The Seven Sisters

One March – but nearly – April day,

Under an unseen sun,

The Seven Sisters misty lay

All waiting for some fun.


Young couples amorously strolled

And picnicked on the dizzy heights

All unaware, quite unalarmed,

Enjoying love’s delights.


The Seventh Sister listening lay

Under the yellowing sky

Then suddenly twitched her green-clad limb

In murderous jealousy…


Goodbye to Trains

Soon we will have lost

Our regular sightings

Of trains.


My mother appreciated them

With excited yells of

“A train, a train!”


But we thought

“Yes, yes, a train – so?”

Normal. Mundane.


But each day now

The building site grows;

Blocking, threatening, an actual pain.


Soon we shall no longer

See the 7.39

Flashing along the line,


Its dozen carriages

Making the rising sun

Flicker through the gaps.


I wish I’d been more appreciative

A train

Isn’t mundane

My mum was right

To let it excite her.


Salmon, peeled plum and henna dye,

Bruised flesh, pale peach with aubergine,

Amber, honey, antique gold

Paint the late palette of the sky.


Framed by frinking fronds of palms –

Rustling, jostling, flirting, fencing –

Green bayonets piercing darkening blue,

They guard the casket with their arms.


The trade wind shakes the clouds apaprt;

Changed hues bedeck the glowing west.

The new kaleidoscope reveals

Bleached bronze, wet lilac, fire’s heart.


p.10 The Green Man, Arun Poetry Club, published 1999/2000.