Journey of Words

Category: Poetry

  • Day 10

    Unclouded skies of these past five days have stimulated rapid growth of shoots. What were twiggy branches, bushes, shrubs are now thick with green. So many variations of green unfold from so many buds. Here we have more greens than words for “green.” Perhaps, like the Inuit with all their words for snow, the English →

  • On Daisies

    It was warm that early April Sunday We ‘d set out to the coast on foot Ignoring the mosaics Shunning the churches We headed east Seeking swishing pines stood in sand A first sight of the Adriatic . Progress was erratic Heading east for a beach? My pigeon brain unable to compute For me the →

  • Day 9

    A quiet day. Sun. Blue sky. Birdsong. On the dusty road to the shop there are the car-flattened, leathery remains of toads. They have tried to cross from water where they have grown from eggs, to tadpoles, to toadlets to toads. They spread out from their birth pools and eventually take singular paths. This road →

  • On the Edge

    Out here The East Anglian landscape is so flat That the curvature of Earth is apparent And so here is not so flat at all A world of its own Even the sea moves on a different level From beyond the dykes and shingle banks Winds from North and East hold sway Mighty oaks are →

  • Day 8

    Yellow, everywhere. Gorse, daffodils, primroses and by a flint wall, forthsythia, (the Easter Tree). Along the top road the dark oaks still lack any leaf-cover, so the setting sun bounces off the gorse on the heath through the gnarled woodland. The sky a celestial blue, the display of blooms pure gold. The pillows of colour →

  • On the Inside

    Thoughts held tight Multiply in solitude’s echo chamber These flies hatch from eggs laid deep Kept cool by winter Until Spring’s first warmth seeps in Here they are Buzzing, banging on glazing Repeating knock out blows Frenzied attempts to pass the glass Crashing time after time Despite concussive impacts Leaving sickness, giddiness Confusion. . See →

  • Day 7

    At lunch I set out on my bicycle along the coast road. Pushed on by the uncompromising wind past the salt marshes to the mill by the reed beds. The thatch has been recently harvested, but there is still enough cover for a red kite to spark surprise when lifting off from the hollow stalks. →

  • On the Air

    Picture this magic Able to see you and speak I have missed you, son . n.b. Live on a hand-held screen from 5,116 miles away. This is miraculous. . CLP 24/03/2020 →

  • On the Heath

    Still hung on that fence After a week Quietly cured in sun and wind Desiccated deer Provides for the more fortunate Nothing wasted by fox or badger . n.b. I will spare you the picture. . CLP 24/03/2020 →

  • On the Bedside Table

    So many books rest Read me next! No, it’s my turn! This better be good . n.b. “For later” is now. . CLP 24/03/2020 →