What will you give me?

 What will you give me? 

Japanese  poems 

Liquid gold poured in the cracks 

Haiku perfection 

A haiku’s a thought

Winging straight as an arrow 

Clarified clearly 

What will you give me for this verse, this small quite neatly formed 

this thought-provoking piece of poetry 

in haiku form? 

I wrote it yesterday when feeling flat 

In need of cheer and occupation. 

It took perhaps an hour, not much more, including polishing and shine 

till it felt mine 

In haiku form 

So what will you give me for this verse 

the price of a juicy pear? 

Or flowers, hyacinths in pots, emerging from the dark 

or woolly socks, hand-made in stripes 

or a song to sing to sleep? 

I’d have to concur if you would suggest 

pricing poetry’s really tricky

and ditto of course for painting or pot 

for aria symphony song 

If you’re starving or shivering, lacking shelter or home 

what use is the product of art? 

Could a sonnet be priceless, an ode full of love 

a haiku clarify clearly? 

So what will you give me for this verse 

are you tempted to make an offer? 

I’m sending it off, no pressure no cost 

consider it gifted, it’s yours, with a smile. 

28th January 2021 Hounoux 

Harbingers

Harbingers  

January sky grey scale 

landscape unlovely, in battleground fatigues

dun drear drab 

though snow has sugar-iced the Pyrenees 

and tiny hopeful harbingers, three snowdrops 

signal Spring 

26th January 2021 Hounoux 

Climate changing here

 Climate changing here 

The climate changing in our garden

this midwinter

encouraged unwise plants in pots

summer’s marguerites, impatiens

perkily in pink, and lobelia 

( who normally will flag and shrivel, fragile flowers). 

All however bloomed and brightened autumn months 

quite wrong, but lovely as we locked ourselves in winter 

not much cheer. 

Till sudden snow fell

cold blanket, beautiful killer 

chiller on the terrace 

crime scene, climate changing here. 

26th January 2021 Hounoux

All-weather man

 All-weather man 

Monty strides, pack leader, dogs eddying 

all passion and purpose 

Longmeadow presently bewintered 

pleached limes, rimed

bare arms outstretched 

hard earth iron ring/ sing 

all-weather man. 

Quietly he pots and plans cutting and curbing 

where hoodlums rampage, overrun 

his quiet vision sowing, growing 

foot on spade, fingers in the soil. 

Monty strides, on a mission 

Longmeadow’s all-weather man.    

16th January 2021 Hounoux 

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