Neil Reeder

Head & Heart Economics

London, UK


photo by Sara Haq


(“God does not play dice”, Albert Einstein, 1926)


Evening has shifted to night,  

and as bystanders huddle for warmth round pubs


I press hard on pedals

to speed through air full of talk


of myopic referees, chocolate bliss
and public spen…


Red car door flung
grip, blink, BAM


Time blurs. Time cracks /

time resumes


on shuddered bike by bedspread of sparkling glass.

The driver brings plasters for cuts.


Only later do I wonder

was I fortunate, or unlucky,


or does fate mean

there was no chance involved at all?


The Art of Walking

I see you. I see your arc of arms,

speed of steps, swerve of hips

depict the measure of your impatience,

zest, your almost-happiness.


I see the Rembrandt touch within

that softly quickened breath,

the hefting of weight from heel to toe,

your honest insistence on depth.


In its subsumed skip, your walk’s

a counterpoint of passion and control;

restless, striving; even as you slow,

when you ache, when you limp.


A Dance of Strangers

Free-wheeling down an oak secluded

avenue one February morning,

below a sky that’s dappled calming blue

but clouded like belief,

as air bestows its chill embrace


a woman’s face turns to me

her fragile smile beneath a flighty red hat,

and like a Vermeer painting

where time permits itself to rest

and watch beauty in the everyday,


or like a glow-worm cave, that shimmers from what

you cannot directly see though know must be true,

so too I saw a hint of the halo

of someone in love.