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Neil Leadbeater Poem
No one could call you spineless.
The armour takes care of that.
Getting to the heart of you is hard -
that quiet determination that lets you
get on with living...
Sight failing in half-light
we hear you in hedgerows
scavenging for slugs -
watch you curl into a defensive ball
just like you do in your hibernation
when breathing almost stops.
Copyright © Neil Leadbeater | Year Posted 2020
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Neil Leadbeater Poem
Not often
you find such a landslide
of conkers
but my father saw them
glossy brown
among the hedgehog casing.
So we foraged
with the rove beetle, earthworm, mite,
lifting box-loads of mahogany jewels
into the back of the Riley.
Going home
I was ready to stage my strung shells
for the big fight
in the playground.
Time was short
and I was in a hurry
to catch all the fun I could hold.
Next term
it could be origami
or the sprung reel
of the Yo-yo
and then the winter snows.
Copyright © Neil Leadbeater | Year Posted 2020
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Neil Leadbeater Poem
In open country
chances are he'll be running.
Knowing the sound of every wind-shift
he'll cradle his life in the rock-a-bye cornsticks
hind legs bunched for the big bolt forward
to spring over runaway ground.
Today, in the photograph
which I have called "Hare Leaping"
he will take forever to complete one bound.
Copyright © Neil Leadbeater | Year Posted 2020
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Neil Leadbeater Poem
Russian Giants were our favourites
they could top ten feet
with flowers to match
and a big broad smile that was designed to catch
undivided attention.
To us, they were
parhelions, sun-trackers who
aspired to be
centres of yellow excellence.
Copyright © Neil Leadbeater | Year Posted 2020
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Neil Leadbeater Poem
These garden escapes, hardy stalwarts,
have legged it from the border -
they have said goodbye to the shade-loving ferns
and broken free from the boundary wall
to seed in chippings, chesil slack,
a no-man's land by the standing trucks
blushing like children at the station box
who trespass for kicks in forbidden plots,
the place moire beautiful than ever before
because of their bright bravado.
Copyright © Neil Leadbeater | Year Posted 2020
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Neil Leadbeater Poem
Where do rainbows end
and is there really treasure there?
Trout can be elusive animals.
Like liquid
they can slip through your grasp
so that all you can see in the river
is an after-glow
a spectral image
of what might or might not
have been there.
Chasing rainbows
is what we call it
and as rainbow chasers
we should know.
Copyright © Neil Leadbeater | Year Posted 2020
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