Tag Archives: nature

Friday poem: Apples

Behold the apples’ rounded worlds:
juice-green of July rain,
the black polestar of flowers, the rind
mapped with its crimson stain.

The russet, crab and cottage red
burn to the sun’s hot brass,
then drop like sweat from every branch
and bubble in the grass.

They lie as wanton as they fall,
and where they fall and break,
the stallion clamps his crunching jaws,
the starling stabs his beak.

In each plump gourd the cidery bite
of boys’ teeth tears the skin;
the waltzing wasp consumes his share,
the bent worm enters in.

I, with as easy hunger, take
entire my season’s dole;
welcome the ripe, the sweet, the sour,
the hollow and the whole.

by Laurie Lee (1914 to 1997)

If you have never read Laurie Lee, I very much encourage you to do so, especially ‘Cider with Rosie’  –a prose-poem of an autobigraphy.
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Dandelions

A great poem from Sarah Russell. Here, in an English winter, the Dandelions are still strutting their stuff across my back lawn.

Sarah Russell Poetry

“A weed is a flower growing in the wrong place.”
                            George Washington Carver

Spike-haired, brass-blonde,
they invade the bluegrass suburbs
where blades form a passive sameness
if tended as intended.  They strut
across the green of everyday —
strumpets in tattered leafy skirts,
stiletto roots — bestowing downy favors
on the summer breeze.

– Sarah Russell
First published in Your Daily Poem
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Iceberg

Icebergs, refracting blues and greens
as if gigantic gemstones,
and the deep massy ever moving ocean
exist symbiotically
made of the same substance
but separate entities
each enigmatic, inscrutable.

Icebergs lie in wait for unsuspecting ships,
their increased calving into the ocean
augur the doom of Antarctic ice sheets
and so of coastal cities and those within.
Yet their ice is open to light
sparking endless variations in it’s aspect,
while ocean depths are veiled by waves and opacity.

Differences simply born of lack of heat,
each is part of our blue planets girdling seas
as are we, in all our different complexities.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Lost

Mist lurks, gathers around a wan sun
in a fickle sky

Trees, afraid to stand in the open
stunted, bent, roots littered with bones

We pant raggedly, unyielding moor
draining us down to mires and darkness

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

We are off to hike in mid-Wales, where the farmers refer to the land as MAMBA  (Miles And Miles of B**ger All). Hopefully, we won’t get lost!

Study in Yellow

 

Pale primrose lies by the chicken pen
Bold Daffodils stand up in the border
Screaming Marsh Marigold calls from  the pond
Subtle oranges somehow manage to cool down the tubbed Narcissi
Spring yells yellow in my garden

 

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Re-blogged from 2016, when spring was actually warm, unlike the chill this year….

To the rabbits of Sandleford Warren

Dog roses sprinkle the green
lean and stretch over chainlink
pleading asylum.
They probably don’t gas rabbits now
but the path to the Downs
is lost these days.
So, this time, when
the houses are built
for real,
will you die
or will the spirit of Fiver
get you all out?

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The wonderful novel Watership Down starts when Sandleford Warren is cleared to make way for a housing development. Reality is about to follow fiction, as Sandleford is a real place, a landscaped parkland that has reverted to fields. A housing development has outline approval for the site –despite the best efforts of those of us who live close-by. We marched in protest holding high large portraits of Hazel, Fiver and the other heroes of the novel…………………….