Early Morning

Home, Life, Poetry, Transport

Salford 23rd August 2018

Squeaky doors

are better clarion calls

than any alarm clock

on the market

 

Slumbered silence

broken by a cistern

attracts you to the noise

of the nearby main road

 

Luna’s departure

allows Ra to announce

“The morning is here!

it’s time to get up”

 

And motorised monsters

or kings of the road

make their way delivering boxes

either side of the tarmac

 

Solitary Swallow

converses with the neighbours

on a nearby roof –

tweets the news – no laptop required

 

The rumble of early morning traffic

cascading through the windows

is followed by the crack of an egg

falling into sizzling bacon fat

 

Kettle whistles through the concrete

up through the bedroom floor

your first cup of the day is ready

milk and two sugars ?

 

 

Spiders in the house

Acrostic, Animals, Home, Insects, Poetry

#spiders #web #house

22nd June 2018

an acrostic from inkdrop

from a prompt from the imaginarium

sometimes I wonder why they’re there

popping up from out of the garden and setting up in the kitchen

i get the idea, these six legged fellows don’t like the cold…

desperate, they’ll weave their webs in hidden spaces, like

every cubby hole or stair cupboard

Resident, until cleared out with a head of a brush

Fragile

Acrostic, Home, Poetry

Fragile

For years now, people have been

ranting over the amount of packaging an item is wrapped in.

a thing they need to consider is where it’s

going to. There’s a lot of movement in a delivery van, and

if the owners don’t want their precious vases turned into a jigsaw puzzle

lifting the cargo will take a little bit of t.l,c.

equally, it will remind the removals team not to use them as a rugby ball

An ode to a Heron

BASIC, Birds, Canalside, Home

Salford 21st September

One of Inky’s better known works, about a feathered resident of Salford Quays Waterside and Manchester ship canal.  Anyone is free to read this – but if you wish to re-use please contact me – thanks!

The Heron stands perched,

In the middle of the bay

Dreaming of fish, a stones drop away.

He stares at a red bridge, and buildings of glass

Thinking of morsels, he will amass.

Balanced precariously, on a bright orange ball,

He dreams of fish, and tries not to fall.

Flapping his feathers, and drying off rain.

He ponders of Fish, again and again.

Geese making noises, as they fly all around

The Heron does nothing but stand his ground.

Flapping his wings on the orange coloured buoy,

A sea trout or carp is his favourite joy.

Lights gather round the watery hole,

A moonlit supper our flying hero’s goal.

No salt or pepper, or toad in the hole

He dives for his fish and swallows it whole!