Day 15 still the storm inspires

Dirty clouds pour downwind, beaten relentlessly on while unleashing furious rain.

Day fourteen, something completely different.

n  the orange pool of a street light,enveloped in  the smell of french fries and pizza by the slice, I turned  from the evening hustle of people, cars,scooters and bikes, dogwalkers, floppy teenagers and pushchair mums and  looked at the sea out there in the dusk. Dark, surly, lowering and boiling, immense, oily and roaring, blanketed by an endless squalling  purple bruise of a sky, a terrible, untameable, alien force just feet away from our funny,busy, little lives.

thirteenth

During the storm
A hooded crow pauses for respite on a nearby roof
Giving rise to a pearly fluttering of doves.

twelfth night

Looking up, I see the Ghost Cat

day eleven

sing that sample sachet of
expensive Viola shower creme

I'm suddenly rapt with memory.

An intense taste of childhood.
Those slim cellophane wrapped tubes,
The beautiful  colour
That slightly soapy taste
The way the centre dissolved first
The exotic foreigness of Parma
The romantic mystique of violets.

day ten

at dusk a sudden  raw and  bone bleaching wind 
ushers in an ethereal symphony 
of high running seas and wheeling gulls

the ninth ray day

the reverse-thrust sound of the moka 

startles  the slatey pink and birdwhistling dawn