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Regular
Posts: 53
| SPRING
Days lengthen
Hidden inside plump purple pouches
Life stirs
Stark sticks of winter’s chill
Soften
Sun kissed, sap nourished
Purple bursts into
Pale, feather soft green
in the silent dawn
Blushes of bronze, lime and ochre
Warm woodlands
with bud bursting brilliance
Like singed sleeping caterpillars
Ferns slowly unveil
Fronds of bronze and green
In between
Bluebells rival pink campion
With intense hues
The larch laughs
Tickling my chin
With its soft shaving brush buds
Mossy boughs of ancient oak
Blend to perfection with
Emerging golden leaf
Computerised colour matching
Cannot compete
Each tiny woodland bud
Faithfully becomes
A perfect miniature of
Autumn’s fallen form
With infinite variety and delicate touch
Does Spring clothe her arbour
THE STATION
Skinny latte, Julie -
Cappuccino, Sam -
Sonata Starbucks
Served with smile
But super-sized
Robot voice echoes
on concrete columns
Next train . . . platform one . . . is the
Next train . . . platform nine . . . is the
Detached in their eerie ear-plugged isolation
Two legged ants
Emerge from claustrophobic carriages
Pursuing imagined goals
With furrowed brow
Ruled by ticking time
And chiming phone
No grand plan of co-operation
To build a complex nest of needles
To protect their newborn
No ears to hear last woodcock’s wistful call
Or eyes to see young oak
Newly cloaked but drowning
So many ants so dominant and clever
So blind to earth’s loud cry
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Jottings from my notepad