long drive home.

© Rachel Green 2018

21st September 2018

wild night
lashing at the windows and roof
acorns and sea birds

© Rachel Green 2018

 a couple of hours
to a distant viewpoint
moderate pace
worth the trip
to sea an island
if its full majesty
while gulls wheel below us
Torquay seems very pro-Brexit
to the point of dog shot
sporting tiny EU flags

© Rachel Green 2018

20th September 2018

stormy night
fallen leaves carried downhill
crashing sea

© Rachel Green 2018

 jigsaw puzzles
the best use for a rainy day
social interaction
the reconstruction of pictures
printed on cardboard
Six quid for two days of entertainment
thank heck there's no pieces missing

© Rachel Green 2018

19th September 2018

high wind
against the windows
twigs and leaves 

© Rachel Green 2018

 Meadfoot bay
a direct line from the holiday cottage
over the mountain
I traverse the many steps
over the top
snickets between houses
lead to secret paths
a thousand steps
on my pedometer


© Rachel Green 2018

18th September 2018

howling wind
across the little garden
oak apples

© Rachel Green 2018

 from the cliff tops
the blue of the sea
seem too good for September.
Gilded by the setting sun
my hair looks to be burning
flares over the harbour
a call to 999

© Rachel Green 2018 

17th September 2018

heavy rain
outside my Torquay window
bright Crocosmia

© Rachel Green 2018

Anstey's Cove
a long winding path
along the edge of a beech wood
and a thousand steps
Rough granite
marks the edge of the land
calm sea.
The taste of salt on my fingers

© Rachel Green 2018

15th September 2018

warm sunshine
tints golden leaves amber
distant barking

© Rachel Green 2018

Holiday jolly day
off to Torquay
for a week of wind and rain
running gear and new laptop
loaded up with software
and a boardgame or two
just in case
I should pack some pencils
for a little sketching
if I feel the urge.

© Rachel Green 2018

14th September 2018

late yellow poppy
under grey-matted skies
discarded orange peel

© Rachel Green 2018

Rucksack, running shoes, running legs
running jacket, sports bras, tops
and boxers that don't chafe

Two pairs of comfortable shoes
socks, jeans, bras, knickers
wet weather coat,
shirts, scarf and hat

nail file toothbrush and paste
prescription tablets
shampoo and comb
hair scrunchie
lip balm and band aids
painkillers
razor, tissues, towel, deodorant

laundry tabs on the off-chance there's a washer

tablet, phone, chargers
laptop and headphones

Catan and Carcassonne

purse and money
sketchbook and pencil

© Rachel Green 2018

13th September 2018

clear night
Mars slips behind the houses
ooh-lah

© Rachel Green 2018

dread
an existerntial fear
prompted by technology.
I'm no technophobe
but I am atypical
and I don't process change well
so this morning I an filled with dread
by a simple message on the screen.

Windows Update Pending.

Will anything ever work again?

© Rachel Green 2018

12th September 2018

red apples
littering the lawn
fallen leaves

© Rachel Green 2018

weary
every day of exercise
combines to add weight on
My shape is changing
but my weight is heavier
go figure.
Eight pints of water a day
makes me get up five times a night
I lace sleep
though my dreams are vivid

© Rachel Green 2018

11th September 2018

cold rain
a street full of soggy cardboard
Fresher's week

© Rachel Green 2018

cold rain
makes me appreciate the heat
from the hot water overspill.
It's too early to put the heating on
and I've been living in gym gear.
I look like a sponge pudding
in an old lady's stocking,
and I still can't bear to look in a mirror
but at least I'm trying
and those calories
won't count themselves.
Perhaps the shivering
will help me lose weight.

© Rachel Green 2018

10th September 2018

arum italicum
buried by fallen leaves
bright red berries

© Rachel Green 2018

massive woman
drags a small boy to school
and I wonder about the message she's giving him
I wish I could change his future
to be productive
but then,
who am I to judge?

