old beginnings.

This poem emerged from a writing exercise suggested by the poet Jo Bell. It is constructed of first lines from abandoned poems in my 2022 notebook. Some of them may reappear later in the year but for now they have found a home together that makes an odd kind of sense (to me, anyway)

snot rags and guilt bags

this is not a raised arm welcome to the freedom of the city

goldfinch in the kitchen

up against the wall

pie and mash and liquor with sawdust on the floor

beech life is a virus

you don’t look ill at all

my arm is not a swinger any more

the small clothes in the wardrobe

the rules we learn to follow

In the friendly village facebook group

time for wednesday wine

I’m crossing the line

raise a glass to the last unwanted

broccoli has a problem

the dog, the cat, the bird.

the man who invented fresh air

metamorphoses will follow

a desire to inspire or expire

like a rogue monkey in a clockwork sky