Jak

Wednesday, 25 January 2023

Milne Therapy

 

Find a landing you like, 

On a flight of stairs

You find pleasing,

And sit on it.


That’ll sort you out. 



Parkstreet 

Ko-Fi



Monday, 26 December 2022

A Mandarin In A Small Blue And White Rice Bowl


Mandarin In A Small Blue And White Rice Bowl, a still life, an offering of love. The peel turned back to form petals, the segments of fruit loosened slightly, an opening bud. 


This rare bloom, A Mandarin In A Small Blue And White Rice Bowl, is placed on the coffee table before her. Her eyes brighten, she leans forward, reaches, reaches over the work of art, grabs a handful of salted nuts.

The public of one never warms to A Mandarin In A Small Blue And White Rice Bowl, the artist goes unrecognised, his muse apparently unaware of her role. Following works, Warm Mushroom Salad With Shallots And Seeds and Sushi Fetched In Rain, go equally unappreciated. 

Somehow he knows that a shop bought chocolate cake with I Love You written in icing would be a popular gift. He resolves to continue producing works of the ilk of A Mandarin In A Small Blue And White Rice Bowl until he finds an audience, until these gifts of love are understood.






Parkstreet 





Friday, 18 November 2022

An Ending

 

I awake

As the rain

Drips

From the eaves,


But I can’t

Remember 

The raining.





Parkstreet

Thursday, 17 November 2022

Farewell Athena

 

A girlfriend once informed me, “coffeehouse observations are not enough”. 

I told her the unexamined life is not worth living, in what I thought was an exemplary use of that quotation, illuminating the position of both Socrates and myself, but she just said, “that’s exactly the sort of shit I mean”. 



Parkstreet 

Ko-Fi
















Wednesday, 9 November 2022

Kitchen Drawer

 

Like the second top drawer,

Since the earthquake last September,

We stick

When we open.




Parkstreet

Monday, 8 August 2022

Past Painting

 

Which

School of art

Did your memory

Attend?





Parkstreet 

Monday, 11 April 2022

Testament

 

She didn’t have kids,

So when I die

My last words

Will be the last time

Anyone

Says her name.




Parkstreet 

Ko-fi