Thursday, 31 January 2019

31st January 2019

silent streets
muffled by hard frost
silent children


© Rachel Green 2019

yellow-lit platform
waiting for the last northbound tube
among the echoes.
Cockfosters seven minutes
leaves time to contemplate the hoardings
The British Museum
The Royal Philharmonic
Overpriced Gucci.
Watching a rat
navigate the rails
foraging for sustenance among the dust
a rush of warm air
as the southbound train disgorges residents
the clatter of heels
echoing from Victorian tiles.
Silence.
Cockfosters six minutes


© Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 30 January 2019

30th January 2019

crows call
from cemetery branches
a dead balloon


© Rachel Green 2019

limping
after yesterday's spinning
were the straps too tight
or not tight enough?
maybe my feet are too big for the pedals
or maybe
I'm massively unfit
and overweight
I still eat too much
where are the wires
for my jaw?


© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 29 January 2019

29th January 2019

car windows
opaque with cold
frozen sky


© Rachel Green 2019

hot porridge
on a cold, cold morning
central heating for kids
or so the seventies would have us believe.
Truth is,
I'd still rather stay indoors
despite the gaps in the windows
and the wind whistling
through the plastic dog flap.
but duty calls


© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 28 January 2019

28th January 2019

sunshine
streaming between houses
a knot of sparrows


© Rachel Green 2019

moments lost
to fading memory
names and faces fall away
until I don't know you anymore
Don't be upset
It just means you're not important to me.
Did you want to be?
Then you need to make more effort
and not just a quick 'hello'
as you court my old man.
Sorry for the bluntness
but he won't leave me for you
so get used to it.


© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 27 January 2019

27th January 2019

bright sun
the wind howling past
freezing point


© Rachel Green 2019

Butterfly house
watching the ants
creep along rope bridges


© Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 26 January 2019

26th January 2019

pink clouds
pushed out by the grey
snowdrops


© Rachel Green 2019

fiction
or real life
the line blurs when I write
fictional autobiography
remembering facts
of my (distant) childhood
and inserting instead
a fictional character
whom Death follows too closely.
Not the antichrist
just a distant cousin.


© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 25 January 2019

25th January 2010

patchy sunshine

melting frozen woodland paths
muddy dogs


© Rachel Green 2019

she hugs herself
as a defence from the cold air
pulling her cardigan closed
yawning,
yawning as she unlocks a four-by-four
and climbs in
sparking a cigarette
now she's finished the school run
pulling away from the kerb
as she's allowed to do
even when she's too exhausted to drive.
She's off to the gym now,
before lunchtime drinks
with the girls from Slimming World.


© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 24 January 2019

24th January 2019

cloud cover
keeping away the frost
warm radiator


© Rachel Green 2019
fake American accents
ground out so badly
one can't make out the words
make-up played for laughs
and wigs barely held in place.
Let's not mention the bodies
as realistic as Guy Fawkes dummies
and wooden acting
and lead characters too old
to ever be considered young lovers
(that combover is fooling nobody).
We escape in the interval
to a fish supper
and a parking ticket.


© Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 23 January 2019

23rd January 2019

sunshine
under a clear blue sky
heavy frost


© Rachel Green 2019

weight loss
proceeding slowly,
though more a case of body fat loss
than actual weight.
I don't look any different
though I feel better in myself.
Twenty kilos more
and I shall be happy;
a perfect corpse
for the medical lab


© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 22 January 2019

22nd January 2019

dense clouds
leaving the pavement wet
freezing rain


© Rachel Green 2019

bloody cat
sneaking into the bedroom
during the night
intimidating the dogs
to leap onto the bed
Yes, it is warmer in here
but you have a fur coat
and the dogs are scared


© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 21 January 2019

21st January 2019

vertical cloud
obscuring the blood moon
a double helix


© Rachel Green 2019

daily 5K treadmill
and I look up to see Lu
pounding into the weights
a sudden smile
as my love for this woman
grows even stronger


© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 20 January 2019

20th January 2019

rosemary
flowering in the frost
early cherry


© Rachel Green 2019

conspiracy theory
offspring watches too much youtube
is terrified by the world
won't leave the house
in case they get shot.
\honestly
sometimes I despair.
Flat Earth? really?


© Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 19 January 2019

19th January 2019

pawprints
in the overnight snow
tippy tappy


© Rachel Green 2019

body dismorphia?
No
I'm just really fat
but I'm trying.


© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 18 January 2019

18th January 2019

skeleton and skin
sharp frost
fills the front garden
leaves and street trash


© Rachel Green 2019

what can I hope for
in a largely forgetful life?
Have I marked the world
in any noteworthy way?
Have my books bought encouragement?
laughter? Lasting fondness?
Nave my poems inspired
or put word to recognition?
Have my paintings brought joy
or provoked discussion
on the nature of art?
I have touched live and made ripples
but they fade too quickly,
and the sands of time
are easily smoothed.


© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 17 January 2019

17th January 2019

sharp frost
dead leaves etched with silver
street roofs


© Rachel Green 2018

why would an old teacher
turn up in my dreams
to solve a puzzle I already knew?
and why was I at a service station
that didn't have a toilet?
and why did some woman
park her baby on my motorbike seat
and where's my helmet gone?
It was right there.


© Rachel Green 2018

Wednesday, 16 January 2019

16th January 2019

vapour trails
feathered in the wind
gull's cry


© Rachel Green 2018

glove puppets
added to the charity bag
zebra, lion, dog
They've languished untouched
for several years
time to move on


© Rachel Green 2018

Tuesday, 15 January 2019

15th January 2019

clouds
feathered like fjords
against the cold blue


© Rachel Green 2018

old partner
prompts no regret;
only sorrow at their broken life
husband gone,
child dead
grandchild dead
parents dead
and they still rail against the world
wishing they had more
and regretting,
bemoaning,
that I didn't die when they left.


