Clustered amongst the hedgerow, strewn upon woodland floor.
Sprinkled along the riverbank, seated next to nature’s door. Grouped within the border, spread throughout the bed. Present upon the edges, a filter for our head. Your vibrant yellow trumpet, shouts louder than dunnock song. Penetrating blackbird squabble, ceasing dreadful mower’s dong. A sound to herald boundaries, to drop into the calm. To soothe the problem every day, to administer spirit balm. For herein rests discernment, the choice to welcome in. Or fence circumference circle, and exclude mechanic din. The power in our options, is simple yes and no. To greet harmonious friend, or dismiss unwanted foe. To you we look for judgement, to be an accurate measure. Of when to champion spring, and bask in sunny pleasure. To surround ourselves with happiness, and jump with expectant joy. Of blue tit gathering nest, and parents wish for girl or boy. For now the longer days have come, tis time for action pledge. To carry with us all we want, drop dross from threshold ledge. No more baggage can we carry, upon our onward route. New beginnings beckon, of beauties, undeniably so cute. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.
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She pushes up against, the frozen solid ground.
Where snow and ice exist, all about and all around. Nature’s onward cycle, just gently begins again. With little seeds so hidden, deep within the den. Such dainty stems unfurl, enclosed within the kernel. Where life force does emit, jumping any frosted hurdle. No obstacle too great, for one with such a will. Searching ever upward, to break cold and crusted sill. Despite the stacking odds, there is a simple way. For drop of white, to crack clean through, and sway. Aligned with universal force, progress is slow but sure. Amazing for one so fine, delicate and demure. No chance the Earth does have, with its winter soil. With such determined might, such struggle and such toil. The self it needs to actualise, to bloom above the surface. To strive to be the one, to flower first in springtime furnace. Such spirits it does lift, for brighter times to come. Clumps of dancing belles, sing with hearts of joy and fun. Much pleasure to be had, sat amongst the drift. In barren times and richness, abundance and plain thrift. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below. |
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