Friday, May 31

this orange-blossomed bush has tipped its colour onto the hollyhocks where they pool in the giant alien leaves like treasure

Tuesday, May 28

Monday, May 27

Roshi balances precariously on the head of the garden Buddha, tail swishing, his eyes fixed on the hope of a small death

Thursday, May 23

a new box! Roshi can't help himself & disappears.

Wednesday, May 22

by the time Brian finishes taking the orders for tea
Caroline is already bringing the first two cups in

Tuesday, May 21

looking round mum and dad's garden

recognising the plants we have ourselves
making note of the ones we want
all our looking stained by self

Monday, May 20

sprinkling words onto the page like seeds on the earth
which will grow roots?

Sunday, May 19

Saturday, May 18

from inside the chanting hall I watch them talking on the bench as they hold their cups of tea

Friday, May 17

the plants are so thirsty I can hear them thanking me

Thursday, May 16


next door's blooming apple tree
accompanies me between sentences

Wednesday, May 15


one person x love = love
seven people x love = big big love

Tuesday, May 14

turning the wheel on my webcam brings the wrinkles into focus

Monday, May 13

a fine continuous spray of email shatters me into fragments

Sunday, May 12

the white slats of an empty chair
pegs on the line
glowing as the evening drops

Saturday, May 11

the first two poppies of the year, zingy reflective-jacket orange

Friday, May 10

Wednesday, May 8

next door's pegs through the drizzle: glossy commas of green, purple, cornflower blue

Tuesday, May 7

permission to take an hour in the garden - putting my book down, the garlic bed gets a good weed

Monday, May 6

californian poppies hang their buds, gathering energy for orange explosions

Sunday, May 5

from 'Recipes for Self-Healing'

"Apple and chestnut are the bisexuals of the world of cooking...."

Saturday, May 4

James is filming the bolted cabbage: the glory of greens & purples & blues. Mary writes at the table. Jo is out of sight with the pile of books she carried with her. In my book it says '.,.just as we are, this is crucial.' We are loved just like this - broken, failing, smiling at the world.

Friday, May 3

pretty thistle
a ruff of violet filaments
circling paler curves
and on its neck
spring green
with a splodge of white mixed through

who chose
these colours?

Thursday, May 2

old sticks emerging from the new bank of earth
leaves like lizard-tongues
scarlet as chard
reflecting the bright top
of a toddler down the street

I can see him clapping

Wednesday, May 1

two rolls of dog shit
the circumference of a cigar
to write about them I had to get close enough
to smell their musty sourness