Tag Archives: National Poetry Day


For #NationalPoetryDay

A straggler left behind,
feeds on acorns all afternoon –
cloudless and balmy.
Oblivious to the unsettling
sky that’s blowing in.
A hurricane maybe?
A force of nature,
he chooses to ignore.
Happy in his ignorance
he’s shrouded by a canopy.
For summer is not so distant.
It clings on despite the turmoil,
preserved for a while.
Before the coming storm
obliterates all.


By Edward Thomas

Yes. I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.


Christmas Past

There are tiles on the
hallway floor, drying.
A plank of wood
stretches from bottom stair
to front room.
We negotiate the abyss
before getting a present.
Everything else is lost
or forgotten.
Only this fragment remains.

Shepherd dress fashioned
from an old sheet and tea towel.
A ballroom dancing girl.
A bun in her hair.
Lily the pink.
Simon says.
Waltzing round a school hall.
Everything else is lost
or forgotten.
Only this fragment remains.

Two desks stand side by side,
in the sitting room.
A Meccano set,
with electric motor
is spread about the floor.
The kitchen is engulfed,
by steam and cooking smells.
Everything else is lost
or forgotten.
Only this fragment remains.

Snow on the ground.
Snow everywhere.
Delivering post in a greatcoat,
falling asleep at Aunty Nells.
A Hard Days Night
spins on the stereo.
Marys Boy Child is number one.
Everything else is lost
or forgotten.
Only this fragment remains.

Poetry Scrap on #NationalPoetryDay

A bunch of poets had a scrap last night.
There was blood and guts, but no high school.
This was the stuff of afternoon Assizes.
No quiet afternoons contemplating Keats.
No hosts of golden daffodils.
A tag wrestling match, ala Mick McManus.
A lyrical punch in the groin.
The Liverpool man said: come head, come head.
But nobody listened; not until the end.
When the Manc lad was laid out and carried out.
Leaving Mr and Mrs Frenzy to clean-up
the mess of bones and gristle.
And some poor sods missing missal.

National Poetry Day

Its National Poetry Day here in the UK and I plain forgot. Here is Macmillan Cancer Supports poem :



Haringey Literature Live: The Ambit Vanguard | Karamel Restaurant

ambitHaringey Literature Live: The Ambit Vanguard | Karamel Restaurant.


DM McGill will be reading as Poet in Residence @ Kabaret @ Karamel , Thursday October 2nd. Its Free and Its National Poetry Day. So come along !

Chocolate Factory 2.
4 Coburg Road,
Wood Green London,
N22 6UJ