Among the wildflowers

Apologies if this sounds a little morbid. I was walking past the grave yard, out on a walk, and it was being tidied, with the grass all neat, and the headstones shiny. And it struck me, that’s not what I’d want at all for me (hopefully not for many, many years!). This little poem wrote…… Continue reading Among the wildflowers

wild

I will dutifully stride back and forth gobbling up the grass and spitting it out in clumps I will trim and shape my hedges slicing and shearing making order from chaos these are my tokens my gestures toward uniformity but within my territory between these green barricades this is my meadow my bliss of nature…… Continue reading wild

evening in the garden

purple flower spikes less busy now as evening comes and here I sit with tea and camera (just in case) no butterflies left they’ve gone to bed (where do they sleep?) but still the swallows chitter by the out-late bees hum-bumble low and early moths flutter time slows to a honeyed trickle in our wild…… Continue reading evening in the garden

the wind burglar

howling a desperate lament he scrabbles at the windows shrieks echo down the chimney the door creaks under the onslaught the keyhole, the cat flap, the letter box all rattled, shaken and pried at a scream as the extractor fan resists his bathroom break-in finally a crash as he admits defeat and flings the bin…… Continue reading the wind burglar