some poems

Sandringham

Rivulets paraded through the branches,
Wanting to slice the darkened pie,
Glimmering in movement, a strobe,
Through the leaves that fell with kings.

Moss licked my boots, pulpy,
I reached and bagged the fruits.
Stroking knots, stroking lichen,
I felt comfort in its colour.

Ceremonial line, inviting hearts to jump, braced,
And Mozart played the sun's retreat,
Firing celebration.
Laughing with the joy of living.

Black gate, inspiring pencil strokes,
Ivy climbs eternal.
A jailer of beauty, though flaunting
Beauty itself.

Rhododendrons flower a wish,
And conquer the colour duel.
Reduced by the want to own the pink,
But too strong to show reduction.

Partridges, cardinal, verdant, camoflaged
But suicidal, like the hares,
The squirrels, the swallows that flit,
Their song fills the space around this Earth, this head.

In quiet moments my mind will reach
To stroke the heart that stayed when I fled.
Stained images of meandering lanes through picnic fields
Will pull me back into its womb.