Derwent Edge poems

1 June 2017

Last day of May

With delighted nescience
their voices bubble and sibilate over the thick salve of silence;
they hold millipedes like unfurled platinum wedding bands,
name them Ginny, Malfoy,
call to nesting grouse like inquisitive flames mimicking furious ice,
and, with the cogency of myxomatosis, befriend spry rabbits.

And for you and I,
the stealthy shadows of clouds to soak us like Monday;
the interminable grind of grass in the mouths of a curious ewe and her lamb;
the wagtails riffing in the key of sex;
the man with the brace of glossy spaniels tacking and jibing through the peaks and troughs
of the receding flagstones.

 

Poem for Adah (on her 9th birthday)

When on moors,
Especially those with rocks forgotten by aliens,
I try to move like
air,
Or, at the very least,
A mouse.
That way, I can hear what the grouse
And hare, in its state of post-winter undress,
Are saying
When they think I’m out of earshot,
Because each footsteps won’t
rip
Through the stodgy peace like, to my mind, a gun
shot.
But it’s hard,
On this cheeky space-rock, in
Big, boomy boots;
It talks to the soles of my feet in its
Big, boomy tongue,
And the grouse and the hare are soon long
gone.

 

Have your say: