april 18th
perfectly grey, perfectly clear
stone and twig
ice-winds
tumble and shove
This terrible cave
blown to face her by gusting April winds.
the weed bucket lures her into its hellish mouth
plastic silent scream
pattered by rain.
spring makes a mockery of her
as a crowd
loudly surging forward to an invisible horizon
an invisible end
and what but the light shall guide the days
a liar, a liar
of safety.
the gravel is deliciously bland and innate
heavy as her hands; crepe-paper wrapped sticks
as useless as the bucket that offers no hiding place.
tiny nothing of things 
those hands give love and hugs and hope, you know. Yes, they do. And the heart is wrapped up safe with all the good things inside still. And the mind is shuffling all those bad, bad things waiting until they find the right slot to fit perfectly into ‘archive’ rather than ‘pending’…
shit, gotta critique the poem though? It moved me. It made me feel a slight knot in my throat. I think, therefore, that it is a very very strong poem. I think the person that wrote it is admirable. Truly, I do.
yes, it moved me too. and yes, one foot in front of the other we walk through it.
powerful and clear, a study in greys,
Stunning! How long have I known you, and I never knew. You are an equisite wordsmith. Please don’t ever stop writing, because you find the expressions and syntax that escape me every time. In your poetry I find my emotions and vulnerability. You make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck, beautiful contruction, restrained yet utterly emotive. An amazing grasp of our extensive and complex language. I don’t know what else to say……….xx
“weed buckets lure into her hellish mouth”,
“spring makes a mockery of her” & on & on,
your vision is remarkable