31st March 2018

Rachel Green. "Barbarra" Ol on canvas. 29" dia. 2018. £140

incessant rain
the footwell of the car, flooded
drooping dandelions

© Rachel Green 2018

a painting
finished, I think,
and put up for sale.
I have to live with it
to determine completeness
(unless it sells).
I'm a tad worried
about a small patch of green.
I think it off-balances the composition.
Maybe crimson?

© Rachel Green 2018

30th March 2018

over the hill
sunshine through ragged clouds
budding oak leaves

© Rachel Green 2018

an acquaintance
asks if blind people can drive
I say "sure.
That's what the rumble strips on motorways are for."
And I still can't tell
if he was being serious
or just trying to wind me up.
He still got out of my headlock
before I could punch him.

© Rachel Green 2018

29th March 2018

slanting sunlight
highlighting filthy windows
forsythia buds

© Rachel Green 2018

flat tyre
a six-inch nail stands proud
from the rubber.
Each wheel has one nut
designed to be secure
with one removal key
for the whole car.

Which promptly shatters.

I order replacements
but the one which arrives
(special delivery from eBay)
is incompatible.

What to do now?

Another forty quid to the dealer.
You're having a laugh, surely?

© Rachel Green 2018

28th March 2018

uneven guttering
holding the night's rainfall
mating thrushes

© Rachel Green 2018

fixing doors
doesn't stop the depression
I worry about things
finances (of course)
my inability to write
my lacklustre paintings
being overweight
a lack of flexibility
a lack of ability
failing jiu-jitcu skills.
At least Jasfoup
is still confidant.

© Rachel Green 2018

27th March 2018

morning rain
reflected in puddles
narcissi

© Rachel Green 2018

treadmill running
it's a long time
since I was at the gym
constant headaches
The doc convinced me
it was eyesight related
and thus I train
It doesn't stop the ache
nor the feeling
of inadequacy

© Rachel Green 2018

26th March 2018

narcissi
reflecting the morning sunshine
greenhouse glass

© Rachel Green 2018

Sunday afternoon
spent visiting the kids
my darling (step)daughter
and her son.
I introduce the lad to wrestling
and 'flying' on my outstretched feet
Gradually I will teach him jiu-jitsu
and the art of self defence.
In the kitchen
artwork is held to the fridge with magnets.
I am jealous of his work.

© Rachel Green 2018

25th March 2018

spring forward
streaming into my room
birdsong

© Rachel Green 2018

midnight Manchester
results in a flat tyre.
I try to fix it.
The key to the locking nut
crumbles under pressure.
I can't take the wheel off.
What The Fuck?
Now I'm stumped
and the garage is no help.
Ebay?
A call to Focus owners
results in laughter.

© Rachel Green 2018

24th March 2018

big nail. flat tyre
Now the locking nut key has shattered.
bollocks

© Rachel Green 2018

traumatic experience
months-long headache
prompts doctor's visit
she says it's eyesight.
Specsavers is very crowded.
My anxiety levels peak.
choosing glasses for my over-large head
leads me to despair.
© Rachel Green 2018

23rd March 2018

early appointment
under pendulous clouds
daffodil buds

© Rachel Green 2018

a fondness
for Wolverhampton
where I spent ten happy years
and one truly awful one
separation, divorce
losing my dog to the ex
my cat getting run over.
The freezing rental house
giving up the studio
and to cap it all off
the new dog shits in my slippers

© Rachel Green 2018

22nd March 2018

wild garlic shoots
appear in the woodlands
celandines

© Rachel Green 2018

nightmares
woken in the night
stuck to the sheets with sweat
tidy house

© Rachel Green 2018

21st March 2018

morning sun
burning away the frost
idling car

© Rachel Green 2018

why does Weetabix
crumble into mush
at the bottom of the bowl?
Why do cornflakes go soggy
and Coco Pops fade?
Why do porridge oats get gloopy
while Malted Wheats hold their shape.
And museli,
just why?

© Rachel Green 2018

20th March 2018

self-seeded primulas
among patches of fading snow
daffodil heads

© Rachel Green 2018

Goethe's Faust
we view the ink-stained desk
it was written upon.
His house in Frankfurt.
Bombed during the way
painstakingly rebuilt
furniture safe in storage.
We think of Coventry
as a city bombed to shreds
but the allies did the same
a whole town shredded
with the single exception
of the cathedral tower.

© Rachel Green 2018

19th March 2018

deep snow
the brightness of sunshine
half-buried trash bags

© Rachel Green 2018

Note To Self:
don't send unsolicited art
to people not expecting it
especially
(and this is important)
if the art in question is a portrait
of them as a zombie.

© Rachel Green 2018

11th March 2018

sunlit clouds
across the morning sky
birdsong

© Rachel Green 2018

a trip to Germany
but I haven't packed yet
and we leave in two hours
anxiety much?
I wake up on a bare matress
the sheets clawed away
by anxiety dreams.
Holiday's end
and I have too much.
Hold luggage?
Fireballs in the park
bring blistered skin.

