Short Hillock Poems

Along 
a footpath,
into a wood
upon a bridleway-
across
hillock
coppices
common and coombe-
free to roam with plenty 
of room...

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Elephant-like chests
On green-grey hillock
Grass grows like hair-crests  
Scenes seem idyllic
A bridge, built like nests
Art on acrylic...???...

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Two cowboys were out on the range
When one said “I feel rather strange”
Said the other “come here
If you feel a bit queer
And I’ll just see what I can arrange”...

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One
Island
In the sun
Unusual
It has no sandy beach or umbrella
Yet it harbors sweet life for I can see
Lush verdant growth
A hillock
Innate
Bield...

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Old House


Top of the hill's day
Little old house kisses sun's rays
Peak of the mountain puzzles

Opens window by two hands
Dances the dust shinning vibrant
Lady's broom plays pleasant

Cool wind shakes some leaves
Enters, provides, breathe of heaven
For life of house hillock....

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It sloped like the hillock
Where I played as a boy
Then curved to a pillow
Of round contoured joy

It was poetry in motion
A rare joy to behold
A promise of mystery
And pleasures untold. 

But like art on the wall
Of the world's best museums
Best viewed from afar
The stuff of poetry and dreams...

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Long ago when I was young
I found cycling so much fun.
Climbing hills in fifth gear.
Keeping fit gave so much cheer.
Easily overtaking slower folk.
Teasing all those younger blokes.
Yes, a whiz kid was I.

Sadly age has taken a toll.
Panting now, I'm not so bold.
Lickity split I'm afraid not.
I have to admit my heart's in shock
To contemplate even a hillock....

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Biking along Lehigh drive
On an early sunny morning
Not a cloud in the azure sky
My! My! What a wonderful day!
I continued onward until
I reached the Lehigh boat-launch pad.
No longer able to resist
The allure of the calm river
I laid my bicycle against
A hillock, shed my shoes and socks
And walked to the shallow rivers edge
Stood there for a moment or two
Walked in ankle deep from shore
And became a young lad once more....

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The night wind blew
through the Judas trees
scattering their unscented flowers,
pinkish purple all around,
resembling blood 
shed on the ground 
of a small hillock
not far from another one 
called Golgotha.
That was so long ago.
A man stood there,
ruminating on past events.
Why did he have to die?


Note:  The Judas tree produces flowers first.  When all flowers are gone the leaves appear.  It's not a pleasant sight....

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A low wind
prowls like a tiger in the long reeds.
Water rats race across a brook
creating arrowheads 
through the stream.

From a tufted hillock
I watch small fish darting,
chasing edibles
too small for eyes to see.

The fish have no name
that I can recall.
For an instant
I too am nameless,
both lost and found.

Now the wind tugs at my coat,
dragonfly-wings flicker-by –

an iridescent perception
that glimpses only itself,
a presence that is both found 
and lost.

...

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