persistant prickles

the tree is a weird genetically-modified prickle-less holly

but at it's roots new shoots are determined to revert

to their former glory

snow

huge wet flakes drift down

and melt into the icy puddles

cat

in the window a black cat stretches and arches it's back

the fur stands out in exaggerated black spikes

Rainbow

no washed-out fading archway this morning

the rain was torrential, the sun pierced brilliantly

the rainbow appeared radiant and triumphal

Zion arts

girl with a smile and a blue butterfly dress

plays guitar and sings

but mainly for the man smiling at her

from the bus window

outside the student union building

the 'girl next door'

with silver waves of hair beneath her wooly hat

and a winning smile

presses goodies on random passing strangers

Bell

I press the ordinary anonymous bell

there is no 'ding dong' nor a buzzer

nor even a friendly chime

instead a saxophone riff sounds within.

I can't resist a second press

close shave

a man in a chunky cream cardigan steps back in alarm

the bus cuts a little too close as it turns the corner

porrrige

the air in the kitchen is so cold this morning

that the steam swirls thickly as the porrige boils

and I can hardly see if it is done

rain again

from underneath the rain cloud

I watch the tiny patch of blue sky

and sunshine moving tantalisingly closer

Made to measure

I walked up the path thinking it was going to be too small

but the letter box takes the packet so exactly

it could have been made to measure

magpie

a magpie cackles at me from the guttering

complaining about the blustering wind

More contradiction

baked bean panini

contradiction in terms

we went to a noodle bar in Bury St Edmonds

daughters (again)

ahead of me up the street

sisters

black tights, short skirts, sparkly boots

and a confident swagger

damp

I keep thinking the rain is stopping

but it turns out I am mistaken

... again

no ticks

tock, tock, tock

under the trees large drips of water land on the hood of my waterproof

baby says no

I want to read The Sneetches

but the Babe is adamant,

pushing the book away and closing it when I try

a bit breezy

even as a grown up it is fun

to be able to lean in to the wind

crunch

the empty shells of beech nuts carpet the pavement

and crunch under my feet

I wonder where all the nuts went

tram trip

crowds of Saturday shoppers with their umbrellas

part and close up like a school of fish

around the passing tram

rain and sun

emerging from the shadow of the cloud

the sunshine warms my face and

sparkles on the raindrops in my hair

gothic

under a dark menacing sky

a crow caws raucously from the carved victorian finial

hunter and scavenger

two foxes

the first interrupted in the very act of pouncing

the second stealing garbage from two magpies

who watch disconsolately from across the road

tumbling can

in the breeze an empty can tumbles purposefully down the road towards me

it hops neatly onto the pavement for a few yards then hops back down to the road

it goes on past and becomes lodged in the gutter

when I return to the spot it is gone

flies

beautiful in the morning sunshine

a cluster of glistening blue iridescent flies

gather on the corpse of a dead slug

double bass

matching red converses sported by two musicians

one carrys a backpack that, from behind,

disguises him as a walking double bass

reading

morning sunshine is the best light for reading in bed

resisting an afternoon nap

feet up on the sofa, warm and relaxed

struggling against the dark oblivion that

threatens to swallow me up

cyclists

six smooth slick cyclists swoosh past

and leave me plodding down to deepest Didsbury

sunset

the perfect time for a little stroll

with your dad and a green ice lolly

pink

the wrought iron gate is roughly painted

in baby pink and barbie pink

but it matches perfectly the rose in the garden behind

unloved

unlike the blackberries gathered with glee

the damson crop

sour and unloved

thoughtlessly trodden underfoot

becomes fruit mush across the pavement

wishing

there is a gap under the hedge, obviously well used

I wish I was seven again so I could hunker down and scoot through

piccadilly gardens

the cool air around the fountains is filled

with the shrieks of very wet children

keys again

I knock and wait patiently

it is very quiet

maybe no-one is home

no doors bang

no footsteps approach

no rustling of movement behind the door

then

just the tiniest of scratchings as someone strives repeatedly to put a key in the lock

out of body experience

a forlorn and disgruntled postlady stands on the street corner

seriously contemplating alternative careers,

but resigns herself to the job in hand,

consults the map, mutters expletives

and sets off down an unexplored road.

