In The Poetry

This poem got written as the result of a conversation with an eight-year-old girl, Josephine Mackinnon, about Christmas trees. She said this: “If you don’t have a real tree, you don’t bring the Christmas life into the house.”

The Christmas Life

Bring in a tree, a young Norwegian spruce,
Bring hyacinths that rooted in the cold.
Bring winter jasmine [...]

On a Train

The book I’ve been reading
rests on my knee. You sleep.

It’s beautiful out there -
fields, little lakes and winter trees
in February sunlight,
every car park a shining mosaic.

Long, radiant minutes,
your hand in my hand,
still warm, still warm.

This poem got written as the result of a conversation with an eight-year-old girl, Josephine Mackinnon, about Christmas trees. She said this: “If you don’t have a real tree, you don’t bring the Christmas life into the house.”

The Christmas Life

Bring in a tree, a young Norwegian spruce,
Bring hyacinths that rooted in the cold.
Bring winter jasmine [...]

I’m going to read three poems by Jason Strugnell, a poet I invented. These are ‘Strugnell’s Haiku’ where I’ve tried to combine the feeling of Japanese Haiku with the banality of poor old Strugnell.

Strugnell’s Haiku

(i)

The cherry blossom
In my neighbour’s garden – Oh!
It looks really nice.

(ii)

The leaves have fallen
And the snow has fallen and
Soon my hair [...]

Flowers

Some men never think of it.
You did. You’d come along
And say you’d nearly brought me flowers
But something had gone wrong.

The shop was closed. Or you had doubts -
The sort that minds like ours
Dream up incessantly. You thought
I might not want your flowers.

It made me smile and hug you then.
Now I can only smile.
But, look, the [...]

On a Train

The book I’ve been reading
rests on my knee. You sleep.

It’s beautiful out there -
fields, little lakes and winter trees
in February sunlight,
every car park a shining mosaic.

Long, radiant minutes,
your hand in my hand,
still warm, still warm.