the drought broke.

 God was sexually aroused, thus

The sky gushed uncontrollably,

And the drought broke.

It was all very un-English,

Like climate change and garlic.

It caught me out,

So, I sheltered in a grey plastic shed,

Which matched the sky.

There I ate an orange,

Whilst visited by a lone robin

And many frogs

Dancing in the deluge.

When that slackened

I went out and pulverized one slug

On the concrete garden path,

Picked spinach and tomatoes for my supper,

Then got back to dry under tiles.

I had been praying for water for weeks,

Now, I am hoping that my roof doesn’t leak.

You can have too much of a good thing,

Some say,

I disbelieve,

Rain brings relief.

codes

 I keep a pad of paper on my desk, prepared

For ideas, thoughts, memories and half-remembered dreams.

Any of those

Are seeds which can be grown,

And some may become odes.

I don’t try to force matters,

I know these things can happen

As if by a will of their own.

Then, one day, I looked at my pad,

And saw than all I had written were codes,

Account numbers, website addresses,

Passwords, computer links.

I had been expending my ink

No to reach any human being,

But so that machine can communicate to machine.

 

So, feeling old and obsolete,

I go out and sit in my garden seat.

The swifts have gone,

The grass has burned dry brown,

And clouds and clouds and clouds pass overhead,

Like ideas, thoughts, memories and half-remembered dreams.

The garden needs rain

But none falls

Perhaps I did not write down the correct code.