Spring and Winter are locked in a battle
we know that spring will be triumphant
that in the weeks to come seeds and bulbs
will shoot letting nature's pallet blaze out.
Now things get interesting we can see
what things need to move or be thinned
we adjust until nothing clashes with each other
and get rid of drastically weeds always waiting.
As we move into May the garden is a hive
of activity pollinators hard at work harvesting
making sure that the following year is a blaze
soft yellows blending with the hot scented plants.
As you move round your garden you will see success
but also failures which you alter to fit the map
that lives in your heads now for a short while
you can sit back and drink in the creation you made.
Incidental Catch
‘The catch of non-fish species’
At the town’s cusp, terraced homes blaze out.
The mill and the green jetty wane to abandoned garages.
Kept, like trophies, by the type of men who have love affairs
with themselves. I was met by an agricultural runoff -
where land intersects water, sky and rock.
Your image waded flat over the water that had slowed
to a few passive ripples. Your books snagged
under your paperback wrists, dead as granite.
In my single-handed grip, I cast my hook
over the shallow water’s shelf and reeled you in with the Trout.
I made sure that you’d see me. On my heels in mud
I shrank myself. Your tired old books still viced between your fingers.
I watched you squirm, thrashing the water to a paste.
And this is my lover I said to the briny tapestry of the sea,
as I bagged you for tea.
And now the trickles ripple rifting
through the hues of the sky—confetti!
The words of my mouth are paintings;
a projected splash all over—frantics!
Whether they drag down God's face
blaze out streamlights—candlelights
pin a billion sunrises into a stiffened day.
How over-good—worthless crystallites?
When they fall on mangrove skies;
borrowed zephyrs compress—upsize;
explode into sands of mustard seeds—ripe!
Germinate tons of thorns—stars—torn
prickles—squeals—resounds—muted cries;
the act of the hands, when they try and try
to seal the width and pit of the mouth—'unrise'
head's cap size—safeguard the crown—discrown.
How over-good—worthless crystallites?
The River births—your River mouth—'silverlites'
the tributaries—tributes—waterfalls —silver bird—
the screeching lines—over-stretched verse;
voice box machines—the echoes—out loud;
on the stainless-steel wall—a still pass
into dwindling star flaps—eyes lashed
How over good, all these worthless crystallites?
© Destiny Izehi, 2016.
Gone, now just a memory the warmth of summer,
winter's icy fingers now take a harsh grip turning
land to frozen waste. Blanketing it in snow as the
nights draw in, reflecting the bright moon.
Children having fun sledges rushing down the hill
and snowmen appear standing as sentinels to winter.
The whisk of skiers as they fly past speeding downwards
their colourful ski suits adding splashes of vivid colour.
Jack Frost hard at work decorating trees with icicles
some short and others long sparkling, reflecting light
appearing like gems amidst the sprinkled snow covered
branches. Once more winter reigns supreme.
Icy winds howl across the valleys causing drifts
of snow some eight foot deep, chilling bones
making us huddle down in fleece lined coats
Rosy cheeks blaze out from under hoods,
And fingers freezing cold from handling snow.
contentment in every face as people head home.
To cups of hot chocolate and toasty warm fires
shutting out for now winter's icy blast.