#Poem Hopeless and Topless

Meet you down the Torchwood Tower, she said,
when I phoned her over a coffee
from inside the Senedd.
What colour is the wind today, she added,
like a comedian,
knowing full well that my synaesthesia
was giving me gyp -
so much so that I had to walk to Tesco Express
and buy a Daily Mail.

Shorty faux leopard-print coat,
black liquid-look leggings,
a black Alice band,
flats, black.
In a carrier bag: purple, clip-on, toy angel-wings
(just purchased) – I note she didn’t bother
to wear them to meet me.

She’s been growing her hair long
for ten years.
I absolutely adore it – in an it’s OK way -
but I can’t fool her.
She shakes it and twirls it,
lets the wind blow it on me,
lets the sun highlight it -
each shadow carefully, precisely, planned.

She wants a coffee
and I guess I’ll buy her one.
Back in the Senedd it’s hot -
but she won’t be taking her coat off.

The Senedd is the building of the National Assembly for Wales – on the waterfront in Cardiff Bay

#Poem The donkey on your postcard

The donkey on your postcard
escaped into the field
next to the 10:25 Plymouth to Totnes
travelling backwards
bright winter sun slung low

The walk from Dawlish Warren to Teignmouth
was bitter
with wind
at first
but later settled
You wouldn’t believe it was January

#Poem The outside café table

The outside café table
near the steps
down
to the Gents
is shadowed by men
who loiter
in the aroma
of disinfectant
and bacon

Jesus once
wrote psalms here
blessed air
Later crossed over
from Pembrokeshire
to Ireland

#Poem Your love whiteflashed out the little details

Your love
whiteflashed out the little details
like the woollen cushion covers
Linda’s large-lens glasses
the slate-slab pavement
Chris in the garage across the road

Little pieces woven together
a warm, global aura

All I need is an altered state
a quantum to leap out from
Space ranger
Shooting star
Look at the sky

#Poem The last craziness of the year

The last craziness of the year
fell off
with the leaves

Would you get up early
and walk 5 hours with me
holding hope
for a moment of light?

The sun picks out a load of autumn-brown
over on the hills of Caerphilly Mountain
You can imagine it’s summer
and the fields are scorched
but then you see the mud