Poetry Blog by Rich
Time’s passage ignites my consciousness,
my moment the confluence of past
and future. Ageing toward my fate, time’s
experience-gale savages my
awareness. We all die, it just takes time -
we’re transient: catherine-wheels on posts,
we make sparks fly. Some hit tindered ground,
causing satellite conflagrations -
together we make a fire, burning
out in time’s onslaught, ...
Tuesday 12th February 2019 9:54 pm
Harvesting our garden’s verdant bounty
is our intention – we arrange planting,
watering, bedding – all toward our goal:
to indulge keenly in nature’s harvest.
Stretching front and back, our garden surrounds
the safe fulcrum of our lives: our dwelling
is characterised through the commitment
we put into this, our sanctuary.
Enjoying a barbecue with a friend,
Thursday 7th February 2019 5:02 pm
Seagulls gyre – wocker-challing and crocker-calling,
skiffer-wheeling, wind-kiting and hoarse-calling
keer-wails into a bluster-buffet, ear-sharked, eye-grit gale,
blowing smithereens out of the sea wall,
the surf and the pebbles that make up the beach,
grind-clockering and ratter-schacketling back and forth,
to and fro in weather’s storm-force mayhem.
In the air gulls cry caw...
Sunday 27th January 2019 7:34 pm
Over the hill, perhaps, though not long in the tooth.
The hill’s steep. On the ascent you encounter
ice falls, overhangs, precipices and chimneys,
interspersed with long, sloping meadows, thick wooded
rises with warm, safe shelters with hot fires, soft bunks.
Air’s fresher up on a hill – clearer; providing
moments of crystal clarity, waking senses –
opening the sinuses, power...
Tuesday 22nd January 2019 5:16 pm
Grey light. Cold trunks. Leaf litter in the damp
morning. Chainsaw gloves smell of oil, petrol,
wood shavings and exhaust. Gloves stiff with cold,
infused with toil and woodland management.
A deer crosses, silent stealth, picking soft
through the green-tinged, spring-poised coppice. March is
in touching distance, harvest will cease while
flowers grow. No one sees th...
Wednesday 9th January 2019 4:45 pm
You can’t see what’s behind the
front, you’ll never know what’s there,
my secrets preserved, reasons
my own, suffice to say these
circumstances demand self
defence; were I to let on
reality, I’d crumble.
So I control what folk see,
protecting them from my truth,
no need to burden all with
harshness and gloom, that’s secret,
my safety inherent in
Saturday 5th January 2019 9:33 am