Wednesday, 13 November 2019

13th November 2019

*//////////////////////---ujh1i
 wwww FRLJFGQJKRNF
234324n klm m\\\\\\\\\\\\

© Trinity the cat 2019

a little drier
the cat's tail twitching
garden pigeon

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
18.
Schoolyard poems
to girls I fancied
sonnets and rhyming couplets
declarations of love
or at least the offer of it.
I thought I was Shakespeare,
Byron, Shelley, Keats.
Everything you could want
in a sensitive soul
with bus fare and a bicycle.
Forty years on
and I still cringe.

© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 12 November 2019

12th November 2019

Wet again, and cold
the postman's fingers
scanning bar codes

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
17.
Stewart's sister
gave us home made pillows
for our den
and I discovered they were stuffed
with old stockings
They felt so good
on my pre-teen legs
and my mother,
devout Catholic,
talked to the priest.

 © Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 11 November 2019

11th November 2019

Weetabix offer, 1970
wet and dreary
the cat yowling to use the bathroom
or be fed again

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
17.

selling my Lego
when I was too young to realise
what an asset it was.
All those tokens Mum saved
off the Weetabix packets
for the magical castle
and the cars
and the other boxed sets
all gone in an instant
bargained away for two pounds
because I wanted something ephemeral
I can no longer remember.
Gee.
Such a stupid kid I was
and still am.

© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 10 November 2019

10th November 2019

clear skies
letting the sunshine through
draughty windows

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
16.

Karen
always questioning
why I wore women's clothes
if I wasn't gay.
That's okay, Karen,
I don't like you much, either,
but as my flatmate's girlfriend
we're stuck together
and honestly?
that rock chick persona
doesn't suit you at all.

 © Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 9 November 2019

9th November 2019

hard frost
limning the snapdragons
peanut-eating wagtail

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
15.

I can pinpoint
the exact moment
I realised Catholicism was bullshit.
Nicholson, deputy head
of my Catholic High School,
defined when a war
was a 'just' war
and defended the bombing of Dresden
and the Sack of Constantinople
as 'okay in God's book'
and I realised
what a load of crap that was.
and I abandoned religion for ever.

© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 8 November 2019

8th November 2019

after the rain
water levels still rising
back yard pigeons

© Rachel Green 2019


Guilt and Regret
14.
calling the hospital
at six o'clock at night.
"He's very poorly"
but I don't go.
It's two hours away
and a Thursday night
I have plans for the evening
and work tomorrow.
The call from my sister
forty minutes later:
"He's gone."
I should have made the effort
even though I wouldn't have got there
to see him still alive.
Sorry, Dad.

 © Rachel Green 2019



Thursday, 7 November 2019

7th November 2019

horrendous rain
sparrows darting from shelter
to grab seeds

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
13.
The dog,
suffering from a dozen ailments
because I won't take her to the vet
because I can't afford it.
She bites off lumps
is slowly going blind
and deaf
and had blood in her urine.
Her heart's not the best, either,
and we couldn't afford the meds.
I thought yesterday
I'd have to put her down
but today she seems happy
and I feel ashamed,

© Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 6 November 2019

6th November 2019

grey sky
over an empty seed dispenser
disappointed sparrows

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
12.

a dispute
between two friends
living with us.
We sided with one;
asked the other one to leave
because she was better able to do so.
The first
turned out to be a psycho.
Sorry, Hen,
you never did forgive us
and that's okay.

© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 5 November 2019

5th November 2019

howling wind
driving the rain sideways
bricks on the bin lids

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
11.
tissue paper and balsa wood
made wings for gunpowder rockets
which glided for for 'alf a mile.
That one which set fire t' hay barn three fields away
had naught to do wi' me, guv.
and nor did the bangers we three in the cut
with road-gutter nuts and bolts
screwed into the blunt end
to make underwater depth charges
around the sticklebacks and leeches;
nor the ones inside
sealed glass pop bottles
weighted diwn wi' pebbles.

© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 4 November 2019

4th November 2019

dreary day
penetrating the mist
only the rain

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
10.
the bungalow
where my aunt an uncle lived
derilict, now,
the repository of tools
and lawnmowers
and a metre-hich crawlspace
beneath the broken floorboards.
We didn't mean to burn it down;
just droppen in a match
'to scare the rats away'
not that we'd ever seen one.
I deserved the hiding
and I never did it again.
Not intentionally.

© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 3 November 2019

3rd November 3019

small sunshines
barely skim the wet grass
Sunday clouds

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
9.
hippy kid
drawing flowers on the bus seats
and school desks.
Sucking up to the cool kid
with all the best music.
That wasn't cool at all.
My apologies
for the vandalism.
Not cool.

© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 1 November 2019

1st November 2019

morning rain
soaking the streets
wet cat

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
8.
bagged for the jumble
my sister's cast-offs
became my secret desire
desperate to be a grown woman
I would wish with all my heart.
That green dress with dozens of buttons
hung in my wardrobe for years
and our mother's mink coat
still smelled of her perfume.

© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 31 October 2019

31st October 2019

fresh cornflower
revelling in the early sunshine
decorated pumpkins

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
8.
Bonfire night
and the new-build houses next door
gave me access to copper pipe
and gunpowder.
The use of a drill
and a hammer and anvil
enabled a crude reproduction
of a civil-war cannon
with a steel ballbearing
fired a hundred yards
and buried an inch deep
in the wooden post
two inches from my father's head.
Aren't you glad I studied physics?

© Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 30 October 2019

30th October 2019

frost
on the bird feeder
fluttering

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
7.
Christopher... Something
declared himself my 'enemy'
for no reason that I evr knew.
We weren't friends, playmates
co-conspiritors -- I don't even know
where he lived (though he knew my house:
Everyone did;
it was the biggest on the road
although my parents were poor
and clothed us from Jumble sales.)
At the end of middle school
(we'd all been held back a year)
I offered him friendship
because we were going to different schools
but he said no.
Pratt.
Also Linda, who broke both her arms and smelled of wee.
Sorry.

© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 29 October 2019

29th October 2019

sunshine
glinting on streetwise telephone wires
preening sparrows

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
6.
the rear garden wall
backed onto the canal towpath
where my grandfather took deliveries of flour
for her bakery on the floor below,
long derilict by the time I was walking,
the ceilings fallen through
into the cround floor
leading to a cathedral-like space
between the ground and the rafters above
where bats hung and swallows
built their mud and wattle nests.
Toeholds from the towpath side
led ten feetto the wall top,
then a balanced walk
over the old lead slates of the pigsty
and up the second floor wall of the old bakery
to a broken window
where the room beyond was filled with pigeon shit
and the rotting floorboards
of small, still-intact rooms
where the chromium oxide paint left green dust on our coats and jumpers
and the wattle-and-daub walls held testament
to nineteenth century ascendants.
We weren't allowed there,
among the dust and spider webs;
the old tins and kitchens pots of bygone years
but we lied to my mother about our daily wanderings
and the bygone treasures we coveted.

© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 28 October 2019

28th October 2019

first frost
a touch of beauty in Chesterfield
surviving nasturtium

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret
5.
Post-student years
meeting a married woman
for a Guinness in their local.
Cafe Creme cigars
and bottles of black beer
in the lounge of the Paget Arms.
Art, Passion and the State of the the Union
in Thatcher's Britain
as we witnessed the rise of the Right
and the implementation of Clause 28.
Dave's accident left him damaged;
different in the head
with his chainsaw-stitching
etched into his shaven skull
and their marriage was failing.
A brief affair - never consumated
but for snogging in the dooway;
the scent of smoky breath
and Barley Wine
under the yellow streetlights
of Wolverhampton.

Sunday, 27 October 2019

27th October 2019

rainbows
through the yellowing birch leaves
morning sun

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret

4.

Not so long ago I,

a newly single woman,
desperate for a relationship.
I fell in love with you,
a single mum
living in Northampton.
I travelled there most nights
weekends,
and we sat in the cemetery
smoking and talking poetry,
matching tattoos
and when you broke up with me
I accused you of using me for the money
and I'm really sorry I said that to you
but I was upset
and I thought we had something, there.

