New poems

One day I will go to Northern Ostrobothnia, And celebrate the feast of St Jude, The patron saint of lost causes. I found it on a map of Finnish administrative authorities,

Thank you For this cup of swirling alchemy Vortexing tannins, and Slow aromatic revelations. You drew it from the broad symposium Of your vast pot, where leaves of tea of diverse kinds

I find myself in Cricklewood, laughing And leering, guiltily, at the expectorating chaos that lies beneath. I drink a brown pint and attempt nonchalance

With eyes of jade you made that fatal offer As we lay low, close clung And strung out by complexities. I shouldn’t have believed, but you flashed true, clear,

Moving through the gentle breast-like undulations Of this grassed lushland, Damp to the red earth that smells of healthy holidays, One feels one’s eyes begin to open wider