Trees are their own entity and they are, themselves, a home for others.
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.
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
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
culmination of brown liquid
creates body and substance
half in, half out of the water
benevolent extension into earthy waters
stretching rolling shoulder soil
striped crystal trees
cracked lilac soil
vacuum air in a swirl
glint of hope as it cracks around me and i see a glorious falter in lines of pastel pink
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
Dew in the morning on the “washing” line
I’m an adder, swishing through, coiling up
A letter and I have wings and claws and
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
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