Poems

The natural world often creeps into my poems. Here's the latest, written for a Wassail at Coton Orchard on 17th January. There's more about that here. If you'd like to use this poem (with due accreditation) for a Wassail event (as some have done already!) I would be delighted. If you can drop me a line to let me know that would be much appreciated. If you can send me a picture, even better!

The Hidden Orchard
A Wassail song for Coton, and all our Traditional Orchards

Beneath the gaze of winter trees,
Behind the tangled veil,
Before the lengthening of days,
We come to sing, “Wassail!”

Wassail the apple! Beat the bounds!
Wassail this hallowed ground!

These sentinels, the ancient seers,
Where knot and rot are rife,
All bear the fruit of rolling years,
Decaying into life.

Wassail the apple …

Beneath each scarred, bedizened branch,
Flocks and herds are fed.
Between the heartwood and the bark,
Multitudes are bred.

Wassail the apple …

Below the sward, in sweetened ground
A world of being teems.
And wassail words are passed around
Between the listening trees.

Wassail the apple …

Walk this forest row by row.
Read between the lines.
Bless this ark of applewood.
Observe this sacred time.

Wassail the apple! Beat the bounds!
Wassail this hallowed ground!
Wassail this hallowed ground!

         Already

         Walking though the meadows, early June,
         It seems a thousand greens have been unleashed.
         Burst buds, new wings and every strain increased;
         Everything we came for – here so soon.
         Among the bramble flowers, the tight green fists
         And tiny haws – time’s stealthy infiltrations,
         Then the starlings’ minor murmurations 
         Call to coming mellowness and mists.
         All is prequel; all a slow cross-fade.
         For longer days to linger here we yearn.
         But just as summer finds her stride, nights turn, 
         Edging out the day: the darkward slide
         To winter, where attenuated light
         Swells sticky buds and draws the aconite.

This collection of poems appeared on my blog during the lockdown. They were written, in an attempt to tell, in all senses of that word, the time.  Like most people’s experience of those months, it’s a mixed lot, in both mood and measure.

All are still on the blog, along with audio tracks of readings and the original reflections, but I've collected them here in this small book. It's on sale for £6, including postage and packing in the UK, and everything goes to The Woodland Trust.

preview and purchasing