The quiet song

 The quiet song

In daily chores, the dust and dirt, a spider’s larder, 

food to prepare, laundry, dishwasher 

sift and sort

sigh oh my 

never an end, never an end 

easy to miss the quiet song, the harmony, the lyrical 

the many blues from indigo to aqua, with orange, shocking pink, 

all in a painted evening sky 

the scent of basil torn over tomatoes, mint, or rosemary 

the golden flow of oriole song, cicadas’ churr and buzz. 

Too hot this summer’s unkind sun, flattening and harsh 

all poetry exhausted, parched as the yellow grass 

but surely undefeated, 

as Keat’s exquisite autumn, russet clad, ablaze with berries 

sashays in. 

Hounoux 29th September 2026 

Poetry or paint?

 Poetry or paint? 

This hot peak-wave, heat-wave 

sun stunning day, already the landscape flattened, panting 

languid I watch and wonder 

poetry or paint

thick spread and sliding, butter/palette knife

fiery flowers like flags 

spectrum in a sprinkler, pooling 

sweet relief, small breeze, some shade 

poetry or paint? 

22nd June 2026 Hounoux 

Beyond our reach

 Beyond our reach 

The tiny feeder’s empty so no birds fly back and forth

I miss them as the pine boughs dip and sway

the wind from the east rising again, three days blowing 

although the sky is blue with dreams of summer 

and blousy tulips fill the pots. 

Slow days lengthening, crochet blanket and its baby growing 

the comfort of routine,

a song of loveliness with minor chords beneath 

the grip of worry, grief, the price we pay 

for those we cherish, suffering 

beyond our reach. 

April 14th 2026 Hounoux 

On memory’s winter tree

On memory’s winter tree

 On January’s last gasp chill day, dripping

monochrome 

across your threshold what delight! 

in warmth and light and welcome. 

And so an afternoon that glowed

good food and conversation shared 

poetry and painting  

a fragile bubble blown in glass 

now hung, swung, on memory’s winter tree. 

February 2nd 2036, Hounoux, for Josette and Andrew. 

There’s a poem in my window

 There’s a poem in my window 

There’s a poem in my window, shining 

top left, Honesty penny, a half crown newly minted 

looming through the gloom 

and suddenly the drear day brightens. 

Perhaps I will after all unwrap that canvas 

stark and daunting 

set it where some faint fingers of November light creep in 

squeeze careful blobs, turquoise orange gold 

bold palette 

take up the roller, paint knife, wet the brush 

and high board, tiptoe, tremble, 

take the plunge. 

November 14th 2025 Hounoux 

Heaven’s ballet I suppose

 Heaven’s ballet I suppose 

October skies are wide here 

from sunrise east to Canigou

sentinel on the way south, to Catalonia and beyond 

dawns that dazzle, well worth the early hour 

and then the clouds, cotton clumps a child might draw

all along a line, tracking the horizon 

steam train chuffing 

or cirrus wisps 

and often cloudless blue, cerulean, sky backlit

The earth still warm at supper time 

when suddenly as sunset flames, a harvest moon is hung

copper, huge 

now in the eastern sky 

silently displaced, heaven’s ballet I suppose

in October’s wide wide skies. 

13th October 2025, Hounoux 

In spite of me

 In spite of me 

The high heat stuns and stultifies 

reducing a walk to a creep 

slowing all thought, making muzzy

and sweet relief the blue and silver 

dancing water, swimming pool. 

With froggy strokes, ungainly

I count the slow lengths up and back 

breathe in the heady jasmine scent 

and watch the busy birds who dart among the secret fig tree 

leaves and branches- a nest perhaps or just some blessed shade 

respite fast grown from a stone 

(in barren ground, small earth) 

another bird once dropped 

now swiftly higher than my head. 

In spite of me and careless of my sun-slowed thoughts 

the birds return, the planet turns 

a seed is dropped and thrives 

so many interwoven lives 

circle and twine 

as the high heat stuns and stultifies. 

July 2nd 2025 Hounoux