You were so beautiful yesterday  On a day that you had no right  To be as beautiful as you were  I have ignored the people  Who consider that they should share  The paleness of your beauty  I have not given them permission  To walk along your narrow streets  I dream of their destruction  The sun is just […]

Only the dreamers  Can be considered  As the true assassins  They start revolutions  The rest follow 

The damp smell of autumn leaves  Fills my naked room  I am reading Du Fu  By the light of a single bulb  In the distance I can hear dogs  Barking with excitement on the heath 

After sixty years of misery  Toby Cox threw himself  Into the sea  He did not drown  As Margate Mo  Rescued him  He never attempted  To destroy himself again 

What do think of Those Were the Days   The Mary Hopkin song  Yes  I liked it lot  Why  Because it reminded me of my happy days  Are you days not happy now  Yes Stan but in a different way  Things seemed more innocent then  Less fraught with problems  I agree Jane but I liked Mary’s […]

Our apartment was on the sixth floor  We overlooked the railway  It was situated between  The East and West City Stations  We often stood on our small balcony  On chilly mornings drinking coffee  I enjoyed this quiet anonymity  Neither of us knew how long it would last  As both of us had been previously hurt  But we […]

Are you back yet Stan  Yes I have just entered my hotel room  I was having problems with my reception  What did you do today  I rode on the new Liz Line  Did you enjoy it  Very much  Where did you go  I went as far as Stratford  Why what was there  I decided to […]

What are you doing Stan  I am copying a poem  To a Wreath of Snow By Emily Bronte  On to our condensated window  Stan there is no condensation on our windows  That is presenting me with a small problem  But I am sure that Emily would have understood  I would image it is quite cold […]

I met Lorca  In a bookshop  On 42nd Street  I choose  My companions  With care 

I have lived in New York  For five years  But the city  Still intimidates me  As I am from the Deep South  And am used to southern ways  At weekends I wake up late  And stare at the city  From my warm white bed  I feel quite safe  These are my small mornings