Pleached Limes

 Pleached limes 

In the dog days numberless

Christmas gone, the year not yet expired

December chilled and bit

feet and fingers, stamp and clapping 

breath of dragon, huff and puff

some small snow fluttered, failed to settle

no shine of frost on vines in solstice sun 

though Jupiter and Saturn very nearly met, conjunction 

bright as Bethlehem’s. 

And while the world was drear, this rump declining tail-end time 

plague year dragging dreadful, Marley’s ghost in chains 

revolting spectre, cancelling the feast 

we split and stacked our log pile neatly, under eaves 

reached hands towards the creak and crackle, winter’s glamour 

and solace found. 

The gardener’s pleached limes, rimed, 

out-stretching, insta photographed 

two word title, luscious 

beauty pouring like a balm.

30th December 2020 Hounoux, after Monty Don

No quiz? What a swizz!

 No Christmas in the quiz? What a swizz! 

Awake in the black, early morning 

(shocked by a shout, my own, don’t ask me what about) 

a creep of guilt begins to churn, turn and grumble 

mumble, cuss

tonight’s creep, unable to sleep 

how could I fail with the quiz? 

What a swizz! 

No Christmas for the chums in their Santa hats, sat 

waiting for tinsel and sparkle and fun 

for Dancer and Prancer, reindeer everyone

for rhymes about puddings, or why it’s ‘mince’ pie 

for Wenceslas’ page on the feast of St Stephen 

snow falling fast so it rhymed crisp and even 

the carol they sang in English and German 

those men in the trenches first Christmas in hell. 

We could have had questions on biblical stuff 

Joseph and Mary, that journey was tough 

the star in the east and the names of the Magi

the oddest of gifts and why they were chosen 

who wrote that poem- how the Wise Men were frozen? 

Stringing together these thoughts in a verse 

not soothing the conscience, it’s making it worse 

What fun we’d have had if I’d only remembered 

what all were expecting the eighteenth of December. 

So this is to say ( if you’re still bearing with me) 

I’m sorry for failing to season the quiz 

the fault is all mine and most surely not his. 

Maybe reschedule for feast of the kings? 

Though Friday’s the eighth, see what 2021 brings?  

I see through the window the sun rising in splendour! 

( Shall I insert a line here that praises transgender?) 

No, time to give up on a night with no sleep 

and pen  you this poem instead of count sheep. 

Thank you all dearest friends for our Fridays of fun 

They’ve been such a tonic, Covid life-savers every one. 

Half a moon waxing

 Half a moon waxing 

It was time of course to warm the oven 

prep the poultry, garlic lemon

slice various vegetables 

But in the east a tint was blooming 

pink on purple deepening 

not to be ignored, yearning for words 

some novel juxtaposing, hungry for poetry 

clinched and sealed the search and forward,  push and pull 

by the sight and symbol bright 

white and slowly silvering 

of half a moon, waxing, still, serene 

at dusk’s descending, closing

dip of day. 

25th November 2020 Hounoux 

All enclosed within

 All enclosed within 

In November 

on a day of mist and grey

cloud hung over the valley 

colour-muted, cold, just eight degrees 

how good to stoke a fire

paper, logs fresh-split and sticks 

match lit, fire-lighters tang and flare

a glow and crackle shift of wood, settling 

as fire ignites and primitive,  my heart is glad 

and comforted. 

Light and lift before the heat

the safety in the circle, hearth glowing 

all enclosed within 

what’s wild and wolf, wind in the stack 

dread and chill, winter all unglamorous 

withheld 

as indoors warms and glows 

like memories of childhood, flicker firelight family 

the safety in the circle, hearth glowing 

November’s gift and gladness 

all enclosed within. 

November 22nd 2020 Hounoux  

Not sugaring the pill

Not sugaring the pill 

No one nowadays of course is obfuscating

sugaring the pill

disguising a difficult truth, infantilising 

(I wonder about that change, was it gradual or overnight 

a radical departure, no more beating round the bush, are we all clear? ) 

So you’ll find yourself across a desk, receiving news, unwelcome, no punches pulled 

undodgable as a bullet, with illustrations- hand drawn to be helpful -

and even in a foreign tongue, with one of us hard of hearing 

translation’s obvious and though your man declares ‘no fire’

no urgent need for action

yet in a trice you’re strapped in and that conveyor belt is rumbling , at a pace, breath-taken 

while your brain scrambles to keep up 

and frankly I’m glad for the briskness and speed 

best have it out, cut it free 

the cancer, the tumour quietly growing 

tentacles creeping, enemy unseen 

Now in the aftermath, anaesthetic, keyhole cut

the neatest trick and miracle, staff meticulously trained

such skill and kindness, overwhelming 

I reflect, surprised, how all was relatively calm, no panic

though death it seemed came one step closer

breathed on my neck, while cancer chilled the air. 

I thought instead of love and all the life I’ve lived

the loveliness of legacy 

my line descending, branching, going forward, twenty-first century 

where the far horizon’s  shining 

as the sunrise lights the sky. 

11th November 2020, Hounoux. 

We, who live in rainbows

 We, who live in rainbows 

Those of us, she said, who live in rainbows

and I saw Pollyanna’s prisms strung 

across the room 

so rainbows danced upon the walls and swung 

then more of them, spectra, red to violet

In bubbles floating 

or caught in the bevel, light and lovely 

around the mirror’s edge. 

And I am glad for the colour wheel spinning 

the wonder of white, the light splitting and spilling 

all of the richness the cool and the hot

complement and clash, riot and rush

for Oz in Technicolor 

crimson, scarlet, peach or rose 

butter and gold, hayfields in summer, 

spring as it’s leafing, fern, lichen, moss 

for sky blue, sea green, aqua, turquoise 

indigo, violets, Victoria plum

for what she said 

and bliss it is 

for those of us who live in rainbows. 

14th October 2020 Hounoux 

Monochrome in the morning

 Monochrome in the morning 

On the water, sea through silhouetted pines

monochrome in the morning 

the sun’s a pathway silvering, from shore to horizon 

like flaming arrow’s flight, bright 

Catalonia this morning 

September’s softer sun 

September 29th 2020, Tamariu