I’ve been saving them up so I can fling them at your bedroom window like gravel from the hands of a lovesick fool…
20/01/14
Clear veins have crept through the gutters,
Hard frost has scrubbed at the brickwork,
At last we wake up to the gift of edges.
19/01/14
Rapidly snapping their wingtips back into place over their rumps
Like concert pianists flipping their tailcoats over the stool.
Herring gulls. Deadpan.
18/01/14
On the floor of the Battery museum –
A quiet cluster of spent shells,
Dinted and corroded, crude as coilpots.
And one white feather.
17/01/14
On the train I am persuaded to put down my pen
By the clouds, those tatters of pale, blinding radiance.
16/01/14
The galvanised watering can has rolled against the back fence, skittled by the night-long wind, but resting now. In the 7am gloom, it is the only gleam. A shoulder of silver light, pale and passive as a quarter moon.
Kirsten Luckins 
Reblogged this on McKay Poetry News and commented:
Longtime poet comrade Luckins K, demonstrating that there is satori to be found even on Teeside. Kirsten will be coming to London on April 6 with her brilliant THE MOON CANNOT BE STOLEN to take part in the UTTER! EDINBURGH MINIFEST. You should all come (elsewhere on this blog for details).