Category: Poetry
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5 May: Journal of Thoughts
The Captain A child sinks a shipwithout hesitation. The crew must be saved.The story requires it. The captain goes downwith quiet agreement; no trial,no question,no second thought. It is not cruelty. It is order in a child’s mind. A hand lifts survivorsfrom the water,sets them safely asideon the bathtub’s rim. The rest is allowedto disappear.…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Nocturnal Quest (Or: a brief romance in three acts) ACT I: THE EXIT“Don’t wait up, old woman,” he purrs,tail held high like a banner of mischief.“I have… errands.Of a personal nature.Involves a wicked womanand a well-stocked pantry.” ACT II: THE RETURNDawn finds him back on the windowsill,whiskers tipped with cream,a single sardine tin…
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0205: Journal of Thoughts
5:30am, 2 May — Newhaven Ferry Terminal the house still holds nightin its corners. kettle breath,zips closing,the quiet certaintyof leaving. by eight,the ferry will loosen the landfrom beneath us. sea wideninglike a thoughtwe’ve decided to follow. I have packedfor French rain,for winds that speak lightly, and left a small, deliberate space for tins of sardinesin…
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0105: Journal of Thoughts
7:30pm, 1 May (Beltane) Car Packed and Ready once,I would have lain awakeon the edge of leaving, maps bright behind my eyes,the pull of elsewherelike a tide I couldn’t ignore. now, I sleep. because the road is known,the ferry a familiar hingebetween two roomsthat I have lived in long enoughto forget which one is mine.…
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AprPAD — Day 30
How to Bend a Spoon somehowher younger self still knows —step back into her shadow. “the apples will be abundant this year,” she says,changing the subject.“ripe before autumn.” she watches the sun drink from a puddle,summer not quite here. “you’re not special,” he says.“such foolishness.doula-foola.nonsense —humming to a fallen bird,as if it hears you.” a…
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AprPAD — Day 29
A Pocketful of Reasons the birds began first,then wind in the high leaves and suddenlythe whole forestwas louder than thinking. some bloodlines,my grandmother said,keep watchwhere the seen worldthins. perhaps that is whybirds sing harderin the trees, and small creaturesfind uswhen they are leaving. they seem to know. in my pocketa silence I can’t namefeathers, still…
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2904: Journal of Thoughts
An Hour in April 19:20in the conservatory,we sit inside a bowl of blue. moon halfway risen,unhurried as breath. Peder reads the future aloud,electric, precise, kWh,while my little Renault restswith the memory of roads still warm. outside,apple trees hold the last birdsonglike a secret not yet spent. and the clouds, pink drawn sidewaysas if the sky…
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AprPAD — Day 28
Breakfast, and Other Small Violences the spoon snappinglike a jack russellat the bowl, metaltapping his teeth — a bright, unbearable code. Stop scraping. The chew,the crunch … do I sound like thisto the world? like a broomworrying the floorwith every breath? His phone leansagainst the salt shaker, thumb scrollingthrough other lives. Againthat scrape. I step…
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2804: Haibun Monday
No Facebook. No X. Less news — especially politics and war. It seems endless, a kind of tinnitus. I move through the day in relative silence, reclaiming space, attentive again to the small things around me, freed from the relentless alarms of a thousand strangers. Today, after lunch, I sat in the sun and drifted…
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AprPAD — Day 27
Afterward There Was the Afternoon a napin the afternoon sun, where poems wait birds arguingin hedges sunlighton warming soil breezesoscillating roots that resisted yesterdaybut not today the quiet satisfactionof looseningwhat does not belong weeding is good editorial practice, after all. keep what thrives.lift what crowds. make space for what wants light. and while I work,no…
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