Prose for Spring

The days linger longer now
And the extra light is optimistic
Buds and new grass dare to show
And the chills of winter leave.

The seasons' cycle moves the warmth
Of spring and summer nearer
And the power of renewal shines out
And there's purpose in our stride.

Cold times do have a meaning for us
For our lives need the balance
Of greens and blues in sunshine
So we can revel in the difference.

Our Tilting Planet

The days linger longer now
And the extra light is optimistic
Buds and new grass dare to show
And the chills of winter leave.

The seasons' cycle moves the warmth
Of spring and summer nearer
And the power of renewal shines out
And there's reason in our stride.

Cold times do have a meaning for us 
For our lives need the balance
Of greens and blues in sunshine
So we can revel in the difference.

Damn Magnolia

It was a large piece of ground, rough but flat
he would soon make it green
once the savannah stuff grew out
it would be the best lawn ever seen.

Then the boss of the garden explained
that her Granddad had supplied her free
a twig of non-descript horticulture
which would become a Magnolia tree.

This level, easy to maintain urban vista
was dealt a stroke of malicious force
a devil entered the hilltop garden
and it came from an arboreal source.

With tears flooding his wind blown face
he watched the initial incision
and the tamping around the root completed 
this terrible irrevocable decision.

Each time he went to mow*
with the straight line urban cut
he had to swerve around this twig
his book on lawns banged shut.

The tree got taller and got much thicker
and then grew branches out
the sunlight was denied to the ground
so all the grass died round about.

It just got worse as years went by
as the interloper spread
needing always to cut round the beast 
the mower man wanted it dead.

Slowly the tree worked a magic
and became the accepted face
of the green lawn at the garden's summit
which really brightened the place.

One day pink leafy flowers thrust skywards
bursting through a late April snow,
overwhelmed the tree hater realised he
didn't want the Magnolia to go.

* went to mow his meadow

New Beginnings

Here at last in my new garden shed
Dishwasher loaded and Labrador fed
I sit and await creative thought
But comes there nothing – zilch! Nought.

It’s not supposed to be like this
Words should flow in my new found bliss
I sit, think, take another sip of tea
Still no inspiration comes to me.

I try something tested by poets before
Like the joy of opening nature’s door
And infected by the beauty on display
Words start flowing – I’ve something to say.

The grass is dew wet and happy birds sing
In warm sun as if it were spring
Flowers nod in the zephyr breeze
Ripe apples falling where they please.

This is more like it, words start to flow
It becomes clear which way to go
New thoughts arrive now, my brain is fed
By the magical ambience of my new garden shed.