/ Poetry

Ephemera

Ephemera

In the winter garden
has the poet forgotten
all the words for spring?

~
Not a frozen brook
but a field left fallow -
writer’s block

~
The lip where water slips
into sound -
words left unsaid

~
A cobweb quivers
cleared away
by the year’s turning

~
The old calendar
holds memories - the new one
is like fallen snow

~
Seventeen raindrops
a necklace for my daughter -
January’s tears

~
Will the snowdrop
answer your questions?
Wait for spring

~
Déjà vu –
ghosts of last year’s spring
in the winter garden

~
Dust on butterfly wings -
with gentle hand, touch
but do not brush

~
The bracelet
she still wears like grief -
ah, no! the years

~
A sudden cut
then the long thread unravelling -
this weight she carries

~
Lost among words
reaching for music too late
oh, that blue guitar!

~
The dream place where paths join
all year round the same
through the seasons turning

~
A cut worm
in the ploughed field -
forgiveness

~
Would any sunset do?
No, it was the one
at Waterloo

~
The music of stars
is too far away. Give me
a hobo’s thrawn song

~
Fly in the ointment -
the insistent backward gaze,
the thin plaintive note

~
Tell it slant, like rain
on rooftops, gulls crying -
tell it slant, like rain

~
Lost friends, missed deadlines -
lay these burdens gently down,
for they weary you

~
The black cat prowls
at the edge of nothing -
pawing the silence

~
Words have no edges-
they are sand or water
scooped by many hands

~
He plays the flute —
all the birds stop to listen
in the enchanted wood

~
In the cold garden
has the poet forgotten
all the words for spring?

~
Tick-tock, the loud clock
in a house where no one counts
the last few minutes

~
‘I’m sorry’ she said
as she wept for the dead -
as if tears were crime

~
No names for the dead -
only the soundless toll
of numbers without end.

~
At their unending work
the nurses weep -
will no one count their tears?

~
Rooks in winter trees
talk of Covid
in Cornwall’s valleys

~
Village to village
the virus spreads
the kindness of strangers

~
No kigo for lockdown
in this haiku
the rain keeps writing

~
No words left
in flooded valleys
for falling rain

~
Lockdown
in the summerhouse
all the kigo hidden

~
give me a clear haiku
with a crisp turn, its edges
cutting like grief

~
In two pieces -
will no one mend the cut?
This haiku bleeds

~
Nettles and brambles…
on gravestones and mossy steps
the forever rain

Ephemera
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