© Rachel Green 2018

Monday, 14 January 2019

14th January 2019

pink clouds
bring forth a mostly-blue sky
frozen ground


© Rachel Green 2018

curious
to find poems online
about my own transition
from the perspective of my ex.
Dear dog, but they hated me.
All I have left for them is sorrow
and the slight envy
of the 200K profit
they sold the house for


© Rachel Green 2018

Sunday, 13 January 2019

13th January 2019

drizzle
through skeletal branches
wind-blown trash


© Rachel Green 2018

tell them
we don't want it
we were lied to all along
about the benefits
and told nothing of the consequences.
these slings and arrows
hurt only us.


© Rachel Green 2018

Saturday, 12 January 2019

12th January 2019

grey skies
among the raindrops
rosemary flowers


© Rachel Green 2018

an old film
flying through tunnels
pink and pulsing
alive and dangerous
on the big screen.
A round jawed monster
takes a bite of the wall
removing a polyp for biopsy.
Stomach cramps
as the camera moves up


© Rachel Green 2018

Friday, 11 January 2019

11th January 2019

bright, unshiny sky
filling the front garden
dead leaves and litter


© Rachel Green 2018

one of those dreams
where you find yourself naked
walking down Granger Street
but at the bottom it's Princess Street
and you've changed towns.
I am much younger there,
pert breasts and flat stomach
draped in an acrylic fur blanket
courtesy of the Oxfam shop


© Rachel Green 2018

Thursday, 10 January 2019

10th January 2019

"Creepy Sheep 4" (found on internet)
night frost
removed by early morning cloud
starlight


© Rachel Green 2018

why can I remember
the exact names and features
of those I worked with
twenty-plus years ago
and recall them perfectly
in anxiety-related dreams?
I can't remember people I loved
only a few years ago
and the dreams about packing
and moving an art studio
just never happened.
Why did I dream
about a stolen painting?


© Rachel Green 2018

Wednesday, 9 January 2019

9th January 2019

sunlit
the contrail of a northbound jet
low clouds


© Rachel Green 2018

she glitters
candyfloss among the breadline
a splash of colour
in the eighties concrete wasteland
heading to work
or headed home
a bright spot among the suits
and briefcases of outrageous commerce
four-inch platforms
on the Sheffield tram
and an easy smile
on the Easter Island commute


© Rachel Green 2018

Tuesday, 8 January 2019

8th January 2019

morning chill
two small girls in pink earmuffs
and no coats


© Rachel Green 2018

under the sink
nestled in black towels
the black cat,
locked out of her dad's room
makes a winter nest.


© Rachel Green 2018

Monday, 7 January 2019

7th January 2019

shredded birch bark
fluttering in the stiff breeze
frost gilded clouds

 
© Rachel Green 2018

small worries
the fight with John Emson
when I was...what? ten?
Less of a boxing match
and more of an attempt
to rip out his liver with my hand.
all a question of status, really.
Which of us was on the bottom rung
of the bullied ladder.
I was a ginger nut, after all.


© Rachel Green 2018

Sunday, 6 January 2019

6th January 2019

striated sky
over a land filled with unshine
raucous crows


© Rachel Green 2018

Dark dream
living in Newcastle
with DK's family as was
Ash still under five
and hoarding rubbish as usual
I clean up
with the help of her eldest brother
slightly older than Kirsty
for a previous relationship/
Looking for rubbish bins in Benwell
while soldiers bomb and storm a factory unit
full of terrorists (so they say)


© Rachel Green 2018

5th January 2019

grey day
becoming even colder
sheltering sparrows


© Rachel Green 2018

what does it mean
when your ancient japanese tea service
jumps off the shelves?
apart from 'it's time to sweep
before your dogs cut their paws"
Have we offended someone?
Invited in another demon?
Who knows?
Replacements on eBay.


© Rachel Green 2018

Friday, 4 January 2019

4th January 2019

still morning
the tumbledryer
in the silent cold


© Rachel Green 2018

still morning
curiously lethargic
after an uncomfortable night
replaying old memories in my head
waiting for the plot to shape
autobiographical fiction
what was, what is
what might have been
and what most certainly wasn't.


© Rachel Green 2018

Thursday, 3 January 2019

3rd January 2019

flocking gulls
around a fresh cemetery dig
meagre offerings


© Rachel Green 2018

catkins
delight the eye
on a day where crows cackle
in the bare chestnut branches
and the wind chill makes my fingers white
while the dogs, on leads,
inspect the daily messages
tree trunks and lamp posts
relay the passing of neighbours
and the sombre collection
of black overcoats
congregate at an open grave


© Rachel Green 2018

Wednesday, 2 January 2019

2nd January 2019

golden glow
tweaks the eastern clouds
rosemary flowers


© Rachel Green 2018

piles of laundry
heralds the new year
Italian tradition
dictates we do none on the 1st
and it all piles up.
Holiday jigsaw
consigned to the charity bag
while the overflowing bins
are ready for collection.
Rock hard Stollen consumed as breakfast
brings instant regret.


© Rachel Green 2018

Tuesday, 1 January 2019

1st January 2019

low sunshine
highlights the edges of cloud
sparrow flight


© Rachel Green 2018

new year, new you
maybe I quite like the old me
loveable, good humoured,
manically depressed
beautiful but overweight...
On the otherhand
maybe a bit more writing
and dredging up the past


© Rachel Green 2018