WENDY WEBB

 

 

That Time Of Year:

Turkey And Parachute

 

The pain spreads like a wall, no, a boiler suit

up to the neck in muddy Derbyshire water

chilling to crawling tunnels and tight corners

beneath winter snow on a hillside long ago.

 

Do you see the robin on that branch?

The throb in one eyeball, no, wrapped around

damp forehead like a motorbike helmet

when the laws changed to illegal requirements.

 

There’s a yellow-breast hanging from the peanut feeder

ignoring shop-bought bluetit mix.

You know, of course, the dull heartache on your tide

of paper boats’ ready-about to wind flow chance.

 

That moment hanging from the sky

when the airfield’s vanished beneath buffeting drop

turning into wind of a slow landing backwards

when there’s no way to change fate.

 

Blue rump of the magpie’s bounce and peck,

then silence is too heavy to string together words

as exhaustion evaporates last flop onto sofa

and plans/timings are fired like bullets over the fence.

 

Scent turkey roasts another day, moist and rich

as plates of trimmings on an early Christmas table

and wine poured until that empty bottle or two,

then hear: there are carols, candles lit, and friends.

 

Three Haiku

 

The hedgehog scratches

air-snuffles off mortal coir.

Sleep ball unrolls thaw

 

Puddles reflect sky,

leaning closer there’s just mud

leaf worried and churned

 

Ruby in the sun

acer drops rouge gorge downpour

poppy-bright foils earth

 

View With A Walk

 

I roll around a straggle of strangers

and one day beside the sea

promenading with a view

of sky   of light   of sand   and seagulls

the mile up up up to that next pier

sink slowly into my seat

and watch youth and age striding past.

Then steeply catatonic steps up the cliff

for sunset at the hotel.

 

Breath gasping with damp air

steam spreads on dripping leaves

beneath rising tree trunks

earthy forgiving footprints

rolling all terrain dances with pebbles

pausing beside the railing

glimpse through twitching leaves

thundering thrall of rushing water

and bedrock stumbles

grasp of a wobbling stick

and seat with a view of tumbling water

                                                              f

                                                              a

                                                              l

                                                              l

The scent of cider at the Golden Rule

strong proof with a pork pie or ready salted

as the rumble roll rollater winds round and up and down

along narrow streets of cagoules and boots

one-way traffic jams and puddles

to slump into the sofa’s reviving cushions.

 

WENDY WEBB

 

WENDY WEBB loves nature, wildlife, symmetry and form and the creative spark. Published in Reach, Sarasvati, Quantum Leap, Crystal, Dreich, Seventh Quarry, The Journal, The Frogmore Papers, Acumen, Drawn to the Light; online in Littoral, Lothlorien, Autumn Voices, Wildfire Words, Our Poetry Archive, Atlantean, Poetry Kit, Amateur Gardening, Leicester Literary Journal, Drawn to the Light, Poetry Wivenhoe, Seagulls (Canada), forthcoming: Poetry Breakfast; broadcast Poetry Place. Book: Love’s Floreloquence; Landscapes (with David Norris-Kay) from Amazon; free downloads of other poetry from Obooko.