Window Poetry

September’s grind September’s grind brews with aromas of Mallorca Autumn walks, orange leaves infused in spit showers Pour me back into the bitter bright summer!

Elsewhere august Elsewhere there is a blue skied man daydreaming with spectacled bears

Elsewhere there is a flag carrying children of olives and watermelons

bluethroat We are humans, bones, blood and wings. We mix whistles, mimicry and trills. At the press of spirits, we fly

october eight rays of cold crisp sun St Paul’s stone rounded face

the other blue throat Push the door and fall, hold this bird song tonight you will fly.

Five floors above Peckham On this rooftop there is space for both arms and eyes. Hold the grey brushed sky — one leg of crystal palace to the south— one leg of squared mile of glass to the north— while st Paul’s one eye lid dreams of Rome