March morning

The Sparrows call call call
Loudly to each other
From the rooftops, seven
On a Sunday morning.


The magpies soar soar soar
Their black and white feathers
Flashing in the spring sun
As they look for breakfast.


The blackbird sing sing sings
His beautiful song from
The apple tree’s bent branch
Whose buds are still tiny.


Fluffy clouds fly fly fly
Past high above my head,
In a rush, places to
Go, people to rain on.

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Just look up

The spaces between the clouds 
are secret stories waiting
To be found
By someone who cranes their neck
And stares for a little while,
Just watching
To discover a treasure
That most never know about.
So look up.

Patches of blue peeking through,
Like a child behind curtains
Playing hide
And seek, giggling quietly
As they crouch in the shadows
Patiently
Waiting for you to find them.
But first, you have to stop for
A while. Take a deep breath and
Just look up.

July evening

Quarter past 9 at night.

In winter I would be inside,

Hiding in a blanket.

Curtains drawn against the dark.


But it is July.

I sit in the garden,

Watching the clouds turn from 

Pink to orange to peach.

I see bees still working,

While a noisy sparrow flies

Into its roof-nest.


The apples are changing

from green to rosy red.

Roses climb overhead.

Slugs grow fat on juicy grass,

And honeysuckle scent

Bathes in the warm air.

8 July 2021