The Ernst Exhibition

Amidst the strange writing
And the astronomy
A woman lies
On the polished wooden floor
Of the gallery

This is not an artistic statement
She is ill
As I write this she may even
Be dead

The large gathering who,
Until a few minutes ago,
Were listening to the guide
Is confused

But most take the opportunity
To quietly view
The Ernst exhibits

Painterly backgrounds
With tiny letters
Sense or nonsense?
It’s too early to tell

Scarecrow Festival

Something unsettling
All those raggedy people
With glass eyes
And straw poking out of pockets

And as we left
We noticed
The crows
Hanging around on the street corner

Time Travel

They say we have no free will
Before we make a move
Before we think a thought
Our brains warm up the neurons
Prepare the muscles
Ready for the brain’s command.
Lifting a cup of tea.
Moving the blinds to glimpse the sunset
As though these small actions
Were pre-programmed
Like a film, perhaps.

Maybe our brains,
When we decide our unique and individual thoughts,
Simply slip back in time
To ready our bodies
For the deed.

Slip back in time.
A few moments.
That’s all it takes.

Crow Thinking

Crow sits
On the March branch
Beside the black scribble
Of last year’s nest
Thinking… well what?
Can a crow think?

So, can a crow have thoughts?
Don’t ask me.
Ask a crow scientist.
Or you could try
Googling it.

Overheard on Train

Listen – I don’t know how I’ll get through this week. Amy said she’d design the tee shirts for my birthday and they’re not done yet and it’s Thursday and I texted her, not in a horrible way, to say hurry up and I wasn’t being funny but it’s two days away and that’s reality and I seriously think Amy has a problem and I’m stressed out this week ‘cos of my birthday and my final assessment and all and Amy promised and it doesn’t help the fact that I've been ill and pushing myself beyond my limits and you know I’m not someone who usually gets stressed out but Amy has a problem and it’s my birthday and anyway I've just ruled out today and that’s that, okay? How are you?

Are You Famous?

(a question that children often ask me in schools)

On a scale of one to Michael Rosen
I am probably a seven
On a scale of soft to very loud
I am probably eleven
On a scale of one to Einstein
I’m probably one and a half
On a scale of groan to hysteria
I’m probably a laugh
On a scale of one to infinity
I’m a meagre sixty one
On a scale of A to Z
I hover at F for Fun
On a scale of amoeba to gorilla
I’m sitting on top of the tree
On the scale of now till the end of time
I’ll soon be history

Eye Hospital Waiting Room

She sits and stares

Dilated eyes

Waiting for the doctor

Straight grey hair

Eastern European accent

She sighs

Society is different now, she says

Maybe that’s where it all went wrong

Cup of tea? The nurse asks

Are my eyes dilated?

Yes they are.

Are they beautiful?