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 Sep 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
Today the Summer lets go of its hold
Dripping rain drops from the trees
Swaying its closure of green growth
The tips of the Acer turning reddish.

The dance of ends splits my heart
Leaving sarratteted round its edge
Autumn’s promise of golden days
The Foxglove leaf a fallen emblem.

Love Mary
 Aug 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
I love the bauble tree fern
Out towards the sun you go
In decorations of crimson
Your seedlings circle rows.

Love Mary x
 Aug 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
The candelabras light up
Down avenues of parks
Palest of yellow and pink
Against Summer’s green.

I see the old climbing logs
But which place declining
The dead wood of childhood
Or today’s magic shining

And skipping along the path
I know not here or there
Only that lighted candelabras
Were fleshy in the air.

Love Mary **
 Aug 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
That warm patch of earth under the damsons
Where nothing grew but children’s feet prints
Reached high for the odd black fruit showing
Sqealched between fingers the stalk snapped
And a mouth opened to taste the sweet wines.


Love Mary
Our damson tree at 71 Penwortham,SW16
 Jul 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
Blow hollyhocks blow
Send shivers down
Those hairy spines
Quiver in the sunshine.

Welcome the busy bees
The wayside walkers
In the scarlet breeze
While you stand still.

Love Mary x
 Jul 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
The sun blisters the sky
Seagulls brittle the air
We scorch under towel
Watching the sea glisten.

This is a world with you
On the sand soaked love
West Whittering in May
The best always stayed.

Love Mary x
For my Roger love Pinky Woo. **
 Jul 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
There is no longer a Sycamore tree
With its variegated, sap green leaves
Bringing a fluttering in the Sringtime
A steady, shady, dream filled breeze.

Our road was accustomed to rows of pairs
To keep each company year on new year
One Winter frost was bitter, time had come
For a friendship to be severed, lost and gone.

A tree outside a house is a very special joy
Waking each morning to the sound of birds
Now only in my photographs can I recall
The splendour of this object standing straight
And tall.

Love Mary x
 Jun 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
See branch oh cherry blossom ripe
Below Payne’s haunted sky of grey
In mornings rain dripped clouds on high
The pink now wetted held to bough.

Love Mary x
 Jun 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
I took the left path where hydrangeas grew and sleepy primroses under woods, edged shady trees.
The empty stream ran quietly dry
With grass cuttings piling high.
If one peeped, one would find tiny creatures
To cast a sparkle here and there, a delight.
So on tip-toe, with sandels bent
Up high I reached to take
The plastic fairy as she twirled a pirouette
In a theatre made by chance.
Reflected in a silver mirror intwinned with ivy branch
A mottled foal tends his dreams and Chrismas robin chirps.

My brother took the right hand path where the trees grew fruit
Ripe berries from the gooseberry bush bulged their prickles.
Dangling from hawthorn now a cowboy with a hat
Looking for his fellow Indian with the yellow back sack.
Sheep gather in a hollow, dark, protected from the sun
And Mr toad, now lost of paint, has turned a bit glum.

And so we leave our woodland friends and travel up the *****
Winding round the rose bed and goldfish where they float.
Then up we climb, the middle route, to jump the pruned clipped
Hedge.
The lawn divided in two halves, a contemporary taste.

Now we're nearly at that place where if one was to turn
Could see down across the land
To the sea and sand.
Of all the beauties that I've known
Nothing beats this Island home.

Love Mary x




My grandfather’s retirement bungalow was in Totland Isle of Wight.
It was named Innisfail meaning ‘Isle of Ireland’.
Behind, the garden led down to magical and delightful to children who came as visitors. My grandfather would prepare this woodland with some suitable surprises.
The garden and woodland deserved its own name and in retrospect
Is now named ‘Innislandia’ to suggest a separate, mysterious land.
Beyond the real world.
In the poem A Country Lane on page 8 the latched gate is the back gate to my grandparent’s garden and bungalow in Totland as above.
John Garbutt wrote the following piece on the meaning of the name 'Innisfail'.

My belief that the place-name came from Scotland was abandoned
on finding the gaelic origins of the name.
‘Inis’ or ‘Innis' mean ‘island’, while ‘fail’ is the word for
Ireland itself. ‘Innisfail’ means Ireland. But not just
geographically: the Ireland of tradition, customs, legends
and folk music, the Ireland of belonging.
So the explanation why the Irish ‘Innisfail’ was adopted as the name
of a town in Alberta, Canada, and a town in Australia,
can only be that migrants took the name, well  over a century ago
to their new homelands, though present-day Canadians
and Australians won’t have that same feeling about it.

------------------------------------------------------------­---------
The bungalow was designed by John Westbrook, who was an architect, as a wedding present for his father and Gwen Westbrook.
I do believe he also designed the very large and beautiful gardens.
It is there still on the Alan Bay Road. Love Mary xxxx
 Jun 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
Mother put your sandals on and we shall walk a mile
Up the road and down again with you by my side
My feet will never falter, nor will my love ever fade
For what you have given me can never be replaced.



Love Mary to her Mother
 Jun 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
In May the tree has liliaceous buds
And places at the tips a flower
With fluted candelabra frills
To light the wake time evening hours
A touch so close to kiss the sky
And violet bright against the blue.

Love Mary **
 Jun 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
The war memorial stood at the bottom of the hill
In the shade of towering trees, bordering
The graveyard.

A  pinicle of white marble
Above a patch of names
Inscribed on mottled granite
And opposite the sloping
Steps to the bay.

Was it James, his youth wasted on war,
Holed and shell shocked
Who marched passed
Twelve years before my birth?
Before this spot marked
A pleasure beach
And spades were
Brought not guns.

So to remember those
Brutalised from wars
Marking their place in this passing.
And to James
I hope you brought children
To build castles
In the sand.

Love Mary ***
A spot I passed daily on my way to Totland Bay when on my annual holiday.
Love Mary
 May 2018
Mary Gay Kearns
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;



         Close to the sun in lonely lands.



         Ringed with  the azure world he stands.



          The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;



           He watches from his mountain walls,



            And like a thunderbolt, he falls.
Wonderful is it not .Love Mary
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