Richard G Berg

Girl in gallery
Removing headphones. Turning
Down her youth's volume
...

A letter begins
Thank you for your 'worlds'
Error
Ends isolation
...

Walking through Hyde Park, by night. Flood lights lark
Winder Wonderland in development
Before the land wonders why. Sign thanks you
For coming. Workers shout. Darkness blizzards
...

Watching my cats
Come and go
Purring their pleasures
And curling their woes
...

On the table
Scraps of books
Untrue confessions
Unwilling spines
...

Each night
She is
A rhythm of cherries
A murmur of moon
...

Oxfam find
Simple stuff
Whitman's Leaves of Grass,
A charitable purchase
...

Girl copies the too-soon summer of spring
With precise scents of beach and coconut
Made up by make-up, spread upon her wrist
Womanhood's seasons inhaled with a twist.
...

She cuckooed me towards a tree
Eyes arrowing an opening
Mid-way down its trunk
About the size of a baseball
...

I hear reasoning
And laughter. You hear laughter
And reasoning. Which
Way round causes some reasons
...

Oh yes, memory
Here you come here
They call come
Surfacing at once
...

A cemetery
Where nobody
Is buried
Anymore. Not one
...

Tube station staircase
Last week's up now this week's
Down
Going all the way
...

A church organist
Practising some piece on high
Stumbling between stops
Adding new notes, piping sighs
...

The shortest day drags
Christmas lights playing
The dark
The longest sighs hide
...

Woman walking streets
Running through her memories
Walking the clear streets
With parents, friends, colleagues, men
...

One woman, lake-side
Staring straight ahead
Wind-whipped
Feeling other chills
...

Childhood's money drought
Drives dancer to share himself
With plenitude's coins
Stunning people's hearts with wealth
...

Woman, weaving between charity shops
Carrying nothing in her empty hands
Passing through. Others pass by. Time's bypass
Woman, wandering in faith's charity
...

He thinks of that definitive poem
He has not yet written, craving its swell
They eat out. Time eats in. He thinks, she feels
The poem is written once their words stop
...