#poem #poetry #amwriting sketchbook

some scribblings while my hurrying son was at a party in the woods


by becoming at one
with the stone on which you sit
and the breeze in the treetops
so becoming that one
unfurls with the fern
in a lullabied rocking
so calm that one does nothing
but move


the unfurling sun
brown whiskered fern
the ancient wheel
a creaking ox cart


three oak leaves succumb to the stiffening wind
fall spinning to rest in the bluebelled grass
as up the path - in the clearing
the birthday party whoops and cheers
to the clash of stick fights and string bows
bum they cry laughing and bum again
and nappyhead echoes through the trees
with all the stillness of a sparrow
rush these children in their element


party food eaten - candles blown -
from clearing to hill the children run
leader changing as regularly as the sun
on cumulus days of spring

with a skip the gallop begins again
as inward they turn in the unmarked frame
of parental gaze - but all the same
they turn and flock like starlings



The Blue Book

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