morning service

today our radiant golden Buddha is a foil-wrapped solid chocolate

flickering between hope and despair

midnight visitation from a lonely cat

muddy footprints from the foot of the bed all the way to our heads

a dark crispy layer itches and peels from the slash burn
underneath the skin glistens taut, rosy, trying to heal

argument

mother and two teenage daughters at the supermarket. mother spits at oldest 'just get away from me, just get out of my sight'. youngest conspires with mother 'why can't she just be an ordinary person?' oldest swears and goes on ahead, face of fury, heart breaking

the salted caramels I've anticipated for a month disappoint

oven burn

yesterday's pale blue slash darkens

the leather pads of Silver's paws push against my smiling fingertips

Esther's tall dried poppy stems, their crinkled pods pale blue and full of noise

snowed in

pausing at the blind I remember to open the slats and gaze at the iced and beautiful world

blackbird sits
fat with cold
on the washing line pole

empty bush

yesterday's bunches of orange berries stripped hungrily bare

through binoculars

redwings clot the bush with orange berries
the tangerine blush on their chests a perfect match

essence of ginger sloshed in the bath
my mist begins to lift

black cat pats at a twisted length of golden ribbon

post-doritos

between fingertips and the skin that crinkles when I smile, noticing the texture of crystals of salt

even guitar-tuning can sound sweet if you listen with the right ears

yoga class, relaxation

on every forehead, her finger daubs a warm smear of lavender oil

a pause in stirring: the almost-done porridge breathes

in the garden next door chairs lean forward, rest their chins on the table, wait for spring.

a river of stones starts flowing...

post Christmas-tree-purchasing

peach-edged flames lick at the pine-scented air

posting Christmas cards with love

each one makes a muffled thwock
in the heart of the post box

Kaspa polishes the tiny silver spoons until they gather all the light into their arms

driving home always takes too long

Fatty comes up the bed for his morning cuddle too early. My fractious dreams are soaked in gravelly purr.

a million paintbrushes dipped in white have beautified every twig

during gratitude meditation

the vivid image arises: kissing everyone's feet

christmas wrapping

a smattering of small gold disks, punched out from home-made tags

snow: slow retreat from the sun.

Cat on the keyboard (Fatty's poem)

,m .kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

child's kite caught on the powerlines by the tip of its wing