Poetry

Pruning practices

I can see the roots

growing in the corners

of your eyes,

under the ground

where you think no-one will find,

and in my veins.

Oh, you hope

to hide from me, but

you don’t know

I can look inside myself.

I can cut you out

if I want to,

like a weed.

I can leave you to wither.

Would you like that?

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Poetry

All potted up

I have a little seedling,

it’s just sprouted green leaves,

it waves about in the wind

and makes our cat sneeze.

 

I want to give it a home,

so I’ve found a neat brown pot

and filled it with earth

all the way to the top.

 

I’ll make a small hole

using an old lollipop stick

and put my seedling in it

so the stem grows nice and thick.

 

Then for the important bit,

I’ll need to give it a drink.

I heard rainwater’s best,

not just water from the sink.

 

After that, I’ll have to wait

and care for it with love,

only then will it flower

from its tender buds.

 

 

Poetry

Ripples

A ripple in a glass of water

can never leave the glass.

Yet if the glass ever cracks,

the water can push against it,

working away to force an opening.

Even if the gap it makes is only

wide enough for a trickle to escape,

sometimes that trickle is all that’s needed.

Seeping across the table,

weaving its way through discarded cutlery,

crusted salt and pepper pots

and past dusty, fine china plates

to the edge, where droplets form

ready to drip into the dry soil

filling the plant pot below.

The fresh seeds lying in wait

beneath the surface

will finally get

their spark of life.

 

Poetry

Spud Heart

Do you ever have those moments of delight

where something simple

yet unexpected happens?

Like when you think

you’ve harvested all the potatoes you planted,

only to be greeted the next year

by a fresh crop?

Or a plant you never knew

would flower

offers up delicate purple blooms overnight?

It’s these little things,

these pure moments of joy

that present the chance

to see life again.

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Green things

I’ve always liked plants, not just pretty flowers but trees and shrubs too. I find them very peaceful to be around – probably because they never talk back or complain. They just take their little piece of earth and sun and combine them to grow into curious shapes and sizes, sipping here and there at the rain and shying away from frost and snow. They inspire me a lot in my work, but I never really realised how much until someone pointed out that I have a forest or wood in nearly all of my books. After thinking about it for a while, I then discovered that the woods, forest and even singular plants ¬†featured in my books have a direct impact on the story – they’re used as a meeting place for characters, or they have special powers of healing and communication, they’re home to a whole race of people…I think you get the point.

Anyway, the point I think I’m trying to make is that our interests, however small, always seem to take root in our work, and that, in turn, can re-spark our interests when they dull over time. So, for me, it’s important to look over old works when I’m feeling uninspired, so that the things that inspired me then can inspire me again.