The East Anglian Daily Times ran an article entitled ’22 beautiful poems about East Anglia’ in their Saturday magazine insert on March 18th this year.
I was very pleased to see this poem of mine on the same page as poems by Sir Walter Raleigh and George Szirtes.
Spring’s subtle mechanisms unwind dormancy
tipping earth’s spin towards our blazing star
shortening division between long night and light.
Magnetic North guides migrants from the South,
feathers aligned to the field’s guiding force,
numberless nomads, riding favoured winds
urgently carrying their awaited gift of song,
as Robins re-tune winter belling into ballad.
Stark Blackthorn blooms in earthbound clouds,
Primroses light the gloominess of ditches
drawing bumble bees from solemn hibernation.
Not to be outdone bracken flexes green croziers,
whilst coconut scent of Gorse jokes of the tropics
and tattered Peacock Butterflies briefly are exotic.
Revived life is boisterous; survival is selfish:
Wood Anemones retreat from advancing Bluebells
aggressive Alexanders dominate the field’s edge
creeping Comfrey overwhelms small shy Violets,
when warming quickens the slowest will submerge.
Frantic actions seek to sate primed genetic urges;
Drakes gang rape Ducks around the village pond,
polygamists Dunnocks gather on the ground,
buck Hares rear to box and Snipe dive to drum.
Above forest tracks roding Woodcock weave and croak.
Frogs writhe, legs thrust, a frenzied annual tango .
Then Nightingales arrive, the thicket heart’s soloists,
whilst Silver Birch resurrect with fast flowing sap.
Leaves stretch for Sun, but the Oaks seem to sulk
as if the Spring’s warmth deliberately annoys them.
Like the Oak I am locked in my own slow Autumn,
a long life, multi-ringed by seasons of maturing,
time envious of beginnings stirring all around me.