3 – In The Garden

Poem number 3
In The Garden
The empty tree, stripped bare by thieves
The lawn now raked, the mound of leaves
And sitting in that leafy pile
My daughter with delighted smile
The sea of colour round her lap
Her little gloves, her little cap
Persuade me Autumn’s not so bad,
She scatters leaves, and runs to dad.


81 – Eggstasy

Poem number 81
The hen has done her duty
(On that we can be firm)
Her egg is full of beauty
Though unfertilised by sperm,
The fragile shell, exquisite
There’ll be golden yolk within,
Grab it snatch it smash it
Crack it fry it and dig in!

85 – Puddles Gather

Poem number 85
Puddles Gather
Puddles gather where they will
And damp my winter shoes,
Abandoned water orphans
Born to varied shapes and hues.
Marking out the dips and bumps
Of roadworks long expired –
A topographic history
Of a path both old and tired.
Scars from where the gasmen dug
And pockmarks from BT
Filled up now with water
Like a thousand tiny seas.
The patchwork quilt of poor repairs
The jobs done on the cheap,
Reservoirs and oceans
Rivers, lakes two inches deep.
And me, a striding giant
Causing ripples as I walk
Tsunamis in the puddles
Litter bobbing round like corks.
By the weekend global warming
Will evaporate the scene
Leaving just the sodden leaf mulch
As a clue to what has been,
But soon the rains will turn back time
The landscape will refill –
In a world so full of roadworks
Puddles gather where they will.