© Rachel Green 2019


Saturday, 26 October 2019

26th October 2019

image from Getty Images
wet and dreary
sheltering under a bush
the dog

© Rachel Green 2019

 Guilt and Regret

3. 
schoolkid
fifteen or sixteen
pursuing the love of a girl
after a high school dance
(except in those days 
they were called 'discos')
we kissed briefly
on the bus back to Redditch
before she took her connection
going the other way
and her friend offered to come with me.
I said no, I only fancied the friend
and her faced fell.
I'm sorry, I was crass
and stupid.

© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 25 October 2019

25th October 2019

ovecast
the scent of wild fungi
and sadness

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret

2. 
I stole three toy cars
from the front lawn of a friend.
I was seven or eight --
old enough to know it was theft
but too stupid to think I wouldn't be caught.
I repainted one with Airfix enamel
a bright orange I bought for thruppence
at a pre-decimal ironmongere
opposite the Red Lion on Birmingham Road.
The original owner
told me he'd watched me steal them;
requested their return
and bullied me for years afterwards.
I'm sure I deserved it,
and I've hated orange cars ever since.

© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 24 October 2019

24th October 2019

cold, overcast
the lawn littered with yesterday's pruning
crying dog

© Rachel Green 2019

Guilt and Regret

1.
I was maybe ten
and remember it as if
from an external camera.
A summer garden
sat on the wall around the raised back lawn
striped tee-shirt, shorts,
socks surrounded by butts on Player's No. 6
my father had tossed toward the drain,
and I was fussing a dog.
Was it Shane? Or had she died by then?
My mother,
standing at the side door,
talking to Marge and Vic,
and old fellow with a humpback,
about a local lad who'd lost his mother.
And I wished it could be me,
that I had lost my mother, 
anp people thought of me with kindness.
I'm sorry, Mom,
that I wished death upon you
and never knew you as an adult.

© Rachel Green 2019

 

Wednesday, 23 October 2019

23rd October 2019

misty morning
segues into a sunny day.
Lawns mown.

© Rachel Green 2019

wishing there was a way
to transport a cat
into a dog household
without the tedious kitten time
and the dreaded litter tray.
Meanwhile
our lonely little boy
falls out of the apple tree.

© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 22 October 2019

22nd October 2019

dreary day
lining the road
miat-covered wheelie bins

© Rachel Green 2019

8:45 AM
and the doorbell rings.
My heart sinks.
Where is the cat?
But he's right there,
on the windowsill,
consuming an earthworm.
It's just the postman
with a package for Lu
and not another lady
carrying my dead kitten.

© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 21 October 2019

21st October 2019

overcast misery
the kitten destoying garden fungi
last snapdragons

© Rachel Green 2019

tearful
bad dreams predominate
old teacher resurfaces
I wake,
wondering about death
and my alarm doesnt work.


© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 20 October 2019

20th October 2019

slight breeze
whispering sunlight through the trees
Chesterfield half-marathon

© Rachel Green 2019

lonely kitten
howling for his brother
needs extra comfort.
I wish he'd learned
to retract his claws.
My torso covered in scratches
from his loving hugs.

© Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 19 October 2019

19th October 2019

rain drops
hanging from the washing line
no laundry today

 © Rachel Green 2019

fucking phone
camera firmware fubarred
bollox

 © Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 18 October 2019

18th October 2019

yellowing leaves
littering the pavement
morning schoolkids

© Rachel Green 2019

my grandfath used his tin plate
for the whole of his life.
Issued at basic training
with his canteed and bolt action rifle
it represented the friends he had
and the friends he'd lost
and he honoured them by using it
for his allotment dinner
but we never made the connection
with his memory loss.

© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 17 October 2019

17th October 2019

sunshine
highlighting the dew on the grass
cat's blood

© Rachel Green 2019

less than six months old
a giant of a kitten
always a doofus.
Ten minutes after his breakfast
a knock on the door
from a kind lady
with an armful of dead fur.
Goodbye, Nero
you were so very loved.

© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 15 October 2019

15th October 2019

raindrops
hanging from the seed heads of montbretia
Antirrhinum blooms


© Rachel Green 2019

night terrors
leaving the sheets
soaked with sweat
and story ideas in my head
Why do these horrors
all need a book about them?
I don't write horror.
Much.


© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 14 October 2019

14th October 2019

crow calls
on the TV aeriel
a knot of sparrows

© Rachel Green 2019

a meal out
for a birthday celebration.
He chose a carvery.
What choice for me?
(a keto-tarian)
vegan burger sans the bun
and a side salad instead of chips.
Really?
Two slices of tomato
on a teaspoon of lettuce
and a cold soy patty?
Colour me unimpressed,
Toby Carvery 

© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 13 October 2019

13th October 2019

sullen skies
soaking my trousers
wet cats

© Rachel Green 2019

clearing outhouses
and overcrowded gardens
boxes of October prunings
taken by the barrowload
and a dead juniper
too big for a friend's van
dragged along the pavement
to help the war effort.
Filmed on Super-8
by the men with disposable income
and disposable wives.

© Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 12 October 2019

12th October 2019

yellow poppies
under the pelting rain
fallen conkers

© Rachel Green 2019

he crosses his arms
"You have a desire for control
and fasting is addictive"
I skip meals for a day
and find it surprisingly easy
I could go two days, even three
but he knows I could teach myself
to be anorexic,

© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 11 October 2019

11th October 2019

wind-blown rain
against the plastic, schoolyard fences
plastic moms


© Rachel Green 2019

we took the first flight
as the dawn was barely a dimming
of the eastern sky,
while the cities slept below us
and only the night drivers
stabbed light through the darkness.
She clung tight to ragdoll
her grandmother knitted her,
fear bringing involuntary tears
silent to her cheeks,
her mother's cry as she fell beneath the wave
of right-wing, middle class voters
who were live-and-let-live
under previous governments
but now toxified the shores of liberty
with the indegradable sentiment
of "Other."


© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 10 October 2019

10th October 2019

low sun
whispering through the birch tree
sparrows


© Rachel Green 2019


intermittnt fasting
combined with Keto diet
does not suit me well.
Every night and morning:
diarrhoea
I dare not fart anymore
too many problems!


© Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 9 October 2019

9th October 2019

dappled sunlight
through yellowing sycamores
escaped huskies

© Rachel Green 2019

thirty-six hours of fasting
and it becomes easier.
Can I go another day
or shall I keep my promise
and eat tonight?
Dog knows
I need to lose the weight.
Maybe another fast
Thursday to Friday.

© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 8 October 2019

8th October 2019

an edge of sunshine
limning the distant rooftops
crow calls

© Rachel Green 2019

in the car park
he sticks to the 'one way'
and 'no entry' signs
to reach the single parking spot;
blares his horn
at the McDonalds customer
who goes the wrong way
to claim it first.
Foul language from a rolled-down window.
Dude.I'm not scared of you.

© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 7 October 2019

7th October 2019

pissing down
both cats need cuddling
wet fur

© Rachel Green 2019

keto diet
sorting through the cupboards
throwing out food.
Goodbye, butter beans, kidney beans.
Goodbye, breakfast cereal.
Goodbye, jams and honey,
Goodbye, delicious soft bread.
Goodbye.

© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 6 October 2019

6th October 2019

unshine
a bright spot in the clouds
next door's cat

© Rachel Green 2019

for sale
one rotational painting
with the memory of being loved
displaced by a skyline
of Barcelona.
Three hundred and fifty
will net you the delight
of an abstract oil
by Jasfoup
Or not, as the case may be.
May paintings are desired
only when given free.

© Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 5 October 2019

5th October 2019

winter grass
covered in droplets
two kittens, playing

© Rachel Green 2019

Andy B Thief
proclaims the grafitti
on a Chesterfield pavement
and I have questions.
Is the person named as Andy B
a thief?
or is it a proclamation
"Andy be thief"
or, as I like to believe
is the tagger's surname
the unfortunate "Thief?"
Imagine going through life
with the name Andrew Bartolomew Thief.
You'd change it, surely,
as soon as legally possible.

© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 4 October 2019

4th October 2019

overcast.
sparrows emptying the seed feeder
cat's wet paws

© Rachel Green 2019

October country.
I don't eat chocolate
but I'm stockpiling it
for the local children
at the rate of one tub a week.
Considering the date of Hallow'een
I will be severely disappointed
if they don't all dress
as Boris Johnson.

© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 3 October 2019

3rd October 2019

cold, overcast
a queue of traffic
dropping kids at school

© Rachel Green 2019

the difficulties of writing
when every night
the cat
pulls out all the pins
from my plotting board.
Not only is the process made harder
but there a mapping pins
hidden all over the floor.
Bare feet....

© Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 2 October 2019

2nd October 2019

blue sky
but bugger me, it's cold
wet kitties need hugs

© Rachel Green 2019

twelve chapters in
and I change a pertinent fact
about a character death.
Now I have to go back
and update all the chapters
with the new change.
Why didn't she drown?
Because it's too easy a death.
She needs to feel the terror first
a wee, timorous mousie
torn to shreds by predators.

 © Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 1 October 2019

1st October 2019

No Ball Games
pelting rain
and cold, cold winds
horror movie month

© Rachel Green 2019

front garden
wet with rain
filled with the hissing of car tyres.
Our two kittens
the new discovery
of their territory
my terror
as they watch the cars.

© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 30 September 2019

30th September 2019

morning sun
turning the shed roof to fire
California creeper

© Rachel Green 2019

photographs
taken for a new nose
on the internet
release form
to use me as a teaching aid.
Sure.
I've pre-donated my body
so why not?

Do you want a piece of me?

© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 29 September 2019

29th September 2019

morning rain
covering the garden
wet leaves


© Rachel Green 2019


fresh bread
and home-made jam
using up the damsons


© Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 28 September 2019

28th September 2019


a patch of brightness
between fast-moving clouds
birch tree bendings

© Rachel Green 2019

waste ground
there used to be a car park
multi-storey,
xconcrete stained by rust
closed for years
listed unsafe.
When they pulled it down
the land blossomed.
False acacia trees, buddleia,
brambles, wild rose,
cornflower, daisies and clover.
Now a new notice
tacked to the fence posts:
Planning Order.
This beautiful space
to become another fast food drive-through.
We only have thirty
in this little town.

© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 27 September 2019

27th September 2019

raindrops
driving away the sparrows
eagre cats

© Rachel Green 2019

"Cut up your old card"
they told me,
so ever paranoid
I cut it into six pieces
two in the kitchen bin,
two in the office bin
and two saved
for after the next collection
but honestly
does anyone care
about physical cards any more,
when there are so many hacks
to steal them online?

© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 26 September 2019

26th September 2019

clearing rain
allowing some sunlight through
delicatw fungi

 © Rachel Green 2019

on one forum
someone noticed my poem
contained 'my old man'
and deduced my sexual preference.
Rumours circulated
and a motion put forward
to kick me from the site.
I pointed out 'my old man'
used to be 'her indoors'
and left anyway.
I don't want to be in any club
that has me in it's membership.

  © Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 25 September 2019

25th September 2019

 busy sparrows
emptying the seed feeder
morning damp

 © Rachel Green 2019


early rain
and the cats are shut indoors
after their operations.
I feel sorry for the dogs
who can't use the dog door
what are they to do?
And what I want to know is
who pissed in the lounge?

© Rachel Green 2019





Tuesday, 24 September 2019

24th September 2019

shitty weather
still rather hot, though.
Rain and sweat

© Rachel Green 2019

shopping list
in a discarded trolley
I've no idea what NI POTS are
VEG and MILK
are on my own list today
but not
LAMB or SAUSAGE
(being vegetarian)
and who the fuck
would put a DUCK
in a TOILET?

© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 23 September 2019

23rd September 2019

low sunshine
open windows and jumpers
alleviating allergies

 © Rachel Green 2019

"The land of more fudge"
describes the Labour conference
in Brighton today.
Mr Corbin needs to step down.
We want to remain in the EU
and not be anti-Semitic.
We don't want to be the land
of money launderers and crooks
that Boris bangs on about.

  © Rachel Green 2019