Big To V. Small

Perhaps Capability Brown
Or one of his contemporaries
Planted out
The widely dispersed trees

It is a style
Not yet adapted
To the window box
Or the small terrace garden

Though for sure
The rash of reality TV
Just needs a spark
For it to be off and planting

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Plant Out

There is a giant conker tree
There is an avenue of limes
There are places just to be
Church bells, with chimes

There are lavender plants
Fair awash with working bees
Of course there are sycophants
Desperate, almost on their knees

There are sets of onions
In a kitchen garden
Old ladies crush their bunions
Saying; sorry, I do beg your pardon

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Bake

All is blue sky
All is county wide charm
Victoria sponge, clotted cream
Pot of tea for two

Yet see how the breeze
Blows my fine, thinning, hair
Yes, you see how the shadows
Reflect overheard conversations

I have a photograph
Taken on a previous visit, it is of
The bell-tower, with weather vane
Butterfly wings, to fly us into the past

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Estates

In the gardens
Of the Massingberd lady
Who turned the pub
Into the non-alcoholic
Temperance Hotel
Which, within two years
Went bankrupt, was closed

I sit in the shadow
Of the tall yew hedge
Which had been discovered earlier
It is the only place of shade
On this sunshine August Sunday
Its mirror image, seat and yew
Are in full-on midday sun

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Guidance

It is your duty
To keep this life alive
So write to your little Ms cutie
With blue-brown eyes

Tell her you love her
And never a day goes by
Take care not to smother
Yet do not force her love to die

For in all of the time
That you sit with the words
You are always on that line
Of doubting the absurd

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