Do you remember those little brown books? Hard backs with shiny slip covers, or perhaps the slip covers came later. I remember the soft suede feel of the boards. Dainty pastel roundels of our woodland friends.
Nidderdale and swallowtail laundry maid hedgehog in a bonnet. Running down the green swathe. Rabbits in waistcoats with tall pointed ears. Defiant against the landlord.
And bold red Nutkin with the fluffy tail. Memories of a fifties childhood. Arcane springboard for a lifetime passion for our small wild neighbours who share this shrinking Earth
Two more poems, ‘Buddleia’ from another train journey
And ‘Pwll y wrach’ ( which means ‘witch’s pool)
bursting out bravely from crevices and chimney pots round the rough edges of abandoned plots of land behind razor wire and barbed wire on bomb sites
round broken concrete bunkers and crumbling wartime airstrips, army camps and waste dumps sooty spaces and looted places
into all these the grey green leaves reach their arms of new growth and so the buddleia bush embraces debris and decay and deathly ancient traces
and stretches up her waving arms towards the blue blue sky and without help or nurture or encouragement attracts with her nectar the humble hope filled butterfly
Pwll y Wrach
‘pwll y wrach’
I read it in my book just now ‘Witch’s pool’ How evocative Did she drown? Herself Or her cat Perhaps Or did she use The glassy surface To reflect Her face Or read her future Or just wash her tired feet
I wrote this short piece when I read the place name ‘Pwll y wrach’ in Richard Gwyn’s marvelous book, ‘The Blue Tent’
Just thinking about how much overindulgence there is to come in this next month!
This tree is from a few years ago, ours isn’t up yet this year
New poem (draft) November 2021
Chocolates and toffees in bright tubs almost force fed piled high in the aisles everywhere in the Northern hemisphere in all of Christendom from October to January. So much gold foil and bright lights. Too much for me, for my eyes for my mind for my heart for my soul. For my teeth. For the Earth a farce of false sweetness. Corruption and greed. How much stuff do we need. Feed the hungry. Not addiction, excess weight and Big Business. It keeps me awake at night, gives me heart burn and palpitations. Nations aren’t ready to lay down their excesses or redress the imbalances of their fathers and grandfathers. What of the mothers and children and their children and grandchildren when the lands in the South that grow sugar cane are desert and dead? When will they get it into their heads We don’t want all their baubles and promises. Fudged fixes and smoke screens. Christ would have been happy with dates