Sunday, 31 March 2019

31st March 2019

lazily painted clouds
over a tide of English Fascists
soaring gulls

© Rachel Green 2019

young man
walking his late father's dogs
Overweight.
Introverted.
I used to chat to his father
play with his dogs
pass the time of day.
The son speaks to no-one
and the dogs seem to
understand
we're not friends
anymore

© Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 30 March 2019

30th March 2019

sunshine
lining up the daisies
homeward schoolgirl

© Rachel Green 2019

 a coupl of hours
sorting in the loft
I have Too Much Stuff
I can see a Kondo moment
where everything is thrown away
coming soon


© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 29 March 2019

29th March 2019

dandelions
waking with the sun
next door's ducks

© Rachel Green 2019

 the agony of sleep
brings disturbing dreams
my dad teaching kids
how to make bombs
then blowing up his junkyard
with him inside it
Mum's distress.

© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 28 March 2019

28th March 2019

new sigil
warm sunshine
encouraging new leaves
PMs resignation

© Rachel Green 2019

 missing class
fuckity fuck
torn muscle in my hip
serves me right, I suppose
for wanting to be thin


© Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 27 March 2019

27th March 2019

Snake's head fritillary
rearing their elegant blooms
first cut of the year

© Rachel Green 2019

 good intentions
using as exercise ball
as a desk chair
three weeks without incident
(or weight loss, to be honest)
until yesterday
where something goes click
in my left him.
Cue a night of sleepless agony
and an inability to walk.
Painkillers, please.

© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 26 March 2019

26th March 2019

overnight frost
dispelled by cloudy skies
blooming Honesty

© Rachel Green 2019

 remember the axe?
the one I put in view
way back in chapter three?
Yes, that's right.
it was a Chekov's gun
and will be used
before the tale is done.
Deus ex Machina?
more like a scalpel
to the synapses.

© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 25 March 2019

25th March 2019

cut grass
a delicate scent on the air
plum blossom

© Rachel Green 2019

 Ostara fire
burning into the dark sky
the herald of spring.
We cast pebble of frankincense
naming our desires
for the coming year
Two more novels
and a stress-free move
to the coast.


© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 24 March 2019

24th March 2019

open windows
bringing the sent of wood garlic
gardening cat

© Rachel Green 2019

 despair
photographs of my belly
flapping in the breeze
cut down of food, I think
but I am weak willed
and take delight in food
I am my own worst enemy
help me, Dog,
I need to live alone
and not buy food


© Rachel Green 2019 

Saturday, 23 March 2019

23rd March 2019

bird song
filtered through greening boughs
wild daffodils

© Rachel Green 2019

 words, words
the delight of them
as they trip through our consciousness
sparking connections
and the memories
of a summer's
confession.

© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 22 March 2019

22nd March 2019

 willow leaves
Nute: "Breakfast?"
thepalest shade of green
aquilegia shoots

© Rachel Green 2019

old bricks
overheated into glass
deformed lumps
made into garden walls
backed with soil
planted with sedum
and house leeks.
Alvechurch brickyard
taken over for use by the MOD
and never recovered
a quarry of old clay
and fascinating geodes


© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 21 March 2019

21st March 2018

sparrow chatter
along the wooded path
celandines

© Rachel Green 2019

 this dream
you have to remember it for a book
the boy who ran the ocean
about a lad (obviously)
who can run so fast
he can run across the water
but sinks if he slows
but the ocean is aware of him
hunts him
with waves like wolf heads
so he seeks refuge on sandbars
and inland
but the sea still follows
rising


© Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 20 March 2019

20th March 2019

unshiny
the sun behind clouds
lavender shoots

© Rachel Green 2019

 nightmares
my constant companions
feeling of lass
and abandonment
discarded in life
by those I like best.
the fear of people creeps back in
as my self defence skills fade


© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 19 March 2019

19th March 2019

overcast
the first leaf of a bean sprout
blackened by frost

© Rachel Green 2019

 flash briefing
brings all the depressing things
to a bullet list
is there a name for people
who will ill on themselves
to the point of injury?
if there isn't one
may I propose Mayism
after Tantrum Theresa?

© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 18 March 2019

18th March 2019

city pigeons
eating my flower seeds
indignant sparrows

© Rachel Green 2019

 the closest I've come
to an autobiography
Finn in first person
discussing her early life
echoes of my own
in a distant land.


© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 17 March 2019

17th March 2019

sunshine
among the forsythia flowers
cavorting sparrows

© Rachel Green 2019

 back breaking toil
collecting litter from the wood
a good ton and a half
collected in two hours
car parts and old matresses
full cans of cider
and so much broken glass
I just hope the council
cart it all away


© Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 16 March 2019

16th March 2019

rain streaked windows
wind blowing off tree branches
time for yard work


© Rachel Green 2019

 pissing rain
and I've agreed to do a litter pick
in the local woodland
I'm going to be wet
and miserable.
Have they arranged the council
to collect the bags afterwards?
Somehow I doubt it.
Still
I'll do my three hours of work
and pat myself on the back

© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 15 March 2019

15th March 2019

Ides of March
stabbing me with heavy winds
sunshine

© Rachel Green 2019

 keep it
only if it brings joy
Mari Kondo's methods
to reduce clutter
expand living space
becomes an inspiration
the two-suitcase method of living
(as featured on Derry Girls)
but what if you're an artist?
Boxes of paint don't bring joy
(though a pot of clean brushes does)
nor does a roll of bare canvas
or the old easel I lost in a house move
(lost joy, there, though my partner hated it)
and what of the poems I wrote
when I was infatuated with Vicky?
They were a bit crap, really,
but it was a good time to be alive


© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 14 March 2019

14th March 2019

sunny interluds
between the showers and the wind
dog walking

© Rachel Green 2019

 trying to write
when half the book
has vanished from the cloud
remembering the plot
is more difficult than I thought.
I deviated from my notes
and my leg hurts
where I kneed the wall
during a nightmare.


© Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 13 March 2019

13th March 2019

dark clouds
whisked by with gale force winds
lost internet

© Rachel Green 2019

 casually
threading a cocktail stick
through an old piercing hole
trying to determine clarity
I'd rather not re-pierce
if I can trace the original hole.
The use of jewellery
reveals I'm over jiu-jitsu
at least for now.
I won't return to the guy
who ridiculed me twice-weekly


© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 12 March 2019

12th March 2019

wind and rain
the bin tipped over
broken glass

© Rachel Green 2019

 lost words
between renaming files
and a defunct computer
I've lost the whole of chapter one.
I was so damned careful as well
converting to google docs
to have everything in one place
Where did it go?
Honestly, I'm gobsmacked to have lost it
I've always been so careful
and thought I was doubly so.
No trace.
I'm lost for words.
My lost Finn.


© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 11 March 2019

11th March 2019

warm sunshine
melting away the from
doggy footprints

© Rachel Green 2019

 I think the lack of poetry
is beginning to affect me
words dry out in my throat
and I cause offence
without the intention.
One does not make jokes about buleimia
in polite society
nor does one defend one's compost bins
with such ferocity
I need to integrate
with polite soceity
and remember that not everyone
is tolerant of sarcasm


© Rachel Green 2019 

Sunday, 10 March 2019

10th March 2019

overnight snow
leaves the world pristine
comes the rain

© Rachel Green 2019

 she has to eat
(she's had nothing since yesterday)
but can't face it
all the memories are crowding in
and ever her croissant
remains untouched.


© Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 9 March 2019

9th March 2018

morning sunshine
I look away for five minutes
torrential rain

© Rachel Green 2019

 gym bunnies
running on the treadmill
to avoid the rain


© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 8 March 2019

8th March 2019

sunshine
sheets on the washing line
torrential rain

© Rachel Green 2019

 Some of the things
I did as a teenager
I'm certainly not proud of.
Random acts of vandalism
school desks and buses
grafitti on public walls
housing estate parkour before it was cool
BJs in the bike sheds
and a thriving porb business
out of my school locker
but worst of all
and I say this with distate
was the promotion of religion


© Rachel Green 2019

Thursday, 7 March 2019

7th March 2019

flustered gull
carried along by extreme wind
a small child

© Rachel Green 2019

 regret
for the beans I had for lunch
a foul aroma
surrounds my desk
Thank the devil
there's no-one at home


© Rachel Green 2019

Wednesday, 6 March 2019

6th March 2019

torrential rain
fillig the city streets
wind blown rubbish

© Rachel Green 2019

 poison injection
ravage health
vicecanon of venom
valkyn skoria

burning light
lightning sweep
biting jabs
empowering darkness

surprise attack
befouled weapon
Cyrodil brings death again


© Rachel Green 2019

Tuesday, 5 March 2019

5th March 2019

dandelions
stretching feathery faces to the sun
lakeside mallards

© Rachel Green 2019

 wooden floor
at the Phoenix club
dancing lessons.
I should wear different shoes
my non-slip trainers
make a hash of the soft-shoe shuffle
beginner's line dancing
among the veterans of the disco age


© Rachel Green 2019

Monday, 4 March 2019

4th March 2019

warm morning
among the daffodils
my cardigan discarded

© Rachel Green 2019

 Pull the trigger, Piglet
My offspring
tutors me on millenial sayings
memes in popular culture
for the aging writer.
I'm dying, Scoobs.
Pull the trigger, Piglet.


© Rachel Green 2019

Sunday, 3 March 2019

3rd March 2019

primroses
raising their heads above the leaf litter
early nettles

© Rachel Green 2019

 old bones
buried under the statue
of a river god
hamsters, rabbits
and the family cat
still prowling through the bushes
seeking the warmth of the airing cupboard
until winter passes


© Rachel Green 2019

Saturday, 2 March 2019

2nd March 2019

crocus
under an overcast sky
the rosemary blooming

© Rachel Green 2019

 No-one remembers
my pre-teenage gaffe
makes for an easier life
until people remember my brother
and mum's suicide
and then you see the pity
and the fear of infection
from a child of tragedy


© Rachel Green 2019

Friday, 1 March 2019

1st March 2019

miniature narcissi
is it time for walkies?
bowing under the rain
a late schoolchild

© Rachel Green 2019

 flash to backstory
when I was angry at my brother
for telling my mom about me smoking
and in revenge I outed him for being gay
A Catholic school
right winged parents
Brexit value students
They taught him a lesson
and took it too far.
Convicted minors.


© Rachel Green 2019