Posted on 1st October, 2016



The Birds



Whooper Swan : Tom Langlands



Flight Inland



Grey sky melting

Into low waves

By slow degrees

Of thin mist

Suggests rain might

Fall, or night’s darkness,

Without waiting for either

Gulls screech inland

On fast forward wings;


They dislodge rooks

Become a mingle odd

As soot and snow,

Competing for places

In late evening furrows,

Where beaks probe secret

Insects; an activity

To pass the time

Until tide has turned.




Anne Micklethwaite.





from a series of Flora : Hazel Lowther





A Glimpse.


A glimpse, just one,

To last for all eternity,

A lingering look of reassurance,

A sighing sight

To bring you back to mind.


A touch, just one,

To hold against my heart,

A soft caress, to bring me comfort,

A fleeting contact

For old connection’s sake.


A word, just one,

To echo down the ages,

Some whispered vow that neither will forget,

A promise made

Unspoken, but remembered.


But you, my child, are dead, and

Dying, leave me blind,

And cold and deaf, to all the world,

That lives on, ignorant of

That fleeting glimpse, denied.


Thelma Hancock




from the Dancing prompt





Who’s Dancing, and Why?



Here the autumn dance

Is raw nature

Elk Bulls are trumpeting on the football field

Reminding us that this is their land

Digging the turf

Marking the space

Their ladies circling contentedly through the town


People beware

Tread softly

Or you may become the dance

And even die

In this primaeval celebration

Of life.


By Edmund Wigram











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