The tenderness of cuttings

The tenderness of cuttings 

There are days and days for wondering 
stretched ahead 
no end it seems in sight. 
Don’t try to specify 
the what or when or why
August perhaps? Or autumn, winter 
turning of the year? 
All dates and plans suspended, poised, un-diaried
peer though we might, not visible. 
And so it is the rose in bud
or last year’s geraniums pink as pink 
trailing in torrents abundant 
and yesterday’s treasure, lacy and cream
all over elderflower spread 
or ten minutes still and listening 
Is that the nightingale’s song?
The tenderness of cuttings, lavender and sage 
undrooped, 
and climbing beans, climbing 
tomatoes too up steely stakes
curling, installation art. 

And glad I am for poetry
for art in all its forms 
for somewhere to go when I’m wondering 
no end it seems in sight 
for a plan to place those pebbles 
round in a Fibonacci swirl
to dwell on the swoosh of the sea 
millenia, smoothing and soothing 
Beauty brimming  everywhere, priceless
and everywhere offered free. 

25th May 2020 Hounoux 

Summer in May

Summer in May 

After days of grey, white skies 

colourless, rain on the panes

dispiriting 

what joy instead for the orange and red 

poppies in splashes, grow where they will

for the blue in pots in troughs in tubs 

and all of the sky, the distant hills

for pinks and purples, peaches

roses in riot, sun after rain

birdsong and bees

west wind in the trees. 

There’s colour and movement and song in the dance 

kaléidoscope tumbles, patterns by chance 

and after the colourless rainy grey 

hurrah for the miracle come today 

for the joy and the hope now there’s summer in May.

May 21sr 2020 Hounoux 

Slowed to a walking pace.

Slowed to a walking pace

Had I chanced upon this film, or Netflix series 
grazing, and for want of other 
I would have jeered, the very premise 
preposterous, for heaven’s sake, whatever next
some fevered mind unleashed 
alien and unlikely as bug-eyed monsters 
green, with tentacles. 
Yet somehow now, not entirely sudden, but tiptoeing in at first 
- you had perhaps to be alert 
not dreaming of Brexit Day, nor flaunting cleverness 
not spouting lumps of Latin, when a COBRA meeting called 
yes, you had to be alert- 
for something big was coming 
silent as snow overnight, transforming 
smothering the Life Before, a blanket on the fire 
a giant’s hand to halt the traffic, hushing streets and squares 
behind closed doors, cribbed and confined 
corona rules applied, all human life locked down. 

In days the world reformed, stilled on its axis
slowed to a walking pace 
and hard it is to take this in 
to break old habits, stop the spin 
but here we are, astonished, premise preposterous 
no choice, no voice, a new world ordering
new rules new customs everywhere applied 
and some will fret for what is gone 
and some for what’s to come 
but nowhere there are answers 
mighty Google’s speechless, dumb.
So we sit in isolation
hold our breath collectively 
we reflect on what’s important 
and we pray it will survive 
in a world of transformation
stilled upon its axis
slowed to a walking pace. 

May 1st 2020 Hounoux