Sunday, 25 April 2010


In the garden
listening to oceans of sound
watching new buildings
being formed.
Garden sheds
full of seekers
listening to nectarine tunes.
An anchor has detached
from a cargoe ship
the dandelions roar,
no holding back.
In the corner
poppy seeds are scattered,
we've forgotten where
we laid our cross,
wild weeds gather
thinking of
Quietly we mooch
reaping what has been sown,
the leaves are full of singing birds.
Flower power,
in the shadow of heathen thickets,
translucent deceptions
without beauty
cannot live.
In mossy breaths
we whisper softly,
centred in the April grass.

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