© Rachel Green 2018

10th March 2018

 sporadic rain
passing the house
dogs in raincoats

© Rachel Green 2018

lovely ladies
coming down the steps
heartfelt sigh
I open the door, smile
greet them warmly
and prepare for an argument.
It's not their fault:
They believe what they believe
and just not what I believe.
Got to love them
pierced ears and Marks and Spencers.
They're just as damned as me.

© Rachel Green 2018

9th March 2018

barking dogs
on the woodland walk
flowering mosses

© Rachel Green 2018

"You've let the kitchen go"
he said, sadly,
"Since Lu's not around."
It's true, alas.
All of last nights pots and dishes
are overflowing the sink
because I was lazy
and went to bed
and he got up early
to go out to play.
I've spent the morning washing and cleaning
and hopefully,
hopefully,
I'll be less chastised when he returns.

© Rachel Green 2018

8th March 2018

blue tit cocks
chasing after a hen
flower seeds

© Rachel Green 2018

packing
after a holiday
why did I bring so much?
Boxes of books
and a desktop computer;
several suitcases of clothes
and a crate of board games.
Anxiety crisis?
The house is under reconstruction
and none of the toilets work.
An exit ramp to nowhere
appears in the basement.

© Rachel Green 2018

7th March 2018

rain clouds
moving with the wind
the dark scent of cold ashes

© Rachel Green 2018

bananas
Bovril
marmalade
milk
cocoa powder
corn flakes

shopping lists
a critical insight
into our daily lives
DK's late night snacks
Ash's reliance on junk food
my dichotomy
of physical need and comfort food.
One day I'll look back
and wish these daily reminders
mentioned more.

love
companionship
tolerance
human touch

© Rachel Green 2018

6th March 2018

ragged grass
waterlogged from melting snow
rotting cyclamen

© Rachel Green 2018

Satan Dare
 
a major bank
doesn't trust the internet
for sending documents,
still thinks FAX is the bee's knees.
Only now,
a 'fax' is a .pdf sent between hosts
remember FTP?
"We can't email a mortgage release."
Instead, they print out the fax
and pop it in an envelope
post it on a Friday.
Surprise!
Completion delayed again.
But they make one extra payment request
for the outstanding mortgage.

© Rachel Green 2018

5th March 2018

shelf, 2018

melting snow
the crocuses seem relieved
damp postman

© Rachel Green 2018

The locket you gave me
with a photograph of you
on your wedding day
eyes shining with happiness
sepia tokens of love.
I hung it on the bedpost
to remind me of what I once had
every night
wishing you a happy life.
Depression took me away;
repossession took you.
Are you held in grace
by another stranger now?
or languishing in the back room
of a silversmith or smelter's?
Or are you landfill
along with my other loves
and the memories of my dogs?

© Rachel Green 2018

4th March 2018

misty haze
the drip... drip of melting snow
daffodil shoots

© Rachel Green 2018

promises
do they still count
if you made them to yourself?
I promised to train more...
to lose weight...
to eat healthily...
to write a thousand words a day.
Next week is a trip abroad
and a bucket of paranoia
does that still count?

© Rachel Green 2018

3rd March 2018

a dusting of snow
over the packed ice of two days
dog footprints

© Rachel Green 2018

Walton Dam
where the ducks are frozen out
of the frozen end
geese land clumsily on morning ice
thick and opaque
except where someone has broken it
with an old housebrick,
and the fresh ice is clear.
The dogs are excited
new paths, new smells,
though wary of the waterfowl
who cluster round
hoping for bread
though that's discouraged these days.
Too much rubbish in the bread
leaves it undigested and heavy
inside a sinking duck.

© Rachel Green 2018

2nd March 2018

deep snow
the dog uncovers tulips
climbing through the freeze

© Rachel Green 2018

silence
but for the muffled crunch
as snow compacts beneath our feet.
Single leaves are green framed pictures
of nature's blankness;
unsullied portraits of winter
in the aftermath of spring.
Small dogs plough through drifts
no longer leaving paw prints
but twin lines etching their progress
and a flat toboggan stomach line.
Even the traffic is stilled
streets too deep to navigate.
Even the children have gone home
with cold-red hands
dragging plastic toboggans
on broken strings.
At least the dog shit
is easy to pick up.

© Rachel Green 2018

1st March 2018

overnight snowfall
leaves drifts deeper than dogs.
Hares are a no-show

© Rachel Green 2018

movie night
staying in with the old man
to enjoy the rare solitude
a full half an hour
going through netflix and Amazon
trying to find a film
neither has seen.
We settle on 'The Shack'
where God is played by a black woman
Great, we thought,
but we suffer two hours
of incomprehensible twaddle
just to laud a concept
unknown amongst the white supremacists
of middle class America

© Rachel Green 2018