Poetry Blogs (pond)
The Poor Little Dove
To watch the wind play with the wave,
I sat on a bench by the museum garden pond.
Then a small pigeon came flying,
Landing to her feet, tiny and cute,
And stared up at me, a bit intensely,
Only blinking her eyes, with no other move.
She looked like a baby as a camera model,
Getting me to recall my infanthood picture.
I took s...
Thursday 25th June 2020 11:55 am
Rain-drops are laughing,
Of cherry trees,
Onto the garden
I am alone
Monday 15th June 2020 3:11 pm
After an age of stentorian coupling
Dots became tadpoles pullulating
Zooming around in marauding bands
A spoon of porridge for their catering
Tadpoles fed porridge and algae
Will grow into froglets in no time
I watched them hop onto dry land
I hoped they would reach their prime
But thrushes and robins were waiting
The novice amphibians proved easy meat
Sunday 19th April 2020 1:23 pm
like snowflakes on my tongue
and melt in my soul
like ice on the garden pond
in the memory of water
Monday 10th February 2020 1:48 pm
Long I laboured
through the seasons
through the years
on the plot:
as digging blistered my palms
and the soil grew fertile
as digging pained my back
and plants grew strong -
beside the deep dug pond
with its little stream
where I placed fish
an unplanned golden feast for a heron
and an otter
And as e...
Sunday 31st March 2019 11:38 am
He watched the leaves float
in the pond
windmoving on the surface
drop-pitted by rain,
leaves, orange-brown against the black depths
He watched the leaves stick
to the patio
wetgluing to the slate
slickened by the storm,
leaves, orange-brown against the black stone
He watched the leaves move
on the trees
wildwaving off the branches
leafstripped by t...
Friday 12th October 2018 2:25 pm
The thick ice on the pond is dimpled on its face:
The same snow that coated the field
Had landed on the frozen pool to yield
To ice its fragile beauty and feather grace
Body gone, only the skeleton of the snow is left:
The same snow that covered all around
Has lost its substance to the earthy mound
But dull white bones still haunt Spring's heft
Friday 23rd March 2018 10:32 am
And then, suddenly, it was calm - the morning wind which threw
rain hard against the window panes and sent beech leaves rushing
across the grass to pile gold-brown against all that the borders grew,
all slowly dulling their greens to wet, muted browns, brushing
the soil as their leaves curl and droop - vibrant Spring-strength gone,
The wind ...
Wednesday 11th October 2017 10:50 am
Away across the green from the council houses
is a small open field with a pond and a dry stone wall.
Fifty years ago this land was all like that – open and free.
Now that land is gone, replaced by bricks and concrete
with no personality and no life at all.
All that is left is the single field with its myriad of life.
More of a puddle tha...
Friday 20th July 2012 11:25 pm