Well, some may say there are 5 poems here but never mind, please enjoy.
you left the brash red and purple crowd
for uncut peace under the olive tree
to grow alone, pale and strong
up the road, blue and blowsy, they shout
look, look at us while in this shady spot
fat buds tease with slow beginnings
on stage this week, pink tutus smother
your branches, your fragrant halo unfolds
into the garden's deepest borders
I've packed the last hour in a box
to open on a quiet morning
when I’ve done nothing much
apart from getting out of bed.
I'll remove the dead mouse
trapped near the nibbled plums
and let the one eating it's way
through the chicken feed out again
before I take the flower pot from off
one puppy, brush her and her sister
free of compost and decide if half
chewed roots are worth saving,
I'll follow each suspicious silence
with mop and disinfectant,
and when their snores are steady
I'll tip toe to the henhouse where
mrs big and mrs little black
will refuse to leave their nests
and let me collect the eggs,
I'll return to see that when
the door opened the wind blew
down a sticky fly paper and now
its wrapped around puppy two
- quick pull, always best -
lots of cuddles and a treat
before I replace the lid and return
the box to the shelf of years ahead.
Let us say Grace
Sunday: roast lamb or beef or pork,
occasionally boiled ham,
canned peaches, Nestle's cream.
Left overs through the mincer
for Monday's shepherds pie,
rice pudding with skin.
Tuesday: liver and bacon,
gravy, tinned carrots and peas,
jam roly poly and custard.
Wednesday: Wall's sausages,
baked beans and mash,
semolina with jam.
Thursday: Steak and kidney,
in a pie or suet pudding,
mandarin oranges, evap milk.
Fish and chips on Friday,
salted, vinig’d, wrapped.
in yesterday's Express.
Saturday: stew and dumplings,
a wafer of ice cream
soft from its cardboard box.