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Twenty-First Century Willow

weeping willow with the sun shining through its leaves and a bench seat underneath
I have always been proud of my body:
lithe, supple, quite elastic. Watch me while I
bow to reach my delicately painted toenails.
I have always been supple.

My sturdy trunk withstands the wind which
gently stirs my slender limbs and sets me
swaying, tossed like the ocean’s waves,
rippling the fronds of my lime-green hair.

Don’t waste your pity on me. I have a reputation
for weeping but I am content with my lot.
I am not one of those weepy women
you love to despise. Snivelling, you call it.

I have always been flexible. Don’t let
that thought mislead you into imagining
that I am easily led. Supple, flexible,
I may be. Pliable, I am not.

If you are inclined to stay, we may indulge ourselves
in a little laziness. Rest a while beneath my boughs,
see how I catch the sunlight in my hair
and we will dip our toes together in the river’s flow.

I am a little moody, a touch melancholy
you might say, and inclined to droop.
There are times, I admit, when the river flows by
unheeding and I crave a little company.


Julia Duke

 

Photo by Jan Antonin Kolar via Unsplash

Poetry Theme(s):

Currently Popular Poems:

Orwell Mud

Sticky ditches Wading friend Stream bend. Sun lit fields Winter sun Walking fun. Riff of branches Tree silhouettes Breaking a sweat. Down the Orwell Stuck in the mud Squelch and thud. Muddy but free to foodhall for tea. Hannah  
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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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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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Entangled Yet Free

An open-closed cage The box globe captures Amber beech, suspended Surely, safely in its net. A network of veins, junctions and oval waxy minuscule leaves. Thoughts and the essence of Autumnal fall Entangled, yet free.     Anon
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Shingle Beach

Deep Yellow sea poppies With Salted horns Of sickle-shaped pods Grey green lobes Waxy Rosettes Clinging to the shingle And Fragility of life. Thomas
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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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Drying the Eco Way

Rope across the lawn and a long fork-ended wooden prop too heavy until I was eight. Wooden pegs on a shiny spring never two pronged ‘dollies’ until I was twelve. Then I was delighted by a 24 pack of red, yellow, blue, white and green and, joy of joys pink plastic pegs.  Plastic coated metal line-twine across the balcony on pulleys and reels to be hauled across the Calla Boucheria to the apartment opposite on Mondays, Tuesdays or Saturdays. They could haul theirs across to my hook on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Neither of us ever could or did, on Sundays. The wooden horse in a Muswell Hill bedsit dank, mouldy drying space for a single young professional trying to pay her rent. Wouldn’t use the in-situ white-goods dryer concern for the environment a principle. Too many work blouses and not enough space or money to be clean or crisp. Danish designed the eco dryer fits into a corner easily. It takes heat and drying time from a radiator. Hanging all your clothes a whole wardrobe...
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Ballinasloe Station

Flood plains replenished and diminished, a deceiving here-and-there fluidity and the flat statement of stubborn water. Occasionally trackside trees are stranded, littered in swirling pools that soundlessly disappear. On the horizon, tall walls and radio mast mark the far-off asylum neatly screened with its avenue of trees. The people are hidden beyond the town, their tears reaching as far as the railway lines. The train navigates the flood’s edge like logic escaping emotion, trim engineering escaping danger, holding firmly onto the rails. (Ballinasloe was a major mental home in County Galway) Pat Jourdan
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The Pandemic

Unprecedented Unprecedented Unprecedented Present distress repeated, repeated recent disease breathed present unprecedented, sent in coughs. Cough, cough, cough. This disease sent on the air. Cough, cough, cough. Unprecedented present breathed in unprecedented disease breathed out unprecedented hand-washing unprecedented deaths dent the present. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe out. Dented breathing. Cough. Present deaths unprecedented. Enough. Too many deaths. Too many people. Too many families. This time Covid19. Another SARS disease present. Unprecedented but not unexpected 2020. Sue  Foster
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