dried banana

I can't persuade her to say 'banana' but

she pops both pieces swiftly into her mouth

and with a winning smile

holds out both hands for two more

dog

the frantic scrabble of claws on the tarmac path

gives me a split second warning of it's approach

flying caterpillars

beneath a single tree

drifting in the gentle breeze

dozens of tiny tiny caterpillars

dangle from invisible threads.

are they practicing ready for when they get their wings?

through the bedroom window

sounds drift in:

at night, sirens and fireworks

this evening, children playing

and the neighbours chatting and laughing with friends

wrong key

in the space of three seconds:

a dread sick feeling engulfed me as I wiggled the key in the lock

and it didn't open,

my brain ran through all the possible eventualities,

and then the wash of relief followed when I realised

it was the wrong key.

Cortege

two beautiful white horses

with white feather plumes

pull a white hearse.

for just a moment I expected to see Snow White in her glass casket,

instead there is a simple wicker coffin.

three limousines follow.

lemon meringue pie

tart and sweet

crisp and soft

warm and delicious

all gone

mended puncture

the distant approach of a peculiar man

wheeling two bicycles

lifts my damp and weary spirits

snails

we step out into the evening rain

and have to tiptoe around dozens of tiny yellow snails

scattered across the pavement like fallen leaves

the sea

I look up from my book to find the sea outside the train window

nondescript dull grey apart from the tiny sparkles

where the sunshine breaks through the thick cloud cover

at mum and dad's

morning tea
weak and sweet
in a blue and white willow patterned
cup and saucer

travelling home

apart from two bedraggled and unpruned rose bushes

the long neglected platform is more like a summer meadow

scattered with long grasses and tiny red and yellow wildflowers

slug

a huge brown slug stretches his head up

mottled skin glistening

its tentacles protruding

searching the air

it is faintly disgusting

and yet

curiously

elegant

cat

siamese, beautiful, delicate cream with black tips

incongruous in the scruffy garden

nuzzles around my ankles

and stretches languorously at my feet

daughter again

giggling over purchases

and sharing chocolate

she still lets me link arms

as we walk along

thunder

thunder reverberates across the sky

threatening

but keeping its distance

until the sudden cloudburst

catches me unawares

headache

skulking in the background,

ominously,

lurking behind my eyes,

stealing in,

niggling,

then nagging,

persistent,

ensconced,

settling in for the duration.

a hot day

cool water, trickling

down my neck

and down my throat

Rosary

the small gathering of people pray futilely

across the road from the Marie Stopes clinic

I bite my tongue and refuse the proffered rosary

without a polite smile

afternoon nap

I open my eyes to

soft warm light

soft warm skin

soft warm kiss

baby

under the plastic rain-cover

the tiny brown toes curl and flex

but he sleeps on

daughter

in the sweltering afternoon

she awakens crumpled from sleep

and the curly embroidered design

of the duvet cover

is embossed onto her pink skin

the power of advertising

a very small boy is captivated by the pretty lady with a purple tongue

while his dad tried to gently coax him to nursery

life story

two jobs, two wives, knows about horses but not a Mancunian

in the four or five minutes that we wait for the bus

the man tells me his entire life

shoes

very shiny, very black and very high, a pair of stilettos

teeters carefully ahead of me along the uneven pavement

strawberries

as I chop the strawberries the tiny cut on my thumb

stings exquisitely in anticipation

muddy boots

the students have been out in the rain

celebrating the end of exams

muddy boots adorn doorsteps and porches

and lie in heaps on the street

7 days unlimited travel

sunlight streams in through the bus window and

my arm, braced tight against the seat in front,

bears this bizarre shadowy tattoo along it's length

Summer

a newly opened deep pink rosebud

unseen a bee buzzes frenetically inside

bus stop again

tired thin hands with horny nails and nicotine stains

fidget in time with his twitching foot

Bus stop chat

a crazy lady, with beautiful brown eyes, chattering at the bus stop

we talk about boots, breasts and button noses

sparrows

two sparrows, like miniature woodpeckers, grip the brick wall

and peck at the salt that the recent rain has washed free

In the sunshine

An elderly tramp, drinking coffee and basking in the sunshine outside Subway

greets me with a wave and a cheery, 'Mornin' darling'.

