John Lindley

GRANDAD AND A PRAMLOAD OF CLOCKS

Wheeling them in, The yard gate at half-mast With its ticking hinge, The tin bucket with a hairnet of webs, The privy door ajar, The path gloved with moss Ploughed by metal Through a

SCARECROW CRIMES

In Hayfield I imagine Not just the nuts and bolts of split cockpits But a Spitfire’s sunk fuselage Has smoked out its entirety unseen From one century to the next. At Edale Cross, Birch

DARKIES

“I’d rather make $700 a week playing a maid than earn $7 a day being a maid”. Hattie McDaniel. I’m the savage in the jungle And the busboy in the town. I’m the one

CROW AND AUDEN

A misprint in a newspaper reported: ‘Auden stepped from the train and was greeted by a small but enthusiastic crow.’ ‘Hmm,’ Auden thought when first he saw The bird, as train came to a