Wednesday, 21 February 2018

21st February 2018

from Gotham, via eBay
yesterday's sun
vanishes behind dark clouds
fading snowdrops


© Rachel Green 2018

this seems my worst year yet
plagued by illnesses
and hospital visits.
My eye is finally better
(though eyesight seems to fade)
and now my ankle collapses
and I contract a cold.
My jiu-jitsu coach blames me
"All you need
is a positive mental attitude"
and honestly
I'm tempted to walk out then and there
but at least
I've got a plot point solved
in the current novel.
Will her leg grow back
if she thinks positive thoughts?


© Rachel Green 2018

Tuesday, 20 February 2018

20th February 2018

bright sun
warming the frigid air
dry grass stalks


© Rachel Green 2018

drifting
the edge of sleep
where stray thoughts intrude
I worry about money, health,
whether I will write again
or if I should abandon the tale
of a girl plagued by demons.
from the other room
the sound of a houseguest
with a vibrator
and I can't decide
if I'm jealous.


© Rachel Green 2018

Monday, 19 February 2018

19th February 2018

under the rain
cyclamens rescued from a cemetery bin
anoraked schoolchildren


© Rachel Green 2018

reading Iain Banks
for that moment of clarity
on perfect writing.
How he blends past and present
without artifices
chapter headings and italics.
I begin rewriting Chloe
for the fourth time.


© Rachel Green 2018

Sunday, 18 February 2018

18th February 2018

weak sun
breaking through the clouds
a cacophony of sparrows


© Rachel Green 2018

Grandson's child
born at 8:56
patient mother.
Meanwhile, I birth ideas
for more paintings;
order another cable drum
ti stretch canvas over.
And more paint.
Always more paint.


© Rachel Green 2018

Saturday, 17 February 2018

17th February 2018

hawthorn blosson
along a muddy path
dog prints


© Rachel Green 2018

stretching canvas
the way I used to
strip by strip.
It uses twice the amount
and circular canvases aren't easy
still...
worth the effort.


© Rachel Green 2018

Friday, 16 February 2018

16th February 2018

sunshine
on my winter-white back
the welts of Lupercalia


© Rachel Green 2018

a cardboard tube
with a nameplate on the top
my dog's ashes.
Odd, how such a big slice of my life
can be reduced to memories and dust
I almost want to keep them
but he wouldn't have been happy
shut in a tiny box.
Run free, my spirit dog.


© Rachel Green 2018

Thursday, 15 February 2018

15th February 2018

Morning sunshine
drives away the cold rain
steamy windows


© Rachel Green 2018

hard to tell
if I celebrate Valentine's
but my partners seem to/
I make jokey cards
to illustrate love
from an Asberger's viewpoint
but honestly?
I couldn't do without them.
I'd be a different person on my own;
introvert and reclusive
and angry,
always angry,
and sad.


© Rachel Green 2018