East and south and north and west,

Dot Hogg’s hot-dogs were the best!

What Was It?

What was it

that could make

me wake

in the middle of the night

when the light

was a long way from coming

and the humming

of the fridge was the single

tingle

of sound

all round?

Why, when I crept downstairs and watched

green numbers sprinting on the kitchen clock,

was I afraid the empty rocking chair

might start to rock?

Why, when I stole back up and heard

the creak of each stair to my own

heart’s quickening beats,

was I afraid that I should find

some other thing from the night outside

between my sheets?

Mercy

Mercy her name was,

The blind lady.

Took her home from bingo

Each Wednesday night,

With her stick tap-rapping

On the breeze-blocks.

She’d humour and love.

No sight.

And suddenly

I recall

Salt of a tide of darkness

Swirling up under that door

She swam through with her key

And turned no light on.

Why should she?

She left all light

Behind her,

Needing none

To find things there:

Things, it seemed,

Could find her.

Mercy.

Took her home from bingo

Each Wednesday night,

With her stick tap-rapping

On the breeze-blocks.

Mercy.

Heart of light.

Dave Dirt’s Christmas Presents

Dave Dirt wrapped his Christmas presents

Late on Christmas Eve

And gave his near relations things

That you would not believe.

His brother got an Odour-Eater –

Second-hand one, natch.

For Dad he chose, inside its box,

A single burnt-out match.

His sister copped the sweepings from

His hairy bedroom rug,

While Mum received a centipede

And Granny got a slug.

Next day he had the nerve to sit

Beneath the Christmas tree

And say: ‘OK, I’ve done my bit –

What have you got for me?’

Irish Haiku

Animal mountains

Sleeping in each other’s shade

In Connemara

Acorn Haiku

Just a green olive

In its own little egg-cup:

It can feed the sky.

The Head’s Hideout

The Head crouched in his hideout

Beneath a dustbin lid.

‘I want to see,’ he muttered,

‘No teacher and no kid,

No parent, no inspector,

Never a district nurse,

And, please, not one school dinner:

The things are getting worse!’

All morning, as the phone rang,

He hid away. Instead:

‘The Head is in the dustbin,’

The secretary said.

‘The Head is in the dustbin?’

‘Yes, he’ll be there all day.

He likes sometimes to manage

A little getaway.

Last year he went to Holland.

Next year he’s off to France.

Today he’s in the dustbin.

You have to take your chance.’

The Head sprang from the garbage

As end-of-school came round.

He cried, ‘That’s quite the nastiest

Hideaway I’ve found!

I think I’ll stick to teachers

And kids and parents too.

It’s just sometimes I’ve had enough.’

Don’t blame him. Do you?

The Singing Spud

This is the story of Chinese Li,