cars
buried in-
snow

dusting
my red
coat

fingers of ice
painted on the windscreen
hoarse shouts, frozen

a bitter wind
shakes the lavender
the cat, crying

bluetits
on the peanut feeder
shafts of sunlight

Old to late

old crises new rule
the issue old to late
not me

a line in the sand
tell you whether or not
you are old to late

the crises changed
the age of pension
but not to me

the lucky one
I’m not sure
old at the right time

The crises worldwide have it affect. The pension age is postponed.
They have drawn a time line – born before that you are safe – after that pension is postponed gradually. My grandchildren might have to face a time where they have to decide whether to live or not.

white flowers
on the viburnum
waxy green leaves

pink-tinged clouds
occluded by the grey
blackbirds

January sun

grazes the path -

a dark spur for every stone

in January

the robin queries

the other birds’ silence

a flock of blackbirds
take the last of the apples
freezing winds

crows
populate the poplars
cemetery duties

on the black waters
the swans are pushing forward
in hope of feeding
few people indeed are out
by the Thames on New Year's Eve

the wind drops
in the bank of sycamores
a plastic bag

old calendar  -
sad days and happy days
circled

a starling
on the apple tree
territorial blackbirds

the wind
teases the last few willow leaves
a crow calls out

pelting rain
the bin-cleaning men
in yellow rubbers

second day of new year-
deciding
on what to resolve

slivers of sunshine
limn the opposite roofs
red-stemmed dogwood

first light
the world aquiver
with possibilities

fireworks at midnight
seen through frosted windows
pixillated