Glasshouses

sunlight breaks
through glass
early morning rising
shadows cast
reflected on the ground
shapes patterns
heat rising, earth, warm
in the air smell
travel the world
between four walls
tall ceilings reaching
into the clouds
daydreamer
grow
fly

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Yellow

After the snowdrops
have shown themselves
hope contained within
the petals
comes the gorse
with its yellow flowers
lining the hedgerows.

Then the daffodils,
bright yellow, spring
up in clusters by the side
of the road, lanes, woods, banks,
a vibrant burst of colour
welcome after the grey and the cold.

Then the primrose,
nestling under hedges
and bushes, pale yellow
dotting the landscape,
beckoning spring closer.

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After the Snow

Sunshine melts the snow
blue skies, round white balls,
as big as barrels
the remains of snowmen
linger in green fields, lonely.

Snowdrops re-emerge from under
their temporary winter blanket
and it’s as if,
it was never there at all.

 

 

Snow Fall

Snow comes unexpected,
falling heavy, traffic chaos
standstill.

In the morning,
sunlight dances on white,
a cat’s pawprints mar
the pure white blanket,
branches are covered in an icing layer.

Snow begins to melt
blades of grass poke through,
snowdrops clinging on.
Spring is still coming.

 

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Poem Scribbled on a Clifftop

Spring sun beats down
on my face, waves crash
below
it’s easy to kid ourselves
that summer is nearly here
as we go barefoot in the water.
Up here, the wind is on
my face
my shadows lengthen
seagulls screech up above
and out at sea the water
rocks back and forth.
There is still a chill in the air
and two hopeful surfers bob
out at sea, watching the waves
waiting for the perfect break.
I climb and climb
Until the people on the sand
Are like pin heads.

Rebirth

Daffodil buds struggle to poke
their heads through the snow
that’s beginning to melt under the sun’s gaze.

Overnight, a blizzard blows
come morning, the land is lying
under a white winter blanket.

Spring seems a distant memory
the trees still stand stretched bare
banks sleeping under the snow
but still hope holds on.
Spring is coming – we will
start again.

Untitled Poem

Evenings are lengthening
I watch with joy
as daylight stretches out
pushing the darkness back
so that it no longer feels
like a threat, like the weight
of it is caving in on us.
now, the darkness is like putty
in our hands, we can mould,
fit it so that we are not lost
and when it does come,
we know that it won’t last for long.

 

WAKING

Waking, to sunlight streaming
birds singing on the telephone wire
the smell of spring, something warming up, evolving
filters in through the open window
and although I huddle down, cold,
it reminds me of what’s to come –
the joy of spring and summer
the leap out of bed in the morning
with the warm promise of the day ahead.

Spring is in the air, early as it is
daffodils are forming on the banks
yellow buds appearing like promises
bluebell shoots push their way through
the wood floor, through rotting leaves, green shoots
scattered under the bare, blank trees
that form a waiting canvas
their arms outstretched, like skeletons.

Sunlight in through the window
warms my back, my face
the first real warmth of the season –
reminds me that this is what it feels like.

But in the shadows, the cold
still lingers, reminds us that
we’re racing ahead and time,
time is only trying to trick us.