2nd November 2026

 

chill wind

wearing an idiot's hat

fresh coffee

© Rachel Green October 2026

Leaves in November

stiff winds

and the leaves are blowing off the trees

and bring a recollection of childhood.

I was at Big School,

which means I was at least thirteen

because those were the years we were held back

while the system switched high school ages

from eleven-plus the thirteen years

and Grant the Humongous shared a secret

that to catch a leaf before it touched the ground

would mean you would get a single wish.

So many breaktimes I wasted chasing leaves

and I never got the wish

to have my mum alive again

© Rachel Green October 2026

1st November 2026

 

multiple deliveroos

all with different numbers

autistic Hell

© Rachel Green October 2026

All Hallow's Day

After the fireworks;

after the imported 'tradition'

of chaperoned children begging for sweets

(no, not fruit, or books, just sweets...

and not those cheap ones from multipacks)

another day brings calm.

The tolling of the church bells

announce survival of another year

as does the trails of sweetie wrappers

and discarded multipack lollies.

© Rachel Green October 2026

31st October 2026

 

crisp air

the street oddly scented

patchouli

© Rachel Green October 2026

A Post-Christian Utopia

when the dead rose

they didn't shamble and stagger

and look for the living to satiate a hunger

they couldn't put a name against;

they formed orderly queues outside the church

and at the Salvation Army building

and asked "Is this the Resurrection?

Are we going to Heaven soon?"

and all the government could do

was treat them as Asylum Seekers

for the land of the Dead

and issue temporary passports and 

put their names on reanimation certificates.

The next election had a new platform altogether

and was a 'look after' or 'destroy' coalition,

but the surprising outcome was the Ultra-Right

who ran with the slogan 'Ultra for Unlife'

and got in by a landslide until the economy crashed

because the Undead could work Unpaid

and the living all went to Hell.

© Rachel Green October 2026

30th October 2026

 

woodsmoke

passing the allotments

burning leaves

© Rachel Green October 2026

Almost Always

why do I dream

of urinating in odd places

like stove tops

and towel bales

or a disconnected toilet

at a childhood friend's

or the men's urinal in a shopping mall.

At least I always wake up.

© Rachel Green October 2026

29th October 2026

 

salvation army

the stench of old urine

homeless lads

© Rachel Green October 2026

Broken Furniture

there's a recurring dream

where the house is full of rubbish

and art supplies and woodworking tools

but the child (now thirty) is still two years old

and their toys are everywhere.

The wallpaper is peeling from the ceiling

in the dampness of the attic room

and a hole in the wattle and daub wall

reveals a glassless atrium beyond

overlooking the neighbour's yard

and my ex-ex-ex's father

is scowling at me as usual.

© Rachel Green October 2026

28th October 2026

 

Grave diggers

Opening up an old grave

Second burial

© Rachel Green October 2026

Feel Safe

Rusted machete

Brushed off and varnished

A sweep of acrylic

And some lettering in gold

The story of an object

In thirty words or less

© Rachel Green October 2026

27th October 2026

 

windy bin day

the garden full of rubbish

next door's

© Rachel Green October 2026

Tiny Demons

small paintings

on pieces of rubbish

picked up on the street.

These are the things I feel

as I creep through the passion

of each passing day.

Encapsulated turbulence

masking internal breakdowns

offset by coping mechanisms

of societal masks

© Rachel Green October 2026