Rhymes and Ramblings, March 1st 2020, St David’s Day

I felt the sun’s ‘warm touch’ on my left shoulder

Outside, whilst working…was a bonus now I’m older!

It served to remind me of jewels, still to unfold,

The longer days, the relief from the cold…

And, yet, daffodils nodded their yellow ‘Hello’

Mauve crocuses nestled beneath branches below.

I beamed, as I walked on this rain-sodden earth

Revealing its bounty, declaring its worth.

Harvesting leeks and rhubarb, and broccoli and sorrel

Stooping down, saw blackbird scutter round by the laurel.

Red robin perched above on a twig, stretched out his wing,

Long-tailed tits gathered and flitted, enjoying their sing,

On turning, to glance down amongst parsley and sage,

Saw frogspawn clear-glistening behind the wire cage,

And seeing the pond, Iris and Marsh Marigold mingled

Brought a flush to my face, my gloved-fingers fair tingled!

I smiled, as I heard the ‘wreckers’ break glass,

As this patch of land maintained its own Class,

Undisturbed, full of life, just pure Heaven…

Counted spent summers here, at least ten years, plus seven!

All this planning and building, the soil and its treasure…

The hours of watching and listening, the joys and the pleasure,

The fruitfulness and harvest, delight and surprise,

Were all there unfolding, in front of my eyes.

 

Silent Horror, April 9th Leading up to Easter 2020

Doorstep sitting,

Mint tea sipping,

D-I-Y-ers,

Buzzing wires,

Children playing,

Indoor staying,

Sunshine loving,

Bellflower budding,

Jack and Jill?

World stood still,

Neighbours chatting,

No dog patting,

Wise words saging,

Distance gauging,

Wary glances,

No advances,

Stray tunes,

Full moon’s

Energy rises,

Brewing crisis,

All bad news,

Much to lose…

Young child screams,

Delight, it seems!

Each day same,

Waiting game.

Another dies,

Baby cries.

Grandad gone,

Life?… must go on.

 

Times of Tribulation – April 1st – All Fools’ Day, 2020     

‘Fool’ ventured down to the Prom that day

Took chosen, odd path, chanced route, least trod,

Vain trampling, awry, o’er matted green sod,

Clambered high bluff, breathless; traversed bleak tops,

Below, vast-spreading river…above, lean lonely copse,

‘Tis “Thirty-two days syn March began”,

Familiar, stark words for a Chaucer-fuelled fan?

More than a month, of sly, creeping terror,

Unrushed in response, sprayed droplets in error.

“We should have distanced ourselves, from the start!”

Instead, we are only just learning ‘our part’…

Frail Earth breathed still, strange, quiet, so unreal,

Beyond, “Mother Mountain”, her dark gifts conceal?

Warm zephyrs connecting ‘like souls’, to far lands,

Sending songs of condolement, ‘cross gasping, cracked sands.

Now, cocooned in our spaces, with birdsong for clocks,

We network with loved ones…receive food in a box!!!

‘Nil hugs’ and no kisses, no quests…for a while,

Clan connect, knowing glances, solo stranger’s scared smile,

Bright rainbow as symbol, for lives held in treasure

Propped-up ‘Teddies’ in windows, augmenting our pleasure,

Lark thought, that this April was “Surely no joke?”

Blind ‘Hope’ channeled daily, uniting, safe-calling-together, strayed folk.

Ianthe Pickles
Lives in Liverpool
Worked for 37 years as a full-time Primary and later Secondary/Special School teacher and college tutor.
Writing (especially poetry) was often a release during emotional and turbulent times in the 1980s working in an area of severe deprivation and unemployment in Liverpool. 
When life gets out of control, writing can often help it make sense.

 

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