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My Poetry

The Forest

Tiny woodland creatures bustle, climb, scatter.

Flicker of sunlight through trees standing

firm - the bed of mulch and leaves, their piss and poo.

Delicate branches sway when birds land or leave

to seek riches in far-off hills and streams.

Hedgerows along the path shake, stem rubbung stem.

A quiet disturbance. Rats and squirrels share the floor.

A duck sits by the pond resting under the mild spring sun.

The rhythmic panting of a passing jogger - amplified.

Bubbles froth on large rocks as the stream trickles past.

Draining the land of youthful blossom -

into the world it flows gifting the soils rich sap.

A slow wind creeps through the sheltered corridor.

Collar up, until my boot finds the dapple of yellow dust.

The ants keep working, the spiders keep plotting.

Drifting clouds assemble to form a dull quilt.

Flocks of birds scatter before the breeze catches it’s breath.

The sky darkens - menacing raindrops lightly tap my jacket

and barely settle on the roots of fallen trees.

Into the bones of the forest, new life seeps.