Ode to the Durian

our fruit king smells like rotting onions, majesty

of prickling green whose skin is the shell

of spikes. his treasures are the orientalists’

fantasy, whose rich gold beyond all

the wildest imaginings Continue reading “Ode to the Durian”

Sunflower on the Windowsill

Sat sinking deep Red armchair thinking Curtains on the cusp of something – Open them let the light flow Softly, softly now, into the room Where it reveals old being new;   On the windowsill there is a sunflower With its head confidently raised ‘you’ve watered it every day’ To bring the English country home Inside to confide With warm unnatural glows   Trim it … Continue reading Sunflower on the Windowsill