1
Raincoat-clad, yet another 'cross a chair
warm, Southwest winds, rain-spitting, grey-clouds bear.
"Few their survivors, nettles glad of it.
One more freeze'll see them off - be done with it!"
Leaf-corpses, frost-wracked, now hang limp, grey-green;
little leaves struggle to renew their sheen.
"Proving hardy, later bramble straggler."
Yew muttering through beards to Juniper.
2
Without bah-humbugging, or casting gloom,
the fireworks were splendid; and all the bands
gave their best. People partied many lands.
Quantities of good spirits were consumed;
and blurry-heads some dancers (gapping) woke
with slowly ringing questions seldom spoke.
Oh, wars went on - and soon resumes the work,
so cranky-flat, the trick is first to get-
-it-all-together again in the wet -
the powder and the match the spark - the quirk.
Crack a smile and smile the crack; oil a wheel,
kicking for the surface from that mud-deep
where coils our Id to sucker shames who weep;
and hope that just a visit helped us heal.
YOU ARE READING
Greenclad.
PoetryIvy-jacketed, December oaks on road-borders shock their stark gestures at us now, through sun and sleet, that January will yawn at and February, propping eyelids, will desperately ignore, longing for blossom; and making do with the least of anything...
