More Poetry
The Theme This Year
Forests of silver birch strewn
with wood sorrel, foxglove, fern,
arranged in neat rectangles
by the walkways of the Flower Show.
This year’s theme is wildness.
Toadflax, thistle, and feverfew
litter the roofs at Waterloo
where we sip elderflower cup
pretend this city is a wilderness.
As if we could control
the chaos of our lives
with heartsease, loosestrife, woundwort.
“
The hug
Today I sit in the cafe
where we’d watched the rain
run in torrents down the gutters
and I am wearing your last hug
like your old winter shirt
which still holds your shape
“
“
Guayaquil
The Contador had a lecherous grin
when the Carrier reached a dirty port.
Back to civilisation, the shock of shoes,
a stink of stale urine.
We shared a meal at a pizza place
with a destitute angry poet.
Barefoot boys grabbed our leftovers.
A woman lay dead in the street.
Forty years on I am back in this city.
The sleepy boy soldiers have soft smiles,
the streets washed till they gleam.
Guayaquil, Pearl of the Pacific.
I will never forget you senorita, nunca, nunca
“
Acer
The acer in my garden is shedding its scarlet leaves,
as its slender branches flame bright against the spent day.
I love the tenacity of trees, their constancy.
Their promises always kept.