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Oak Meadow

Banished by force are warmth and sunlight
Where we scratch and hack in the undergrowth.
Nature’s front line is well entrenched here,
In-grown and wiry with brambles and brash.
Ages running wild, seeding and shooting
At will, snagging, choking and smothering
Have toughened her. In self-strangling struggle
She scrabbles and claws her resistance –
A tortuous mesh of trip-lines, barbs for skin
And slips for boots in the mush underfoot.

Old, alone and confused, like a geriatric tramp
She bristles in layers of shredded sacking.
Let’s tease out her bits, put to the burning
Barrow-loads of combings; rake up the mess
On her breast, sticky with burrs and briars;
Open her up to the sun, re-stitch her
Seams in woven hedgerows, with patches of
Flowers fight back the years. Waken Beauty,
Give bees and butterflies her face to love
And we too will grow young with the work.

Julian Case

Poetry Theme(s):

Currently Popular Poems:

A Woodland Ensemble - Psithurism of the Trees.

The plane tree With paper-like rustle Elephant patches And scaly trunk. Memories And mellow whispers Of a darkest tempest Dropping the bass. Constable elms Whispering, suckering saplings Converting To beetle runs beneath. Ash- With minstrel keys playing harmonies masking sinister die back. Crataegus thickets The scratchy rasping may catch you quick. Whispering pines Bend forwards Reaching skywards Splintering the silence. Mother beech With spaltered Marks waltzing And humoresque streaks. Holly reigns in Summer solstice Days shorten And poco a poco winter returns. King of the woods Ships hold Forte and Table fast. Eric
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Dunwich Heath Cliff

Beachen sand, coastal gravel Heave and spew with every wave Are fixed above my head Banks of sand, clots of gravel Two million-years adrift Are rolling at my feet Same old, same old Dunwich Cliff, Dunwich Beach: The poetry of sediment remains Tim
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Careful Where You Walk

In the nick of time, spring at last emerges almost too late to position itself centre stage. A final twirl, a bow sweeping the footlights taking the limelight laying down its profusion of greens its heady fragrances such signs of life’s abundance all showered at our feet. A few more days and summer casting spring aside will be upon us. Be careful where you walk: a purple orchid plucked just in time from the relentless mower daisies a golden drift of buttercups vivid blue speedwell ox-eyes unfolding as we watch bluebells cowslips the deepest of red clovers plantains holding on to their dainty quivers of white petals and the purple vetch a glorious tangled paradise. Rooks fly upwards circle, settle in the topmost branches of a spreading oak. The horses swish their tails. Soon it will be summer, the first swallows sleek with bright new plumage swooping and snaking above the lake, eager to announce its coming. The little clocktower peals out the music of its chimes telling the quarters but...
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Spring Into Action

To return to leaf and brighten the day, Spring suddenly appears with accelerando of snowdrops and May in March. Fluted bird song fills the skies, worm casts aplenty rise to surface and morning dew appears. Paula  
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Forever Searching

Search the walls Scan the corridors Express the highs Scribble the lows Writing explores The state of my mind.   Judith  
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Alder Carr, Crichton

Cold clear water Lurking trout Dogs mercury afloat. Where Crichton Castle Stands the bank. Old Alder cones still black; The trees are still asleep. Willows weep I wash my feet. Moss encrusted veterans fallen to the hillside Amongst blackbirds singing in old ash trees. Wild raspberries Jasper green canes reaching high waiting for summer feathers. Lime kilns and quarried Lonely caves. Sandstone and limestone planes alayered. I walk a mile Through the haar Amongst the dark alder carr. My sandwiches Becoming colder by the minute. I rise up the edges Tottering the line of ancient beech. With broken banks and pocketed anemones. Two muntjac creeping on the sideways track, Watchful of my progress. Manky boots Impress their foot. Bright yellow lichen on old hawthorn,  Jet black ash buds, Grey scaly patches, Lime flower matches. Frothy blackthorn Sloe to emerge, bonnie gill. Magical yet spiny, waiting for its gin. Park primroses clumping their station, Demanding their presence and lithe nat...
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A Light Touch

Like a single pearl on a lupin leaf I sparkle, motionless, waiting for you to discover me. I like to tease a little, tickling bare limbs, making you shiver with delight. I like to be noticed. In summer I slip softly, silently into the bare earth, quenching thirst, satisfying desire. Winter storms excite me, lashing against windows, whipping up seas, splashing in gutters. You can have too much of me, you say. With scarcity I’m a precious jewel. Over-abundance brings disaster. Julia Duke
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Jungle Walk, Henstead Exotic Garden, Suffolk.

Broad-leaved trees, spreading palms, fingers outstretched, shield me from the sun’s heat. Beneath a green umbrella’s shade, the perfect spot on a blistering summer’s day, so cool, serene. Round, fluted lily pads rest flat on inky waters where golden fish glide, finding refuge in silence. A tiny oasis, place of shelter enfolding, embracing me within its safe circumference. Julia Duke
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Tang Yellows and Sung Blues

Beneath the dome of autumnal beech amber hues and jasper green tang-yellow leaves. The sung blue-grey sky and speckled shade on the tender crisp-lined track. Egyptian buff-brown Vigorous and stout trunks Lengthening skyward. Stephanie
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Who Is Saving The World?

The recycler, bicycler, bio-masser and solar paneller, the sustainable developer, the charity worker, the medics (sans frontieres?), fundraisers and carers, givers and listeners, growers of organics, designers of biodegradables. Genetic engineers? Surgeons and researchers, forgivers and forgetters, Billy the bug hunter, Immy the mathematician, Troy the paratriathelete, Wendy the wigwam maker. The ones who go last, the ones who smile, the ones who don’t want to argue about it, the ones who give up their seat, the ones who calm a storm, the ones who cook up a feast, the ones who sing praises, the ones who shine, Auntie Gwen and Malala…… ….and I drink water from a glass bottle. Sue Foster Image by Fernando via Unsplash .
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