Streaked with a green patina of tears
accrued over years of open scrutiny
they sit not on a pedestal
in a celebrated square
but on low stools, by a leafy lakeside
walkway, leaning into each other’s spaces
her hands clasped in front seeming
to hold the secret of their bond
or its dissolution
his eyes draw down from a hand-cradled
face, perhaps not grasping
while hers attend unblinking
engaged, oblivious to the summer stream
of passing couples, walking
or cycling or wandering free.
It was down to bone on bone they said, but he shouldered on as each year ground on the year before until much to do was hard to reach so he succumbed to the surgeon’s cut, the incisive smile of an ope
We shouldn't personify inanimate objects It's patronising and they don't like it On my morning foreshore walk I met a stone, grey and worn like me but a curious shape and comfortable in my palm. Each
I follow the news but do not set the pace teach what I was taught without invention and hook my carriage to a steady train the Thursday in a busy week one well aware of precedent and protocol the univ