Countryside Wisdom

I always greet red dawns with caution.
Farmer’s daughter,
I turn over countryside sayings
like hard-boiled sweets
in my mouth.
The syrup long since sucked
from the center,
now all crunch and brittle,
the shards pricking my gums
in warning.
No amount of scoffing,
can keep my grandmother’s voice
from speaking to the dawn.
Soft, and familiar,
chanting the same words,
myth
now made fact.
Red mornings are both beautiful,
and dangerous.
We should watch
for a change in the winds.

morn-005

Along The Headlands

In some places the growth regulator has worked.

The barley perches waist height,

perfect cover for the pigeons that dive-bomb

grey feathers all a flutter,

deaf to the crow banger’s crack, crack, crack

as they land in the elsewhere places

of stems grown too tall not to loose their balance.

In the shadow of the sheds there’s warmth yet,

the sun is sunk but not quite set

and the sky has turned to rust beyond the track

where the tractors wobble outwards

for one last relay before dusk can claim day.

dverselogo

I’ve mixed two prompts tonight. DVerse Poets Pub’s challenge to write a poem about landscape while using verbs in an unusual way (I’m hoping I managed that) and today’s Daily prompt: Traditional. So here you have traditional Shropshire scenery with a twist.

Fireworks

There is someone juggling fireworks.
Somewhere
beyond these fields.
There is someone juggling fireworks
while I was curled cool
and content
beneath the weight of blankets
with books to read.
There is someone juggling fireworks
now the rain has stopped.
There is someone juggling fireworks
now the wind has dropped.
There is someone juggling fireworks
in the calm after heat.
There is someone juggling fireworks
who’s pulled me back from sleep.

There is someone juggling fireworks.
Sporadic,
out of sync.
Who is juggling fireworks
upon a country-side at peace.


A quick free-write poem on a lovely cool Saturday night.