In May
The forest
Erupts
In aromas
"Did you miss me?"
It teases.

The mountain
Peaks
Denuded
Of white shawls
Flirt
With the sun.

My body
Subsists
Efficiently
On fruit,
Nuts,
And clear, cool melt
In May.

I'm lost in the helter skelter,
with wayward glances shooting at me.
My stomach is in knots
this is the power of love.

His last piece of work I touch everyday
and feel not the water but sadness
flowing from the faucet.

From the sound of the sink
I hear him say
didn't I do a good job?
not once broke down
but think of her
she's broken down
the faucet has withstood
she hasn't
there I did a bad job
letting water flow down
the broken valves of her heart.

A few months I haven't called him

At the beck and call at any hour
And the shortest notice
A dial to him has saved many an emergency

Last night a broken female voice
On the other side of the wire
Mumbled he died on May 13

Left her with three daughters
At forty at short notice

The plumber is dead

Now who would clear
My choked wash basin

The plumber is dead
And I've no other number to call

I couldn't see her face
Gauge the faceless sorrow
At the other side of the wire

The plumber is dead

I must find another
And then rejoice
Forgetting the widow's choked voice

Dogwood shimmers in the late winter light.
Yellow red and in between.
Jenny likes the nearby willow.
The white buds draws her mind
to the later treat
a walk to the snowdrop trail
where upon Peter will renew his vow
one day set up home at Stevenage
so close to Benington Lodge
her favourite  indulge

Listen to the fallen,
gusts of wind
every one of them.
Once bright buttons
who hid their fear.
Now listen to the burgle
blowing the carrion call.
A dance with death
caught them unawares.
Rows and Rows of poppies
bloom alongside the scared land
this sulphur stretch
a magician once  dreamed of.

I'm the girl with a yellow mac
and red stockings.
When it's autumnal,
I kick the weathered leaves
and stand neath the boughs,
whispering to the impending season
i stand alone and need no one else.

A new leaf is like an epiphany
Surge bright and strong.
For tomorrow is an awakening,
and tonight tempus fugit.