Tag Archives: Sean Lavery


They do it you know.
The crazies.
The out of this world.
The oyster people.
Sitting it out,
on some long song.
I appreciate,
that shadow throw.
I feel it now.
On this long vacation.
I accept how we are.
As small rows of
microorganisms sway.
Glowing green
like algae.

A Fingertip Away

When you go away.
The earth disturbed,
will return to a flat
patch of grass.
In that corner,
rarely visited.
And the seasons,
such as this one.
Will follow one
after another.
Making not a dent
in the days you
spend quietly there.
Instead a remembrance
will persist in places
where you were indeed –
A living and breathing,
Just a fingertip away.

Greenberry Street NW8

On Greenberry Street
the light shines through
mansion block windows.
The dark falls discretely
in random corners.
Echoes of past times
mark their presence,
with a lingering odour.
And there’s never an end
to people who trail past.
Taking in a name,
but nothing else.
Just Greenberry Street.
Remembered in motion.

Valentines Day, 2014

Cold Camden Town,
basement kitchen.
Breath freezing.
Steam rising,
from a coffee cup.

I climb the stairs
of my broken-down house.
Hair disheveled.
Face unshaven.
Legs stiff and unyielding.

The heater has taken
that chill from my room.
Plastic window covering,
Cars move outside.

I place a twelve inch
on the turntable.
Forget Me Nots,
by Patrice Rushen.
It’s for you.


The light that shines.
Revisit those lines,
like they were newly minted.
And we watch again,
the falling of the rain.
Through windows half woken.
Remind me was it snowing
when we spoke last.
I recall a dusting of silver
on all the cars.
Time went and we
barely noticed its passing.
Living those accelerated lives.
Filter-feeding great
droplets of experience.
Summon-up something new.
Hold out a hand.
Guide me on my way.


Two weeks have gone,
and nothing much
has happened.
The general mood
is bemusement.
A stoic resignation.
Winter refuses to go.
And all that chitta chatta,
it deadens the mind.
Takes discourse to
a new low.
God help everyone,
including those who
talk of appeasement.
Because they like us
are sleepwalking
on the way to ruin.

Nice and Tidy

I like it nice and tidy.
The kitchen separate
from the lounge.
A sea view.
And some shops.
A garden at the back.
A place to bury –
the bodies.
To keep it all nice,
nice and tidy.