Serpents

Roses and violets make a tapestry at ground level, softer than anything I’ve ever touched. 

Vipers swim throughout, unhindered by the infectious reputation of a religion that’s irrelevant to them. 

Knowing nothing of their star rating and the hatred enclosed in the cultural heart, they silk through, sewing their presence through the garden’s fancy.

land god

the arc of my back bridges the sky and the thing below it

my body holds my own suffering in it and blends with the tributaries that flow so constant and fresh into my head

i dig my hands into the tree and it stretches up into my leafy fingertips

i spread my arms in the soil and the carpet ripples above with my sigh

my eye feeds the plants and fauna with enriching summer gaze

the puddles are my pooling sweat from creative effort

grass blades are the hairs on the back of my neck

they sweep in the wind of my breath and the dew is my morning tears placed on needle point

Plane Jane

rising green

plane perfection

no hills

magic rugged lawn cloth

moping on the no-slope

wilding on the no-moor

Jane on the heathered ground bewildered by mother’s harshness

the flat lands unsheltered and the weather comes straight down like a hurried lift

without any introduction or dialogue

 

Flame of Consciousness

Stretching out ahead

Vast narrow wind

Stringy path – goat tracked

Grass matted like my hair at the back when I can’t be bothered to comb.

Poke holes in soil

Dampness

Dew in the morning on the “washing” line

Granted

I’m an adder, swishing through, coiling up

Slow worm

Slow wyrm

A letter and I have wings and claws and

legend gold

Fear inciter (twisted)

Blowing up bin-breath

Antisocial hoarder of things that mean different to me.

A magpie value

Scrooge McDuck Dragon whip my tail and yawn, as you creep past me

Heart pounds

My great yellow eye pierces your body,

Drop in fear and I make you dance, twirling dolly with scaled fingers,

Black glinting talon twirls.

Scar in the lair – you can be Rowan Atkinson’s blue bird