Lazy Poet’s Small Thursday Poem

Who has lost this small pure heart? asks Tish. She has offered up this image for anyone who is inspired by it, to write whatever springs to mind.

Tish Farrel's Eglantine

Dog Rose

Twisting, tumbling from a dense hedge

 with a brief moment of gratitude for space.

It fell, it turned, raised a shocked face,

damp with the tears of morning mist,

 when a thousand more dropped en masse,

 to perish, impaled on blackthorn’s blades.

This Eglantine heart in gentlest Tyrian hue

will bear no royal crown, but a floral wreath

of Earth Chestnut will encircle its place of rest

and join with the detritus of seasons before.

This heart unbroken will nourish any tiny seed

and root that finds itself climbing skywards.

 

Thank you Tish.

All rights to this photo belong to Tish Farrell, Writer on the Edge.

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Lazy Poet’s Thursday . . . Poem!

A few days ago, the lovely Isobel commented that I’m addicted to photo challenges. She’s right of course, I am, even my own weekly Thursday one. So this week, just for a change there’re no photo inspired haiku, just a little poem.

Totem

Twig legs, and wings collapsed like a fallen angel,

flown too early in this false spring of harsh, March winds.

Breast not red, but orange, flame extinguished now,

 the once piercing eyes, blank

issue a question .

Have I the courage to answer?

could I have fed this hungry yearling?

Skeletal, with moulting feathers,

starved, desperate, chilled and lost

with a cracked, fairy porcelain beak

 

No grassy resting place,

in a well-tended suburban border.

No crow will dine on her bones,

on that flagstone path in need of repair.

Rather, old Mr Jones scooping her precious remains,

into a Waitrose bag and the black wheelie bin.

 

This, my totem bird will never renew,

but her spirit has found release, a regeneration,

as my raw heart has revealed,

a new compassion for self, rebirth.

 

On my walk to work a few days ago I saw a dead robin on the path, I did a double take – seeing a dead bird is quite unusual. It made me cry, and I still have the image in my mind, this poem is my response.

Jo isn’t lazy, but she has posted a joyful, spring haiku this Thursday, it definitely cheered me up, thanks honey!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lazy Poet’s Thursday Poem

poppy

Petals of loss

Have we forgotten?

So it would appear.

One hundred years and no lessons learnt.

How many images of atrocity

must we see before enough is enough?

Mankind has battled since time began,

does that mean we must until the end?

And womankind, we’re not without guilt,

warrior queens were not legend but manifest.

Leave battles to the playground

To the realms of history, herstory,

fiction and myth.

Cease now,

while a poppy still blooms on this earth.

Lazy Poets Thursday Poem

Gorse

Fickle Gold

You may wonder why you’re carried

 to a distant tropical shore

by fragrance like sweet coconut

rising golden over moors

from January til December

turn a woodland path

 and you’ll know its kissing season

as you’re sure to see some gorse

but be careful where you romance

because if you are untrue

her flowers hide a secret

the most capricious thorns

Lazy Poets Thursday Poem

gate

Threshold

Gate do you lead out or enclose?

climb steps through the overgrown green

close in for winter in the underworld

hide behind bars wrought and curved

like a rusty shepherds crook

then cross the threshold to who knows where

a return to joy, trust the rock hewn pathway

a final look and then turn your back on loss

Gate do you enclose or lead out?

across the fields to the river’s torrent

stride to the estuary panorama

always wondering about  the opposite shore

 somewhere over there west of the river

 south of the channel south of land fall

and twenty degrees west joy will be found

forge ahead travel forward with purpose

to distant horizons hot and dry

wander like a gypsy-o swaying to the future

 trusting the uncertain pathway

Lazy Poets Thursday Poem

Twin Seat

Reminiscent of medieval windows

In repose against an ancient wall

Twinned seats in iron wrought

Languishing until the return of spring

To warm and settle the metal

Into a welcoming retreat

Until then you chill the cheeks

Of any brave or foolish souls

Who linger in the sleeping garden

Unblessed by loves gentle glow

Knightshayes seat

Lazy Poets Thursday Poem

wooden woman

Druantia

Once I was fertile fecund my flowers

were the favoured of bees by the swarm

birds spread my seed unaware of north south divide

now I stand hacked worn and idle baking in the sun

with most of the life sucked from me

but my foot is damp there is hope yet

should you move me a few steps to this rich earth

I may send down roots

But perhaps you would prefer to preserve

rescue me I am of good wood

and will outlast these pitiful shrubs that surround me

just oil me polish me to a shine

I’ll stand as statue in a palatial pleasure gallery

and be stroked by appreciative hands