Featured

Wait and See

I know it's February because the radio told me so
But today the air was clear and the sun was high.
There was no wind to notice nor flecks of rain
and the birds sang loud as they wheeled about in the sky.

It must be global warming messing with the seasons
As spring comes in early and the buds begin to show.
I feel my soul getting easy and I relax
But mindful that even yet there could come snow.

It has happened before and new shoots died
As the cold weather snapped back at we fools
Who had dug out the garden benches and brollies
And had made plans for mowers and tools.

Far better to wait and let more days go by
To see if the moods of the weather gods settle.
Enjoy the changing vista of fields and gardens
From behind window glass waiting for the kettle.

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.

My Friend the River

From the wide mouth of the Estuary
To the stream beyond the road
Flow the waters of my river
Muddy, salt and cold.

A rebirth occurs twice daily
Through all the seasons weeks
With recharging of the Marshes
And new filling of the creeks.

Its spawned life along its banks
With folk of special breeds
Who learned to fish and farm there
To provide for tribal needs

There's constancy, which comforts
And always lets me know
That whatever happens in my world
The river will ebb and flow.

Work Party

The membership of the river club
met on the jetty as the tide rose.
A cheerful bunch of elderly men
doing maintenance at season's close.

Here the fluky tides hook in
and drop detritus on the beach.
Missing dinghies, bits of wood,
plastic bottles for coke or bleach.

The cheerful banter abruptly stopped
some wondered why the chatter ceased
for there with the flotsam and the junk
was a sodden funeral wreath.