A new poem! I’ve not felt able to write or share what I’ve written for a while, but this poem is perhaps OK. Its a performance piece really and doesn’t look too pretty on the page…


This piece of paper is blank
And to be frank,
The thought of filling it with my ideas
My hopes and fears, inscribed here for years and years
Until the fibres finally dissolve and disappear
Is unnerving me.
Why won’t it just let me be?
Leave me free of its pull, its endless gravity
Sucking me into its white reflection
Making me fear its rejection?
There. I’ve started.
I’ve made my mark
Scrawling on its stark face
Putting it in its place
With a graceful flourish.
But now I’ve begun having fun, playing with words
Going on and on and on and on about nothing
Its absurd flinging verbs and nouns,
Sounds going round and round my head,
Onto the page, at what stage should I stop?
Call time, say enough,
Enough of this stuff this fluff this guff…
Now I worry about the quality of this bit of writing,
I mean, look at it, its shit.
The way it rambles,
Scrambling around for meaning,
It will never be complete,
I’m just going to press delete.

This piece of paper is blank…



The next attempt at a poem to convey a scientific theory…



It has been at least six generations
Since Darwin made detailed observations
Of speciation. The apparent
Macro-simplicity, that things tend to
Change over time according to circumstance,
Belies the molecular subtlety
Of the mechanism he did not know.
Six generations, less than a heart beat
Since savannah apes took to their feet
And walked out to discover new niches.
We, the enlightened last of them, with all
Our talk, have adapted to forget our roots
And become an accidental agent
Of change. Like starvation. Like disease.

Another theory

Here is the next poem attempting to sum up a scientific theory in 14 lines…



Outside the mercurial orbits of
physicists, those who play with particles,
inventing new forms of matter to explain
away holes in their theories, or who
experiment with thoughts, telling each other
parables from the gospel of Science,
glimpsing shifting red waves from the past through
telescopes shaped like saucers; does anyone
really understand Relativity?
Of course, it depends where you stand, relative
to the position of the person doing
the explaining and whether the matter
at hand can bend light, so you can’t quite see
E equals M C squared on the chalk board…

So I had this slightly silly idea, to write sonnets that express scientific theories…This is the first on the subject of entropy.


I used to understand all these theories,
These idealised equations formed
Into an ordered expanse of terms;
A precision clockwork, carefully pieced
Together by Cartesian saints,
To measure the tick of times arrow
As it passes.
And as it passes,
These abstractions, these absolutes, begin
To fade into the whispers of ghosts
Haunting machines that were never there.
Their logical purity forgets
The mixedupness of their formulation,
Their axioms too often unchallenged, but
With time, they are certain to dissipate.


I have missed a few days, a week, due to Easter getting in the way with cake and chocolate and good friends. I pick up the thread again with this poem that perhaps works? Personally, I think I need to work on the endings of poems.



I am a patchwork of places
Tied together with myths of memory.
Tough grasses and millstone grit
Mix with a river meandering
Through the summers of Browns
Capable contours. Wild pastures
Spread with blankets of date slices,
Biscuits and orange squash, are lost in
Wood smoke honeyed quarries filled
With drunk laughter. Wight clays and
Flint tipped downs scattered with wind
And skylark song stir themselves with
White coated industry and midland
Towns where herons stalk canal banks
Over hung with willow. Every place
Is a story, a fiction filled
With real character, the narrative
That forms me.


I’m really struggling with the whole poem a day thing today. No real inspiration. This poem comes from a news article about the young royals arriving in Australia. It annoyed me.



The announcement of
A yellow dress
On the runway,
Made me wonder
Why I don’t
Know the cut
Of the suit?

Today’s poem started as I drove to morris practice. I cannot think of a title for it that fits, try as I might. So I present it here untitled. If you have any suggestions, answers on a postcard…



The oak colours unfurl with the promise

of summers we thought we had left behind,

tinted with Wild May and her cousins.

Lazy times watching the low river

meander into the late dusk, misted

with scents of woodsmoke and honeysuckle,

and kisses under a pink moon.