Late nights unable to sleep, and early, soggy mornings can give you the strangest ideas. Such as the idea that you can write poetry.



Early morning
In rain-soaked splendour
The starling wrestles,
Claws deep in the mud,
With his nemesis
The earthworm.
An age-old battle
That has raged for centuries -


- is fought once again
As ever
On the grass.

Fluttering manically
The winged dervish
Pulls against his prize.

The worm
In desperation
Pulls back.

But to no avail.

Victorious at last
The feathered champion takes flight
In a spray of moisture
The spoils clutched in his beak.
He swoops low
In triumph
Across the tarmac
To be crushed
Beneath the wheels
Of a speeding Volkswagen.

It makes me think of you.