hemlock
a shock
foxglove
no love
orchid
morbid
wolf’s bane
insane
larkspur
bad blur
glory
gory
sumac
step back
laurel
quarrel
bloodroot
a brute
jimson
no fun
bella
donna
monkshood
not good
rhubarb
grim garb
flower
power
Enchanted Wood
When I went walking on that sultry day
Where the ancient sessile oak trees stood
And the rippling river ran by the way,
Where shifting sun-cast patterned shadows lay
And paths led me through that enchanted wood
When I went walking on that sultry day.
The warming season showed its rich display,
Drawing me deeper into that wild wood
And the rippling river ran by the way.
Entranced, along cool shaded paths I’d stray
By pale celandine and purple monkshood
When I went walking on that sultry day.
“Linger a while,” leafy whispers seemed to say,
And so I rested longer than I should
And the rippling river ran by the way.
In that warm enchanted place I’d stay
Beguiled by the paths of that magic wood,
When I went walking on that sultry day
And the rippling river ran by the way.
Barry Stebbings
Apr 2021
Beneath the snow, behind the clouds, biding midst the trees,
the spirit blithe of springtime, lay waiting to be freed.
With eager heart, her bluebells vie, with snowdrops and monkshood,
their joyous tolls of colour, ringing brightly through the wood.
The buds of spring reach up to touch, half remembered blue of sky,
that bleached the clouds and painted streams, as winter melted by.
Great regiments of daffodils, stand ranked in golden pride,
like medals borne by veteran hills, that brushed the foe aside.
The rolling verdant hills of grass, with scented breezes bend,
as Spring, in all her glory bids, Hello as Winter ends.
Starving amber eyes that drink oasis scraps
Thrown from her cast off demeanour to fall
Upon the bare heart scape which formats and maps
The course of true love, or of nothing at all.
I am monkshood drawn, snared willingly onward,
No gaining of ground only losing of grip,
In a faithful disruption clawed inward and outward
For a smile or rebuke in the curl of her lip.
In keeping the secret and living with heartbreak,
Devoured by werewolves invisibly barking,
The madness and sadness, wolfs bane and earthquake,
Life wished away and time made for marking.
Some days it feels like a carnival dying,
With darkness encroached of a consummate skill;
Then others it lessens, the whole world goes flying,
She may want me again, and I plead that she will.
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