Spring

a thick drift of delicate pink petals

swirls in the eddy of a passing truck

Number 30

A newly build wall, with ornate wrought iron fence and gates.

A newly laid herringbone block-work driveway, no weeds or litter.

And yet the letterbox is held on with sellotape

People watching

Teenage boy with bag of stuff and a mobile phone

crosses the road, finishes his can of drink

and carefully places it on the wall outside number 20.

Turning round as he walks away he sees me watching him,

and has the decency to look a little sheepish.

Baby

No one else noticed, but

she saw me coming up the path

peered round the curtain

and smiled in recognition.

The perfect welcome

Morning mist

the way ahead,

usually meandering gently between the bridges

instead vanishes into the damp muting white

Crows

Two big black crows stalk the garden

one has a beak full of gathered catkins

the other picks at the dry grass

Adventure playground

Watching the children on the rope bridge

I fancy I can see my boys hanging

and shouting amongst them

eyes shining and determined to be the last

to climb down.

Random Hail

the sky pelts me spitefully with tiny hailstones

Ash wednesday

a lady stops to show me

the smudge of black on her forehead

I am politely bemused

magpies

four magpies feasting in the gutter

scatter to the four winds at my approach

Alice again

Alice tells me she comes down stairs backwards,

like a toddler.

She says the stairlift is too slow.

Birthday

Alice is 90

A defiant clutch of cards announcing this fact surrounds a solitary pink floating balloon.

unobservant

I have been doing this duty for three months and three days and this morning as I closed the gate at 77 Alan Road I noticed a huge Monkey Puzzle tree in the front garden, it dominates a street of mostly neglected scrubby hedges or concreted driveways. Why did I never see it before?

decorating

sticky paint trapped in the creased skin of my knuckles.

a productive afternoon.

Green eggs and ham

I do not like Green Eggs and Ham

I do not like them Sam-I-am

we chorus in familiar unison for the benefit of a bemused baby

through the kitchen wondow

grey squirrel with it's tail twitching violently perches high up

watched below by a disappointed cat

figures not included

(observed while waiting on someone's doorstep with a package)

amongst the strewn takeaway leaflets the porch is randomly ornamented: three small cacti in painted pots, well tended; a sheep; a mosaic candle holder, the candle burnt; a tiny, glittery fairy embracing a tiny, glittery unicorn; a delicate ceramic lidded pot with a flower; a lump of rock, not pretty, maybe with sentimental value; a glass paperweight with bubbles and a purple spiral at the centre; a gaudy green figurine of a leprechaun; and most strangely what appears to be a bit of Warhammer scenery, just a small base with a rock and some synthetic grass.

today's stone

a bright washed-out winter sky and a raucous troupe of sparrows squabbling in a bush, just for the hell of it.

waiting to come inside

the cat's eyes reflect like cats-eyes

through the pitch black of the landing window

wednesday

an elderly man digs the garden in a tweed dressing gown,

he doesn't seem to notice the cold

extremely loud woman on her mobile phone

talks about nothing to the entire street

dawn chorus

the first faint chirping accompanies the ride to work, it is still very dark but somehow feels a little lighter

ride home

riding home early afternoon, I close my northerly eye and the sun, already sinking low behind the straggly trees, flashes red and green in the other.

friday 7th

amidst the driving icy sleet a single flake alights on my nose... and is gone

a river of stones

I found this and liked the idea. that's all. this is a place to post them.

warmth and a prickle of whisker against my lips and the lingering taste of a watermelon jelly bean, we should kiss more

onscreen her golden hair, so artfully wind-blown, reminds me of once being tatty and carefree