Paul Henry. Poems

Silent as cut hair falling
and elevated by cushions
in the barber's rotating chair
this seven-year-old begins to see
...

Clearing out ten years from a wardrobe
I opened its lid and saw Joe
written twice in its dust, in a child's hand,
then a squiggled seagull or two.
...

Others want this house and soon
we must either leave or stay.
Is it the house or love
we are moving out of?
...

Peering in through windows we see them,
our parents, dimly lit
'for authenticity', reading Wizard
or Girl's Own ... or buying another hotel
...

The women of my earliest years
fill this room's empty bay
without warning -
...

I planted three trees, for privacy
and for feeling near to the soil.
Three ferns, two a fairer shade
of green, the middle one a clone
...

More chapel than public house
though still village property,
one they'd call their own.
...

The canal tilts him back and fore
like a boat in a toy pen
or the bubble in a spirit-level
that never quite finds its middle.
...