• Poetry
  • Mayfly

    No pity for the mayfly,
    Or envy for the evergreen,

    No moon tonight,
    Just drizzle in the street lamps,

    Tea lights drift in the window,
    And the crows have settled down.

    The city is holding its breath,
    Fingers drift over silk,

    In the time between
    The lightening and the thunder,

    We conduct our secret affair.

  • Poetry
  • An Evening Stroll by the Itchen

    Despite a thousand disguises,
    As it grows dark she’s revealed,
    Humming in a mode only rivers know,

    While the trees turn to spilled ink,
    And the horses roll in the mead,
    Like a heart murmur.

    Night doesn’t fall,
    but rises from the water,
    Drowning the meadow in sound.

  • Poetry
  • Rock pools

    What the tide left behind;
    barnacles and whale songs,
    and a few of the best parts
    of my father.

    Dún Laoghaire is a stone
    lifeboat that rises and falls,
    but it’s a long town
    for little legs,

    so we made a giant
    (you only get lighter)
    and we made a slow-witted bear,
    and we ran in the spray
    as the shore gently sank.

    Dún Laoghaire is a sand
    castle, but the sea
    doesn’t scare you.
    As it washes away at your feet,
    lighter and lighter you become.

  • Poetry
  • Ode to a Blenheim Cormorant

    IMG-20170328-WA0000

     

    As five swans, together, lift their weight,
    With no little effort, toward the sky,
    My eye, yet falls, admiring, nearer ground,
    Where, on a branch that overhangs the lake,
    Not starting at the egret’s cry,
    She, unlocking not a sound,
    Who hunting over-long would drown,
    Reaches out her drenchèd wings to dry.

    A grebe, unseen, submerged, passes near-by,
    And on the shore mill pheasants, sheep and rabbits,
    But clothed in nature’s charcoal-aged habit,
    She busies not herself, but sits to dry.

    And so a long in-breath becomes a sigh,
    Cutting through all wandering, worried thoughts,
    Just to watch her perch upon the over-hanging stalk,
    And reach out her drenchèd wings, to dry.

     

    Image: Cormorant by Sonja Molina, Instagram @sonlune

  • Poetry
  • Tenement Magnolias

    magnolia poem

     

    Chattering echoes and
    light rakes the oratory,

    Everywhere blossom and soft warmth,
    pebbles, litterfall.

    A gift of small blisters,
    rhythms on the common.

    Tenement magnolias
    singing in thought, and silently –

    Lift up your hearts,
    lift up your hearts.

     

  • Poetry
  • Rust Bucket

    poetry music alexander westmacott

     

    There’s something so real
    and present and
    physical about
    the thing that counteracts
    a life of imaginings,
    spreadsheets and
    norms,

    In the jagged sharpness of
    crumpled and torn
    steel bodywork;
    an old shell rusted to
    delicacy and overgrown,

    red fringes
    refreshed by every rain,
    a shelter of history,
    a world for countless lives,

    eating under tyres and swimming
    in oil stained puddles,
    ripening in rainbow decay.

  • Poetry
  • Dōrieis

    A few birds, bravely air-borne still,

    Flock in lost formation,

    Struggling, as humans will,

    For sense and murmuration.

     

    The sky, a crumbling blue and grey,

    For a brief duration,

    Births the brightest snow-drop white,

    As reason, revelation.