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haiku competition

after reading an article in the press about the North-South divide

From a visit to the Courtauld gallery (thanks, Alison!)

a slightly angry poem about middle-management types

I found a letter you wrote me last night. It made me cry. Hot, fierce tears that cascaded down my face. i couldn't stop them. You are my biggest regret. The way things ended prematurely, before we'd had a chance. But then at sixteen how was i to know what love was, how was i to know i loved you truely.

You didn't go paying house calls in this part of the estate for the sake of social nicety. Normally it was to scrounge a few coins to call a dealer, to borrow, to beg or steal on someone's giro day. There was always a motive of self-interest if you scratched at the surface for long enough around Lotus Court.

Every time doors have slammed, Every time voices have risen, Every time I've wished to be somewhere else, I'm sorry,

A young woman is feeling very low-spirited.

It's always been you that I dream of at night It's always been you who I've longed to hold me tight. You were my first love, my greatest love, my only love You are my current love, my always love, my eternal love.