unseasonable warmth petite clouds white buds pinned to infinite blue fine grass blades grass by the millpond prick my pale winter skin my flat weight crumples daisies in cool shade of the willow’s weeping
tumble of the waterwheel low hum of bumble bees
with eyes closed I see all the birds I hear from within this sonorous wall soft notes a woman’s song
so tired so tired so tired
my head so heavy it cannot turn my eyelids stuck down by pinks and blues my arms so heavy they will not move my legs feel bound they cannot run my voice clasped tight within my throat I hear her singing
she sings of lilac yet to bloom
she sings of lambs not yet sprung
she sings of hedgerows nestlings yet to fledge
she sings of the stream yet to flood
she sings of oak still to leaf
she sings of the summer yet to burn
she sings of two lovers yet to meet
she sings of harvest we’ve yet to reap
she sings of apples we’ll collect
she sings of mists that will rise from dew
she sings of the plough that will tear the earth
she sings of crows that will draw in the night
she sings of frost that will veil the soil
she sings of the fireplace as autumn leaves
so tired so tired so tired
slowly I wake remembering how far I must go before I finally reach my home
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2022Day Twenty-five prompt: write an aisling.
Coops balanced against each other defying gravity along the embankment like sentry boxes facing south marking the entrance to Sunderland its beach in April offered a slice of Siberia Roker Park the taste of bitter defeat
n.b. NaPoWriMo 2022 Day Twenty-three prompt: a poem in the style of Kay Ryan. My kind of poem. I love April, when spring is vibrant, the weather cruel and football reaches its season end. This brief poem is based on a grim day out on 11th April, 1993, but hey, Sunderland stayed up that year, which was nice, for them.
BOOM! I have time all over my hands it runs between my fingers I walk through Sunday stunned by the smell of the river the humidity of the air the taste of rain in the breeze peach blossom in the city a bumble bee, as big as a thumb, nosing into a crocus, bending the stalk busy drinking, as I am free to do if I choose to spend my time drinking in now all I have is time
Clocks have changed to British Summer Time. The Sun has come out. A strong southerly wind brings warmth to Norfolk.
People are out and about, the sound of children playing in the local park competes with goldfinches, blackbirds, chaffinches and the blue and great tits. An otter has been seen in the Wensum nearby and a large seal has come up river from the sea to nose around the old wharfside.
Daffodils, primroses jostle for attention, bluebells are preparing to make an entrance.
A day to savour. Not the end of Lockdown 3, but a step towards another way of living.
n.b. And I have just seen two bats spinning by my windows.