The shortest day

The shortest day
two cats, with staring eyes
and a hoover.

The shortest day
with grey rain, pale skies
an electric fire

The shortest day
half gone, half to go
a long night coming

The shortest day
lychee tea, chocolate
a comfy chair


They start drifting in
I push them out
They try again, a little more urgent
I push them out

They beg to get my attention
It’s working
The kettle is on
Now what?

The needle

The needle comes and goes
forgotten completely
until the day it returns
biting skin and leaving indelible stains

Each mark etched
is no less than a word itself
spanning decades
Drawn in pains of grey

The words tell a story I have forgotten
like someone else’s map
The pain long gone
in stinging lines of black ink

Maybe the story is never finished
anymore than a stream running to sea
Maybe it is my story to the world
the story of here I am

It was cold out

I wrapped up and went walking
it was cold out
I picked up two little stones to warm my hands

The wind from the North
smelt of snow
My nose running for shelter in my beard

I longed for something and nothing
stumbling along hidden paths
Through brambles of thoughts

I trod in dog shit
It was cold out
I picked up two little stones to warm my hands