© Rachel Green 2018

9th September 2018

dappled sunshine
through the silver birch
early rain

© Rachel Green 2018

drones
hundreds of them
swarming like hornets
programmed with starling behaviour
and armed with cattle prod tasers.
I see the future of policing
an authoritarian state
herding the nasses
"for their own safety"
Tracking persons of Interest
by biomedical data
until there's nowhere left
to hide

© Rachel Green 2018

8th September 2018

fallen leaves
littering the front lawn
dog poo bags

© Rachel Green 2018

I can't see a difference.
My stomach still hangs below my belt
the way a thick milk shake
leaks over the rim of an over-full glass.
I'm calorie counting,
skipping a meal
exercising daily at the gym
and taking a shot of apple cider vinegar
every morning
I'm fifty five and fat
but I want to leave a healthy corpse
or is than an oxymoron?

© Rachel Green 2018

7th September 2018

weak sun, light rain
the cats sits outside anyway
wild cyclamen

© Rachel Green 2018

I dreamed of warriors
fighting an endless war
and my family
hiding in the ruins of a village
while Christians razed the land
in the name of their God,
persecuting those of difference;
of gender, of race,
of religious diversity;
Only Cis white men were allowed power
and paedophilia was okay
if you were religious enough.

© Rachel Green 2018

6th September 2018

blue skies
grey faced children reluctantly creep
ringing school bell

© Rachel Green 2018

broken nights
I can't remember the last time
I slept the night through.
Faces from the past torment me
and I wonder if I'm about to die.
The Five People you meet in Heaven
was the last thing before sleep
and I'm not sure I want to know
what my life was supposed to teach me.
How many people did I kill
without ever learning their names?
Too many,
and their bones line the charnel house
staring with empty sockets
at my wasted life.

© Rachel Green 2018

5th September 2018

the clouds leave
sunlight fluttering on dried honesty
faded flags

© Rachel Green 2018

the gerbil
is still alive
much to my surprise.
I'll miss him more than the guinea pig
but I'll be glad when he dies.
I'm too old for rodents
smelly little gits
I'll stick to dogs, thanks.

© Rachel Green 2018

4th September 2018

lavender
forlorn and dejected now
dry heads int the breeze

© Rachel Green 2018

on the loo at two AM
or one, or three,
it doesn't really matter,
just that it's dark
and the window is open
cold breeze on my naked back.
I am beset by old memories
of outside toilets with cold windows;
My grandmother's in Newcastle,
with the smell of the paraffin lamp my Da lit every night;
Clovercliffe on the Gower
where we went every year;
the house in Dinas Mawddwy where I honeymooned
drifting off to sleep to the sound of sheep.
I think of seagulls
and cry in the darkness of streetlight

© Rachel Green 2018

3rd September 2018

"mostly cloudy"
according to Alexa
last cut for the lawn?

© Rachel Green 2018

water, 120 fluid ounces
tea, skimmed milk, two cups
coffee, black, two cups
two crackers, 98 calories
one bag of peanut butter protein balls
for spoons of pasta salad
four of lettuce
three of potato salad
one finger roll, buttered.
two squared of dark chocolate
two victoria plums
520 calories of treadmill

© Rachel Green 2018

2nd September 2018

birch leaves
below the blue skies
fallen plums

© Rachel Green 2018

worst night
in a long, long time.
remember the river
where you sang your last song?
it overflowed its banks,
filling the allotments with fragments of your voice
until you were lost among the early brassicas,
the colours of chrysanthemums
scatted in petals on the graves of children
while dogs bark at the rising waters
and old men weep to the sound of church bells

© Rachel Green 2018

1st September 2018

weak sunshine
the dog frolics in fallen leaves
autumnal nips

© Rachel Green 2018

all my books
boxed up
in the loft
Out of sight, out of mind.
If I haven't looked at them in a year
I'll get rid at last.
Online life.

© Rachel Green 2018