Early Life

Dear Miss Bucknall

Letters from a long-suffering poet, 1966 Yesterday, I found eight faded letterslying loose in the covers of a battered red diary.Letters, some fifty years old,

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Walking on Sunshine

On a lazy Sunday afternoona bloom of girlsmellow yellow on the warm green lawn,weave daisy chains of hopeblow dreams in the wind,as the boys preen

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A Hat Well Chewed

The day Teal ate your hatyou weren’t best pleased.He chewed it well, that dear dog,his sloppy yellow jaw gnawing awayat the brown felt and trim.

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Saturday at the public library

Entering the silence,a stillness of concentration,quiet shuffling of pages turning,a scrape of chair leg,the ‘tut’ or ‘sssh’of tetchy adultswaiting to be disturbed. Then the tiptoed

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Did I ever say

I’m sorry that I broke your model plane?You’d left it on the desk in your bedroom.I snuck in therewhile you were in the garden. Thing

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Homecoming 1960

The oak tree overshadows the drive.I walk across the gravel,brown Start-rite sandalsand grey socks rucked around the ankle. The front door is wooden.  Creaks.Teal, our

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At the End of the Day

At the End of the Day It was the end of the day,the lift doors were closing,the office commute began here.I pulled my Portobello furscruff

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