Ethnic Cafeteria

Masked Native

 

During a spring shower in Holland Park,

I take shelter in clamorous chatter

Of an ethnic cafeteria,

buy orange juice and chocolate,

drink coffee from a paper cup.

After the rain; the scent of tree-lined paths.

Bright green leaves drip on rainbows of tulips

in rectangle boxes of damp earth beds.

On a long wooden bench in the water garden,

two men eat white bread sandwiches spread

on newspaper laps.

Watch the three-tiered fountain splash lily pads

like diamonds in a dance.

Some of the shrubs are still here, he said.

Spring bulbs multiply every year.

Even after the big storm,

most of the trees remain,

but it’s not the same.

All these people,

and no-one to remember my name.

The ground remembers,

His companion said.

The ground remembers everything.

Every step, and every stone.

Every flower, and every tree.

Even you and me.

First published in ‘Listening To…

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Standing Stones

Standing stones

 

Shhhhh………listen,

said the sea.

Can you hear the ghosts of war on the tide,

carried back and forth

from other times, other centuries.

Rocks,

soaked in sorrow,

like tomb-stones littered on the shingle.

Who will save our souls,

cry the ghosts.

Nest

 

Trees in sunlight

Can you imagine a warm, round nest,

the setting sun and warmth of feathered companions.

At first light of day to sing creation’s song

of how the world began.


No wonder you sing. 

thrush - nov '10

Listening

Untitled-TrueColor-01 heart cut

Will you listen with me,

to the gusting breeze

dashing over hawthorn bushes.

To sea-smacks on the rocks below the cliff.

To the hum of engines trawling the mist

 like a lost soul.

Bird

 

birdleaf for gill

While sitting in the gazebo in Gill’s garden,

I saw a little bird  in the tree.

But on closer inspection, it was simply a leaf.

All is not what it appears to be,

but one way or another,

real or imagined,

Gill was here,

through me.