March 5

SATURDAY 21 20

Since I was last out
yellow green has started to
appear on hedgerows.

SUNDAY 22 20

This Mother’s Day we
stay apart from each other
and others outside.

MONDAY 23 20

The Princess’s maids
fall into enchanted sleep.
She leaves for the moon.

TUESDAY 24 20

My dad said lino
printing would cut my hands to
ribbons. It hasn’t.

WEDNESDAY 25 20

When the letter comes
it’s still a shock, how call-up
papers must have felt.

THURSDAY 26 20

The fingernail new
moon, carving a crescent of
pearl in the darkness.

FRIDAY 27 20

The smell of thin smoke,
and the sound of a dog, creep through
the stripes of the blinds.

March 2

WEDNESDAY 4 20

Haematology
day, bloods taken, then it’s hot
in the waiting room.

THURSDAY 5 20

Two workman by a
hole in the pavement sharing
a wide umbrella.

FRIDAY 6 20

A green flowered plant
that might just be spurge, next to
dying pink blossom.

SATURDAY 7 20

In the market a
man says the glue is much too
strong for a girlie.

SUNDAY 8 20

Under the café
table, the robin hiding
then it flies away.

MONDAY 9 20

How often do you step
outside and it’s dry, then straight
away it’s raining?

TUESDAY 10 20

The needle screws into
my pelvic bone but gas and
air still cheers me up.

February/March

WEDNESDAY 26 20
Ashy shale scattered
on the garden where palm trees
died in the winter.

THURSDAY 27 20
The new moon lying
on its back alongside white
and fluid Venus.

FRIDAY 28 20
The fence that displayed
lost hats is now itself knocked
down, lying on grass

SATURDAY 29 20
The residue of
Storm Jorge, intermittent
hail on the windscreen.

SUNDAY 1 20
Whenever you see
a rainbow, you’re going to want
to write a haiku.

MONDAY 2 20
When I see catkins,
I think of my grandmother
putting twigs in water.

TUESDAY 3 20
A thrush skitters through
sodden leaves, while a robin
flashes red feathers.

February 4

WEDNESDAY 19 20

The grass that hasn’t
discoloured all winter is
sprouting, bright spring green.

THURSDAY 20 20

I spread too much ink
on my laminated sheet,
the print comes out smudged.

FRIDAY 21 20

A plastic windmill
spins among flowers on the
memorial bike.

SATURDAY 22 20

Men run through moving
traffic at the lights just to
get to Wetherspoons

SUNDAY 23 20

All the flowers of
the season out. Spring over
before March is here.

MONDAY 24 20

A navy knitted
hat covered in grass hanging
on the fence today.

TUESDAY 25 20

In the middle of
the Green, a dilapidated
Christmas tree totters.

February 3

WEDNESDAY 12 20

Waiting day, for the
right blood to arrive, too tired
to do anything else.

THURSDAY 13 20

The viscous blood drips
from its plastic bag forty-
two times per minute.

FRIDAY 14 20

Four weeks since I’ve been
into town, so many stalls are
gone from the market.

SATURDAY 15 20

The earliest lambs
are out at Spernal Ash, strong,
long-legged, already.

SUNDAY 16 20

Police vehicles
still parked by the tow-path where
they found a body.

MONDAY 17 20

Hereford on the
news and Tenbury, places
I know washed away.

TUESDAY 18 20

A lot of yellow
flowers out, tiny stars and
bursting daffodils.

February 2

WEDNESDAY 5 20

By the time I’ve been
to the clinic, paths have all
been dredged with white grit.

THURSDAY 6 20

On the bank that used
to be yarn-bombed, posters of
faces and a flag.

FRIDAY 7 20

A disembodied
nylon hood, fur-edged, hanging
on a wooden post.

SATURDAY 8 20

Buds forming on the
blackthorn bush where I shelter
as the taxi comes.

SUNDAY 9 20

A narrow tree makes
a triangle, fallen on
the funeral home.

MONDAY 10 20

The first snowdrop and
crocus then lots more, all the
way along the street.

TUESDAY 11 20

A slug-shaped tube, blown
in the road, might be a sleeve,
quilted, open-mouthed.

January/February 2020

WEDNESDAY 29 20

Clumps of daffodil
leaves, clear green, growing on a
verge. No yellow yet.

THURSDAY 30 20

On a whim I buy
an umbrella. As soon as
I’m outside, it rains.

FRIDAY 31 20

Some tawdry colours
In Downing Street but I’m still
a European.

SATURDAY 1 20

Black and white robots
or aliens stencilled on
a boarded-up shop.

SUNDAY 2 20

Punxsutawney Phil,
if he were here, would have seen
his shadow briefly.

MONDAY 3 20

The heavy scent of
Hyacinths, royal blue, lined
up on the pavement.

TUESDAY 4 20

A few stars between
wisps of cloud. A cat with white
paws runs up the drive.