The field is green again
Wheat stored and maybe sold
The straw baled ....stacked for winter
Now the turn of clover
Large leaved hybrids
And the tiny wild,
Its white flowers
Tempting bee and fly..
We can walk the field
Along the tractor tracks
Stir up the pheasant
Hiding in the hedge....
I have no gun tonight
So let's be friends.

The Shropshire lane
Makes its uncertain way
Passed the old school house
Untaught for many a year,
The children now with siblings of their own.
Passed the old mine shafts
Where lead and silver
Long since ceased.
Crumbled walls where once
A poor man kept alive,but just,
A family far too large for comfort,
Where a thousand dug the earth
Nothing to be seen....pulled down
No more silver no more lead
No house remains.
The old school,now a wild-life centre
Where walkers read the walls,
The histories with blurred photos
Grey as life once led by children
Sorting stone from silver-ore.
When Romans came they found the ore
Made pipes to teach us plumbing,
Kept the silver for themselves.

Forgotten now those children,
Scratching lessons on a slate
Weighed down with lead.....and poverty,
Who took their skills elsewhere.

I went  to the font again,the lily shining in the moon,
Pink petals full;expanded waited me
Filling the evening dusk with musk and thyme.
It was dark the last we met,evening's misty fragrance
Pink as now,no need to see, none other shade
Could smell so sweet no taste to fool the tongue
In trust I held the bloom,its petals opening wide
I was in its thrall,innocent,victim to its purity.
Pushed aside the ferns and gazed in awe..........
Saw the corolla in all its beauty,knelt in worship
There is no jewel like to this
Was mine to take this night...
But this one night alone and brief.
I felt the petals spring to life,
A shiver down my spine.
This garden is not mine,I must sneak the key
Leave no foot- tread,broken twig,or leaf
But return as when I can
Hold the secret dream and close the garden gate.

I have a dog as all you know
As good a friend as any
He is asleep  beneath my feet
Has washed my face,
As many times
A humble act, a loving act.
My slippers come whenever asked.
He shares his toy called Dolly

We've had four days of rainless sun.
Only four
yet,after weeks of rain and cold
the land is dry as bone.
Last week the field was green
impatient farmers standing at the gate
the combine in the yard,greased and ready
the driver in the pub and dreams of over-time.
The ditch running through the wood
beneath the sleeper bridge,
Once a drink for Jack, now muddy black.
" No! Jack,out"..... too late,
dirty paws back home.!

Now we can walk the field again,
thirty acres ,maybe more
for Jack to stretch his legs
through stubble soon to green again,
pheasants gleaning, waiting for the gun
and dogs like Jack for sport....
August soon,bring out the rusty plough,
brambles in the wood
sloes in the.boundary hedge
hips-and-haws for jam.
crab-apple-jelly for Christmas.

Uninvited guests taller than the rest
Dropped by last year,no one to care
Lay sleeping through the winter's night
Unattended ,quiet,waiting for the spring.
What will they say ,what will they do?
Immigrants not always welcome
Far too resilient ,adapting to
That which locals shun.

;
Glow red you terracotta sky.glow red
Deep blue you narrow sea,
Deep blue beneath the exotic sky
Above the grey and drying sand
Cool and still grey on grey,
Still as those three fishermen
Dressed in shades of grey,cool and still
All is still ,still as grey can be.
Not a word between them
Why does he stare,the one between
The two who look out west..
Is there invitation in that stare?
Glow red you terracotta sky
Deep blue you narrow sea
Beneath the exotic sky...
Have you nought to say?
Was it good today?
The sea far out, the beach
Stretching to its limit
Smooth and grey as still as grey can be,
Grey on grey,blue on blue
So long the years,beneath a terracotta sky
The boat lies on its left-hand-side
Pointing to the north,
Still,grey as grey ,leaning on the beach
Dry, marooned and waiting for the tide.
The deep blue narrow sea
The glowing red and terracotta sky.
You do not answer,have you nothing yet to say?
Lean all day,grey smocked,black cap.
Does the red  alarm you?
It was the artists whim.
Ask him why ..............
The terracotta glowing red
Above the deep blue sea.

The road was black and tangled
White flashes going back the other way
Were we the ones who moved
Or were we still and marking time
Like children on a moving stair?
We had the windows closed
How could we prove the world
Was there outside the dirty glass.
We sat quite still inside the bouncing car
Strapped,erect and silent.

We ordered chocolate-cake and coffee
Sat beside the window
Watching the day go by
From aluminium chairs and tables
A quiet Friday afternoon........
School holidays began at two.

We're waiting the farmer mow the field
The grass knee high and rich with clover
Good for hay or haylage worth a lot of money
Better than the beet last year...
The factory down the road now closed
The workers pensioned off,
Clouds of steam in winter
Will no longer dress the scene
On cold and sunny mornings.
It stands as silent as before
I never heard a sound on passing
'Though every day was busy.
The towers and the chimneys
A symphony of forms.
I hope they leave a remnant
When they find another use.
There's talk and rumour....
Incinerator,transfer-depot....
The railway passing by may stop one day.
Still it stands, no steam.....forlorn.
Lorries call each day to take away the sugar
(There's a little left in siloes)
None  bring in the muddy beet ,
The fields around grow rape and corn
Rotations changed,more profits made.

Yes, we're waiting for the mower
It's been a rainy summer
Knee high grass after showers
Stays wet all day,soaks my trousers
Rarely can I walk this way
Except on sunny Sundays.
When its cut we'll trample in the aftermath
Often after rain,thirty acres flat and even.
I'll watch Jack chase air
(Tail streaming, shining happy eyes,
Joy to be a live a joy to watch
Paying back for the times he's naughty !)
Raising pheasants,never catching one.
Autumn soon, orange leaves and polished berries
As nature takes a well earned rest.....
Bare trees in the wood and winter gales
Waiting for the spring.