Dominic Fisher: Four Poems  

Gargoyles in Bristol. Money going up may not trickle down again. Photograph Phil Hall

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At the bathroom door

Drying my hands
I saw my grandfather’s hands again
the deltas there, the sandbanks
spots and blotches in the shallows.

I saw them withdrawing
to the silent island of himself
and mine still going out to sea.

And you turning
at the bathroom door, your mother,
wren-woman that she was, there too,
her in you, though you more seabird.

How far we’ve been
you and I and them hand over hand
and here on the bathroom step

the window now darkening
standing in for the sea.

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Shajareh Tayyabeh Elementary School

Minab, Iran, 28 February 2026

On this bare morning coming into leaf
and into flower, we can let the world
go a little, allow ourselves relief
that we’ve come round, that we’ve returned.

Brightening walls and fences track the sun
as a pale sheet of sky goes clear
but for one jet trail fading as it’s drawn
over hesitating gardens here.

For us the war is distant, even though
we’ve heard the squadrons of untruths, have seen
the warriors at podiums, half know
their talks were not intended to succeed.

An elementary school was turned to smoke.
Lime-tree and cherry blossom falls like snow.

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The war is very complete pretty much

Donald Trump, US President, 9.3.26

Reality is yes or no, more or less
but while it’s hard being certain, we can be sure
the war is very complete, pretty much,
that tomorrow there’ll be flowers in the ruins.

And yes it’s hard being certain but we can be sure
the Pope isn’t Catholic and Jesus is on our side,
tomorrow morning there’ll be flowers in the ruins
and the end of days is on the calendar again.

As Jesus isn’t Catholic, and the Pope’s not on our side
we can agree among ourselves history is all lies
that the end of days is on the calendar again,
dark matter is a falsehood, it’s Satan bending light.

We’ve agreed among ourselves history is all lies,
that money going up will trickle down again
and across the universe it’s Satan bending light
but if that isn’t how it seems we’re still delighted.

Money going up may not trickle down again
and reality is yes or no, more or less,
but if that isn’t how it seems, I am delighted
the war is nonetheless pretty much complete.

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Taking photos of the air

Landscape can get in the way in this work,
buildings too, people and plants not as much
but even then you have to take care
that it’s not all about the trembling leaves
or about a hand holding onto a hat.

One of my best was taken inside this house
when a car went past up our ordinary street,
the windows closed and the car just gone.
No other traffic look, no one around.
It gives me a wonderful sense of calm.

Though the cross-currents around pigeons
has produced some interesting pieces,
some creatures create too much turbulence
with movement or colour to easily capture,
chattering sparrows being an example.

But tell me honestly what you think of these.
Here the wind’s coiling in a disused chimney
and this is a light breeze just after rain.
And here’s one taken in an underpass
late one cold night in the city centre.

The rough sleepers told me their stories
which I photographed too, like this one.
But I try to keep it as abstract as possible,
pure flow, contours, direction and velocity.
And this? The slipstream of the last bus home.

 

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Dominic Fisher lives in Bristol, was a co-editor of Raceme magazine, is widely published, and sometimes broadcast. His second collection was published by Shoestring Press in 2022, and in 2025 he won the Blueprint Poetry Press competition with his pamphlet Migrations. He helps organise two local poetry events and shares an allotment with sparrows and foxes.