April Blog 2019

It seems daft, but we often find inspiration to write in the strangest places. . . One minute I'm sighing at the rain while grabbing an orange from the fruitbowl . . . next, I'm writing a poem . . . 

 

It’s only an Orange

It should be enough

that the rain lands gently now.

Larch cones float on the back-green

and the stippled windowpane dulls

a grey-washed Spring.

Was that a flicker?

A single cloud stitched with silver.

Is it enough to hope for more?

 

One cut reveals the orange’s bleeding heart

A sunburst shot with crimson thread.

Citrus sweetness coaxes my tongue,

So why are words no longer enough?

The image forms – a Madrid morning,

the Vendedora’s voice soars high and clear

as she busks in the sun-drenched street.

‘Sanguinello, Sanguinello, Sanguinello’