Matted
saffron flesh
Beneath
her faded
Sunrise
of
Burred
pleated pelt,
She
awaits,
The
palaver of insects
Traversing
Muscvado
sod
Dreaming
of
Becoming
denuded
Then
rent apart
Swollen,
Bearing
triffids
Envy
green,
Ravenous
for sun
A
footfall from temple ring,
a
body throw from head and heel bridge,
where
between the Union and the Soar
the
presence of Mithrais and the
slandered king
weaves
bright unlikely days into the
common place,
before
stepping the steep to Castle
View.
At
the foot of the Motte, Castle
Gardens lie
sweet
peace and plantings. The honeyed
stroke
of
gardener's craft kept sweet by
growth,
greenings,
flower dazzle, season's
bounty, ponds.
In
April the May Fayre Gathering,
with
laughter and quiet spells of walk
the labyrinth.
Breath
hold, slowly open eyes,
emerge
into wonderland of sacred space,
caring
folk, poetry and song.
Maypole
ribbons weaving the past into a
hold of now,
patternings
that grandma knew, and her
grandma too.
Hands
held in circle dance, painted
faces, magick market.
Beyond
the the green, Vikings hack and
slash, stories told of myth
and
mayhem. Jester singing, bladder
slapping,
bells
a jingling, bells a jangling into
everyday,
A
sense of the new, layered realms,
oasis
in the mind for these unlikely
times.
In
August crammed with people, sun and
summertime.
Family
Fun Day, rubbing shoulders with
the queue
for
canal trips, circus skills, model
engine ride
smell
of burning flesh barbecue,
pancakes, chips.
Squeals
of children, noise of crowds
drowning birdsong
for
a brief while, swarming like bees
in the heat.
Smiles
and laughter at the clowns, the
juggling,
the
fire eaters, till tired out day
winds home.
In
between the birds claim their
feeding ground,
lovers
claim their benches, the
dispossessed take rest,
students
dally all the way,
contemplate.
Along
Mile Straight swans, like washing
on the line, billow by,
with
coot and moorhen, vie for offered
sacrificial bread.
Seasons
sweep through bringing warmer
and colder,
changing
the park that lies
a
footfall from temple ring,
a
body throw from head and heel bridge.
Just
now,
Hawthorn
flowers on every bit of England;
Every
branch now shouts that May is out!
Every
bough now cheers that May is here!
Following
Blackthorn's naked April beauty,
Hawthorn's
buds tight-furled through bright green leaves.
Then,
last evening, bridal-white,
it
swathed a bower for Love's delight.
And now
its creamy scent hangs heavy everywhere,
and in
the rain-soft afternoon its petals bless the air.
Where
the cows stand in the shallows
in the
hollow by the stream;
Where
the boys swim in the river,
in the
park where old men dream,
by the
railway,
in the
hedgerow,
on the
dual-carriageway,
Hawthorn
blossoms garland England-
Gracious,
glorious gifts of May.
