Overnight, pumpkins festoon supermarket windows. It has begun.
Boys with conkers,
brown and polished as their school shoes,
battering rams swung on shoelaces to fight.
Translucent colours hover in the sky,
rainbow above the canal.
Late. Again. This stop go network,
roads and railways,
seasons slow and we speed up.
Playing that 80’s synth over and
over- you’re over her, yet those songs
trickle through your headphones,
half muffled by the wind.
Dreamt of summer, in her smile,
Kept you warm once the sun faded.
Woke in a cold bed, waiting for winter.
Riding the tram,
that same soul-warming shade of coffee scent:
back to your favourite cafe.
Early morning mist clouds your mind.
pink smiling tint.
Two in the afternoon on a Tuesday: always soporific.
Solitary street lamp glow:
last seen in crinkled sweet wrappers
artificial upon the navy palette of night.
Nearby, some two chairs behind, someone snores
in the library.
You spot a puddle hiding between trees:
in broad daylight.
Trees whisper a secret language of
solace in the sound of lost leaves.
Seeing twenty years slip from a pensioner‘s face,
at a reciprocated stranger’s smile.
is a let’s leap into leaves kind of day.
Aside from a Monday.
You wish you could stop remembering
how quickly she forgot,
still sitting in the same old spot by the lake.
Each day feels a little colder,
Fingers a little deeper in gloves.
Breath snatched then cracked by frost.
Telephone poles scarred by staples,
Love heart graffiti notches
between kisses, lips and nails raw.
Walking through fallen leaves, wondering.
Do you feel more
or less lonely amongst the decay?
Dawn a ruddy cheek,
wind scrapes into each crevice.
Time to buy a better winter coat.
Communion of starlings, star gazing
On a rooftop.
Passing her by, just another familiar
coat, hat, scarf combination in the crowd
too many for her to notice you.
Upturned earth, rain-sweetened and
shiny as mincemeat out the jar.
Too soon to think of Christmas.
Sixty stacked wine glasses,
boxes on the pavement, for recycling men
to collect his wife’s hoard.
litter city streets. The retired couple reminisce
forgotten shops- unlike trees,
no new growth.
Hours outstretched like limbs within fresh bedsheets.
Outside is still soaking.
Glow of the moon,
Coy behind screen of clouds-
illuminates each fingertip.
Pink marshmallow atop
of hot chocolate
matches a stranger’s jacket on the table opposite.
Old friend’s hugs
are your new home, though temporary.
Yearning, like those confused crocuses.
These barren acres of grass trodden footpaths
cannot contain all this
Gradually, between bare trees, beneath blank skies,
the only colour
will be these centenary poppies.
Image use licence here.