in which sun soaks

the earth dry, for days

it seems birds have fled the feasting sun

leaving flickerings of cabbage moth and fly

to dart from leaf to flower to shade

as bees seek reprieve in mossy banks

far from city life. People too disperse

indoors, shuttered down to stillness

and a book. Only the council

sends it workers out to mow

some verges with nothing

left to grow though

mine survives…


Copyrighted by the author

Shovel and Earth

A task to concentrate hand and mind

soil so tough and dry that no sweep

of hose nor dapple of water transforms

this still solid ground. All that remains

is shovel and earth to dig each small

spot of dusty dry which harbours

no thing beneath the surface. And so

I work, and with each breath of space

life returns.


Copyrighted by the author