A thorny subject

25 September 2011 § 12 Comments

By any other name?

Call me

My scent is dulled
My colour bled
My suckers rampant
Leaders dead.

Call me

Hack me down
Cut me deep
Burn my remains
Leave me to sleep.

Call me

Then tell me how
Sweet I smell now.

Pruned a rose bush this morning. Didn’t enjoy it much!


Will and me

15 March 2011 § 5 Comments

An effort of Will

He watches me
With dark, half-laughing eyes
From the postcard pinned
Above my desk;
Gold earring gleaming
And, I like to think,
A wink of fellow-feeling
Crackling beneath the paint.

His presence there
Does not intimidate;
We’re confederates, co-conspirators,
Rattling off the long day’s paid-for pages head-and-hand
While the heart beats to the rhythm
Of words that will be written
When doors are closed, lights dimmed,
And the world looks the other way.

Two country lads:
One weaving his boyhood’s woodbine and eglantine
To make a bower for a fairy queen,
And placing a bouquet of well-remembered weeds
In poor Ophelia’s hands;
Winding his word-girdle round the world
Unknowingly; lines penned to play for pay tonight
That would stretch a thousand years.

The other
Labouring under the master’s gaze
With foolish tales of tractors, trees
Shepherds, birds and hunting-dogs
In his own daily comedy
Of errors. I look on Will
And know that his perfection’s out of reach.
But I would learn from all he has to teach.

Where Am I?

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