Cuttlebone and Cobwebs

Snatches

The Blackbird busies beneath a bright marigold bloom.

Wood pigeons, like over ample peopling on a beach in June,

sun themselves at leisure, while the world flies by;

a garage roof their pleasure with it's clear view to the sky.

Nesting must be gathered, betwixt the terracotta pots,

where last years leaves lie folded 'gainst the dampening cold's rot

and there the robin rummages for the choicest blankets for her brood

making endless journeys, heedless of weather, self or food.

     * * * * * 

 Winter still clings

Winter still clings to the window pane

along with muddy paw prints, from frozen cats,

seeking shelter from whipping winds and driving rain.

Spring sunshine scatters itself through the stippled grime,

bringing it's fresh smile into the hitherto muted room,

A potted plant on the wooden window sill stretches itself,

uncurling delicate green leaves and vibrant pouting petals,

waving for water in its bustle to grow,

the statue by it's side manages to shine,

despite dust, which in winter somehow didn't show ....

     * * * * *

 Changing

I saw the blackthorn blooming, pristine white,

daffodils neath it's boughs, golden bright,

purple violets hiding in the hedgerow bank

amongst foliage of bluebell promise and campion to come,

with the tiny snowdrop petals of hawksbill shyly hid,

but the boldness of dandelions, in profusion, across the meadow grass, 

echoing the sun's bright face in a million saffron splashes,

shouted 'winter is now over, spring is breathing deep'

soon, so soon, you will discover summer nights too hot for sleep.

     * * * * *

 She

She entered my life with the stealth of thermal flight,

a bird of prey,

lightened my thoughts with the embers of a blazing summer's day,

left without explanation whilst I turned the other way.

     * * * * *

 Soul

If you can see more than your eyes,

hear more than your ears,

feel more than your heart,

you may have found your soul ...

     * * * * *

Struggle 

I hold this dust in my hand,

struggle deep to understand,

in essence 'tis part of someone's history,

and in time will mix my matter's scree.

     * * * * *

Laughing Ducks

Laughing loudly, four Ducks proudly

sail the silken pond.

Crows above respond

with croaked conversations of Raven nations

traditions carried on.