Monday, 31 January 2011

January's last stone

Cliffs and crags and striking peaks. Dark valleys. One stone, and another and another.

This could be equally about the garden wall I noticed, as about your words.

Sunday, 30 January 2011


Before we arrived the Christmas tree had shivered and covered the carpet in dark pine needles. Our friend's hoover sits quietly amongst them.

Saturday, 29 January 2011


Claw marks, from a stretching cat - the marks on the bumper of the car I reversed into.

Friday, 28 January 2011

Friday evening

Your silhouette, inside the silhouette of our car, at dusk. 

Thursday, 27 January 2011

Thursday evening

In candlelight: the golden statue on the shrine, and our five faces. 

Wednesday, 26 January 2011

Dictionary: ḥijāb

ḥijāb (hɪˈdʒæb, hɛˈdʒɑːb) -n
   between Marks & Spencer and the Sony shop - she has her home wrapped around her...

Fatty welcomes me home

A smudge of black, in an already dark room, and a thin meow. 

Monday, 24 January 2011

On the way home

Act I. 

The delayed train to Birmingham sweeps to one side, revealing a crowd on the platform opposite me. A hundred individuals, faces lit by strip lights and mobile phones.

Sunday, 23 January 2011

Sunday morning

Three burnt matches, withered, lay on the red leather top of the table beside me. There is a golden singing bowl next to them, which reflects the whole room.


Orchids and green leaves at the feet of the Golden Buddha.


A few inches of sky caught between the buildings-
someone has covered it with fuschia.

Wednesday, 19 January 2011


The shell of a blue tit in the centre of a muddy path. The bright yellow of its tail feathers. The dark brick red of blood.

The path is patterned by footprints in the mud, some five inches deep.

Last night

A clear night and the full moon. The full moon.

Tuesday, 18 January 2011

17th January 2011

The angel floats high above the door of the church, frozen in stone.

Monday, 17 January 2011

Sunday at work

A teenager pulls down a book of the shelf. "It's by three priests..." he laughs, throwing the book aside. He throws it onto a table of other books.  Its position upsets the square lines of the other, laid out, books on the table.

Saturday, 15 January 2011


In the train, on the table next to me, a daughter, perhaps in her twenties, does impressions of other family members for her parents. After a pause her mother sighs and says "I wish I was a Grandmother".

Friday, 14 January 2011

Friday evening

The high water of the Wye, rushing underneath a 600 year old bridge: there are strange currents and eddys forming patterns on the surface. The odd shapes, like brush strokes, are made by the water squeezing around the pillars of the bridge, and meeting itself.

yesterday's stone

Through the bare branches of hazel and buddleia,
the bare branches of a crane in the builders yard -
lit by a low sun.

(recorded in a notebook, on the way to the train station)

Wednesday, 12 January 2011

Waiting for Fiona

rain on the conservatory roof
the orange phosphor glow of a street lamp -
next-door's cat sits in the window

Tuesday, 11 January 2011

11/01/11 - Wednesday's stone.

The laurel hedge shakes in the wind, each leaf almost torn from the branches. The young bamboo bows. The television aerial shakes and I imagine the picture breaking up. This side of the window all I can hear is the tap, tap, tap of fingers on a keyboard.

Monday, 10 January 2011

Monday evening

Dark and light ribbons of savoy cabbage overlap and tangle in the pan.  Steam mists the glass lid. The cabbage looks like bright camouflage on a child's jacket.

Sunday, 9 January 2011

Sunday evening

the sky is like an indigo curtain
 hung behind the set of the cityscape

a chorus of pigeons are waiting
 for Terpsichore

Saturday, 8 January 2011

Saturday morning

The other side of the hedge, someone pushes a bicycle past; its wheels a squeaking nest of young grouse.

Friday, 7 January 2011

What did I notice today?

the white creases in the red carrier bag
holding an unwanted Christmas present
he held it like a secret

Thursday, 6 January 2011

Thursday evening.

The golden Buddha is lit by a single candle. We chant his name, Amitabha, over four notes. There are two of us. Her voice is smoother, and higher than mine. In front of the Buddha are three blue coffee cups with gold rims, from a market in France. They are each full of water: this morning's offering. The empty white jug, heart shaped, next to them, was the first thing we bought together.

Wednesday, 5 January 2011

Wednesday morning

mushrooms sliding across the pan
on a bed of hot olive oil
bursting in bubbles beneath them

Tuesday, 4 January 2011

On the eleventh day of Christmas...

On the eleventh day of Christmas two chocolate boxes sat on the piano.  There were also two Christmas cards, and a bees-wax candle dyed sea green. The chocolate boxes were empty.

Monday, 3 January 2011

3rd Jan

When you reach and turn off the alarm, the only light in the room is the blue glow of the wireless router.

Sunday, 2 January 2011

2nd Jan

Twilight. My belch echoes around the almost empty square. A child chases a pigeon and I can't tell the difference between its hoots and the sound of its flapping wings.

Saturday, 1 January 2011

Jan 1st.

Against a denim sky, the Cathedral is lit by soft electric lights.