Unexpected Cowslips
Grasses swell from sun and rain, a sea of surging blades Briar and bindweed stretch and twist to strings and plaited braids Among the well worn lawns there looms a yellow blooming prize A Cowslip here among all things, a most welcome surprise
Gremlinized
Sommer trails are stitched across the varied Sommer lands Sommer levels trod by cows all marked by Sommer brands Sommer hills that tax the legs and ron amok with gears Sommer winds that blow and drag and fill the eyes with tears
Half Mown Hills
Far from England’s true born meadows Neglected lawns have turned to wilds Now freshly reaped I sense their echoes A sense of place so like a child’s Transported to a younger day When too I smelled the fresh cut hay
Suburban Snowstorm
New years streets are lined with flowers, wild and wild at heart The Snowdrop and the Crocus bloom, soon winter will depart Before the bitter season’s through, a final boreal breath The last of gasps are now exhaled as winter dies a death
States of Matter
Slick and smooth or brittle forged the first belies its name Till nightly cold no longer holds the matter in its frame The next is flowing, interspersing, one with many things The base of life, of beast and man, of paupers, knights and kings
Greenbank Roundup
Flowers hold vigil Gracing us with their beauty Until it is spent
Down to the Bedrock
Doors shall open, doors shall close, doors shall burn and die Doors shall lie among the weeds as seasons pass on by Doors can’t see what lies beyond, that is the window’s sphere Doors can give no warning, but they’ll get you out of here
Eponymous Woods
Birds alight among the woods emitting scattered calls While fungi dwell within the soil, well nourished by leaf falls Plants entwine both wood and stone, wherever light allows While overhead the naked trees sway gently as they drowse
Sunbeams
I walk the path of thousand feet where legions came before A mass of prints together here impressed upon the floor No marking stands alone, untouched, each drowned among it’s fellows Or obfuscated under leaves of browns and greens and yellows
Kite Eaters
Weather: Overcast all day Borne aloft by tiny hands Riding on capricious breeze These kites of gaily coloured bands Are snatched up with alarming ease The twisted claws of birch and ash Ensnare and tangle cords and tails And though they pull and twist and thrash The kites all lose, the tree prevails I hitched…
Wax on, wax off
Such treasures birthed by sodden ground Such wonders of the field These clustered gems lie all around Displaying stem and shield
Unexpected Birdwatching
Weather: Blue sky 2/8 cumulus, cool and sunny. The warbirds come to meet above the trail Three hunters here, three masters of the skies They splay their feathers, orange, brown and pale And fill the waiting air there with their cries No altercation comes, no feathered brawl It seems today the sky has room for…
A few Observations
I seek a well lit Candlesnuff, aglow in natural light Illuminating charcoal stems and tips of powdered white Some seek to spread like coral, others hold an antler’s poise Such elegance is veiled with shade in the nooks that each enjoys
Remembrance
Fields once flower strewn now naked turf With not a trace of what here once occurred Like beaches cleansed of blood by driving surf The scars of history have been interred
Two Georges and an Avon
A conflux of competing life connects and intertwines A brown and dusted bracket roof is pierced with budding spines Beneath the lacquered layers sprigs and twigs are woven tight A home is claimed inside this nook for birds to spend the night
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Doug Writes 