Category Archives: springtime

Friday Poem: Dear March – Come in

Dear March – Come in –
How glad I am –
I hoped for you before –
Put down your Hat –
You must have walked –
How out of Breath you are –
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest –
Did you leave Nature well –
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me –
I have so much to tell –

I got your Letter, and the Birds –
The Maples never knew that you were coming –
I declare – how Red their Faces grew –
But March, forgive me –
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue –
There was no Purple suitable –
You took it all with you –

Who knocks? That April –
Lock the Door –
I will not be pursued –
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied –
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come

That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame –

 

by Emily Dickinson – 1830-1886

Study in Pink

Drowsy July day, warm and humid
Foxgloves cerise as they reach upwards
Brash bright coral Marsh Mallow leans out of the hedgerow
But my eye is caught by the profusion, the abundance
Of pale pale pink Blackberry blossom

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Sunday in Spring

Two fields over, Rooks argue
a raucous parley that
goes on and on and on
while other birds sing prettily

Here in the meadow we have knelt
as if worshipping
to peer at tiny pink blooms
wobbling on a frail stem

On the way home
we walk a green lane
lambs call behind a hawthorn hedge
a ewe responds, deep voiced

Pretty bird song
clamorous rooks, bountiful sheep
tremulous flower

Are all remnants
Of a greater whole
Nature worn ragged

Broken
By our actions
Or inactions

And I feel the need to
kneel once more
in supplication
and in fear

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The Smell of bees

“Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don’t they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.”
― Ray Bradbury

 

The Smell of bees

I saw my first bee today, hearing buzzing while weeding
I searched for the little fellow and found him
Bumbling around the Lungwort
Buzzing with glee in the surprise warmth
Black, gold with a red bum
Furry and indomitable
He also harvests my garden
And mine depends on his

Its relief to see a bee today, with all the talk of their demise
Poisoned by chemicals that may yet kill us
Directly, as doses build, or indirectly
As my garden companions cease to pollinate
And harvests drop
The smell of small dusty bees
Will no longer tantalise my nostrils
Nor will the fragrance of food

Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

I actually saw my first Bumble Bee last week– it is warm very early here this year.