Poetry

Elevenses

Let’s have a catch up.

We’ll sip tea and eat scones with jam

while skipping along the borderline

of countries lost under the seas

and between the stars.

We’ll pick flowers, too.

Nightshade to match your swirling dress,

Foxglove to use as drinking cups –

best not keep it for soup.

We can chart out our own paths

using chalk and chlorophyll

and a compass of needle and cork.

We’ll sing songs heard in seashells

and whisper spells into bottles

to float amongst the sea foam.

Poetry

A rainy afternoon

It begins as a light tapping

on glass,

a rhythmic patter

of ghostly fingers

that leave only tear streaks down the pane.

Wellies left outside the door

in a rush

soon begin to fill

and seeds cast on bird tables glisten

like small nuggets of gold.

The smell of the earth rises,

bringing forth a crowd of slugs and snails

who rummage through fallen leaves.

A tiny river courses along the path,

wetting moss and stone,

finally pooling in the dip that always stays

just a little bit damp.