Biography of Jim McDonald
Primary School teacher, lives in South London, England. Born in the North.
Influences: Han-Shan, Kerouac, Gary Snyder, Jean Giono.
Hobbies: walking, real ale, birdsong
Jim McDonald's Works:
various haiku in society journals
Jim McDonald Poems
London I walk every day under your heavy skies the grey lid that covers your people. I walk your filthy streets and step past
I met my grandfather again last night – strange, as he died in 1998. World Cup Year. I spent some time filling him in on what had gone on since.
for Jack Kerouac (1922-69) Jack the America of your dreams is gone Gone the brownstone tenements of the night
On a crisp Kent Autumn morning My father throwing sticks, tennis balls, even his car keys into a brown horsechestnut tree. Down came showers of leaves and conkers.
Spent an hour in the morning moving a wood-pile from near the house where they need to lay pipes to a copse I cleared two years ago of a mountain of twenty year hawthorn and briar.
Normandy The path of your seasons is heavy on my heart Wild winter gales The early breath of spring-time air
November, Early Morning
open sky washed clean by a night of rain sharp breath of autumn covering everything London almost pleasant in the 6 a.m. dawn light
On a warm May morning I am invigilating a pointless Government exam when a child asks eagerly, “How much time left...? ” A question better than any on his exam paper.
Gardening yesterday I lifted a large log and uncovered a teeming party of life. Woodlice scuttled away An earwig made its hurried passage to safety.
At first the patter of a couple of raindrops Increasing in frequency Tacklings and cracklings onto the glass roof above
Other Ways I Can Love You
I meant to say how fantastic you looked when you came downstairs this evening. I meant to say how much I love your knowledge of lower league football. I meant to say how much I love our evenings of quiet computers & documentaries. I meant to say how much I cherish the five minutes before the alarm clock rings at 6a.m.
Tuesday Morning Haiku
Tuesday after Bank Holiday Commuters stepping around the stain from a dropped ice
I walk every day under your heavy skies
the grey lid that covers your people.
I walk your filthy streets and step past
chicken bones dog excrement vomit urine stains
cigarette ends empty Stella cans pizza boxes
all discarded by your selfish people
who treat your crumbling streets with contempt.