Small Bird

A 100-verse renga

                               a small bird      skims into the hedge      winter sunshine                       1 - 8

a farm cat prowls      down the side of an empty field

the driver gets down      to open both gates      for his spattered van

piled sacks for a bed      after the farewell party

the moon persists      hardly whiter than the sky      between tower blocks

newspapers in bundles      piled in the café doorway

two violinists       from the Conservatoire       play for early commuters

the escalator moves on      but the message stays

  "Guy had headphones    reading a book; and he says    'Look where you're going'!” 9 - 22

                                             Producer throws a fit       outsiders on the set                              

Two city suits      drop in after dinner      on the folk club

The flowers were  a-blooming      that morning in May

We walked  all night      came over the Downs      in time for Brighton Races

'Ye should ha' seen us gaddin'   -   the Polis ran out of breath

Our new squad      will tackle hackers, scammers,      and high-tech cyberpunks

My computer's a minimalist      and I'm not neat enough

"You're like your father     - now in heaven - you think      you're perfect."

A full summer's day   -   and now past midnight

St John's Eve -      the children sleep in the car      before the fireworks

Dad's bunked off, and Mum's      crying in the kitchen

The clear moon      turns hazy as dew forms       shadows blur     

A fox's bark        over the long line of hill

           "The beast's a predator   -   naturally it should have      its proper habitat         23 - 36

Leeches and poisonous slime      and the mozzy spray don't work

The delver      scrapes a bone , and saves it      for carbon dating

Bodies soaked in petrol      but many didn't burn    

Woods come down      to small fields and pastures      they've been here centuries

No-one’s taking my sheep   -   I know a way round that

"We decree a Europe      free of every trace      of corruption and disease."

The retired surgeon still      scrubs up before engagements

"There's no-one under      fifty in our Club   -   but we're still expanding."

A coachload of wrinklies      turns into the High Street

"Wet winter Tuesday   -   and you can't move in York      for foreign tourists."

Moorgrime so low      it touches each bump in the road

Evening sets in      a hitchhiker leaves the A-road      to drop into Esham

Clear moon, still white      descends upon the valley

                         Bales of straw      like giant rolls of cable      left on the field                  37 - 50

                                 Two boys, out for rabbits      with one gun between them                    

"Easy, Sarge!      We dropped them all      before they even saw us

Demonstrations are forbidden      but there's a funeral every day

No Spring flowers      in this dry land they take      blossom from the trees

Hibiscus in her hair   -   is this a message?

The bar-girl puts      an electric hand on his thigh      just in passing

Choc'lates, canapés, champagne      and premature ejaculation

"Sorry, darling,      it's just that I prefer      the missionary position."

"I like slugs: they show     God has a sense of humour."

A Polish oficer      with eager eyes, dies      for administrative reasons

Bodie went; and after that      I haven't bothered

Unmoving radiance      the moon fixes all      in wavering place

There is no direction      saying 'yes' to what?

 ---------------- 

               "The Company start-up's here!"      Far out.      "Far out from where?"  51 - 64

Odd blocks, car-parks      it's looking like London Airport

The girl laughs as I say      "Someone must do something      about my flight."

The cock stands on a tea-chest      shaking his head at the hens

Stinging nettles      poke through an old car wheel     without a tyre

Under the trees, bluebells      stretch away in a mist

This pile of slabs      was a grave-mound facing west      before the plantation

Six steps out of the shade      and we're looking for the skylark

Becoming larger      a balloon about to land      on the Building Society

THUNDERHEAD capers on      as rapturous as the fans

Bits of metal     picked out by moonlight      on the bandstand

Keyed to create an outrage      he just blows himself up

A searing article      to make them search their souls   -   the cowards

The PM is skating      on a bottomless trampoline

                       A clockwork orange      poppin: he'll listen      to a girl's troubles             65 - 78

When she goes on stage      the others come to life

FADS last night   -   even for the prompter      some forget-me-nots

The fields are cut      and poppies throng the banks

Thick mist  -   no casual callers to disturb      my peaceful morning                  

No parsley sauce on the tuna!   -   or the cats won't touch it

A dainty dish      to set before the lady      if she comes

Quick – find some work     as the stick stumps up the stairs

No sander's come      the joiner was sent to Leeds      so we've done nothing

A handle for the lid      made out of paper-clips

She's put      all the colours she can find      in his bobble-cap

Turning up his hood      as wind and rain come on

The moon speeds       out from ragged edges      of turbulent clouds

Dawn chirps pick up      till all the birds on song

                 Reserve your tickets      for the NeuJahrs Konzert     a year in advance       79 - 82

A good all-round effort     certainly has its points

Half the price      is lost, before you're      out of the shop

A tired move at the exit     he's pranged on the car-park gate

"Five Pounds, sir.      across the grass, and go in        by the brown door"

Sunlight and drops of rain      a scurry at the Gala

Awnings flap      prices are blown away      in the town market

Daffodils, in rubber bands,      cut short in the tray

A single bloom      delicately poised     twixt thumb and finger

She dances with pure joy      to his sticky touch

A private talk      money, transport, means      till past bedtime

Great light in the old pump-room      it's a marvellous choice

Still magic   -   the moon on wet tarmac      over the hill

Where the thick shadows fall       that's where he grabbed her

                          walks in      takes the cash, walks out,      and no-one sees him       93 - 100

a quick-change artist      losing track of who he is

that puts it       in a nutshell – a king      of infinite space

the cyclotron’s director      has a pin in his lapel

twenty pages       on the morning train      twenty more at night

the book is leather, true   -   but I'd use a paper label

orange blossom      pressed and dried      stirs at a breath