Guest Poems

Back to Nature

i.m. J.S.

You liked to sleep out
at the edge of your garden
under a scatter of stars
tucked into your bivouac
on a bed of leaves
soothed by a soft breeze
drift over the South Downs
the smell of honeysuckle
after rain the rustle
of hedgehogs in the compost
to wake with birdsong
your face spritzed with dew

on the other side of time
I see you walk The Lane
with Edward Thomas
in your beloved Steep
under silent beech and yew
the scent of wild rose
sounds of song-thrush
a distant cuckoo calling
the bees hum the hiss
of wind in meadow-grass
a swift rising over
a shiver of aspens

or are you exploring
another galaxy
held in moonlight

Horse

A pool of shadow
Shapes the lonely place
Where the old horse stands.
He shakes his head.

Remote from
Cows, sheep, people,
It seems farming proceeds
Around, beyond him.

His tufty fetlocks ape
The head-heavy cow parsley,
Hair grass, oval sedge
Unheeded at the field’s edge.

He’s not far from the farmyard,
Where a stick-figure person
Strides towards the dark-doored
Corrugated iron shed.

Across the sloping meadow
There’s a splattering of stones,
Yellow-shadowy,
Birds twittering and flittering,

And sheep, clusters of them,
Bleating, munching, staring
At the comforts
Of the known home farm.

A fidgety hoof
Scuffs the bank, the long head sways,
And he stands, spectre of
What’s always far away.