The Fulmar
Ag-ag-ag-arrh, the guttural fulmar
Laughs condescendingly at my standing
Bound by human limitation, in awe
Of its flight, I watch as it tips daring
From the cliff, to glide, to skim the water,
Stiff-winged sensing each subtle mood of air
An updraught, the merest drop in pressure,
Away to the Denmark Straits, the Grand Banks,
Far-off Atlantic shores, chasing rainbows,
Their treasure, my dreams cast seaward, unbound,
By habit, by rules, by duty, I stand
Between tides, between now and memory,
Watching the waves, the fulmar returning,
Home to its’ chick, a hungry mouth to feed.
Cezanne at Tate Modern, 2023
Your sister didn’t understand
How could she?
You were chasing something lost
The three of you by the lake
Naked bathers
Not the violence of sex
But the romance of clouds
The poetry of the moment
Held for a moment
So fleeting
So many apples, flowers, peaches
The mountain so many times
The Gulf of Marseilles
The three of you by the lake
Forever connected by a line
The harmony and finality
Of each painting
The solace of the brothel
Still life
A family meal
Mum served satsumas infused with Cointreau,
I didn’t particularly like them,
But they were special, she’d prepared them
Months ago, anticipating this day,
When we’d all sit round the table, laughing,
Reminiscing about our childhoods, the
Koala we used for a rugby ball,
Its fur rubbed to leather in countless scrums,
And how it would seem so important to
Know who had given us this teddy bear,
Was it Auntie Gwen, or maybe cousin
Brian who stopped over on his way back home.
Flights, Issue Nine, June 2023
Flight of the dragonfly 