Home » Poems » Best » Diane Leggett » Best Diane Leggett Poems

Best Poems Written by Diane Leggett

Below are the all-time best Diane Leggett poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Diane Leggett Poem

The desolate perfection of solitude. The shiver of recognition that there is only one being on the mountain, and that’s you. The pine trees watch, the boulders brood, but there is no one there. The splendour of being alone, crushed to fragments by the chirping of crickets, pierced by the song of a mountain thrush. The sea of solitude, a sea of sounds. With no noise at night, sounds rush you like a wave, a pounding surf inside your head. But, then, in the ozone tonic morning, the sky fills you with blue happiness, emotions so high you are born again on the mountain, and loneliness seems the greatest joy a man could wish for. Praise be to God I’m alone. Though the mountain air throws its voice from time to time. “There’s a whole world out there waiting for you — what are you waiting for? The world doesn’t care whether you're here or not.” I know, I think. I am free, so free I could dissolve into thin air right now and fly through that hill, through the planet for that matter. Find myself on Mars and know what loneliness is all about. Earthly loneliness is for cowards. On earth there’s an outside chance a human will turn up. On Mars, loneliness meets a new friend — desperation. The desperate need to remain whole, to not break up and boil in the Martian atmosphere. To not depressurise and explode. Lots of long walks required on Mars I’d say. Circumnavigation would do it. Is there loneliness greater than that? I think there is, but I’m afraid to tell you. But there is a tremendous rhythm to be found in silence. It might take days to get it. You might suffer with sound death in an echo chamber for a while. Tinnitus might strafe your skull case for what seem like endless nights. But one day you’ll find yourself listening to a distant, low base rhythm that starts from the balls of your feet, the back of your skull — you don’t know which — but it’s so strong, so virile and strident you see the whole forest take up arms and shake its fists. And you shake your fists too, and dance like a bear in a dry riverbed — wolfsbane shooting off your claws like bullet tracers, spraying colours all over the pine tree valley. The music in silence. It’s dripping from the trees, drifting in mountain mist.

Details | Diane Leggett Poem

Fox Cubs and Foxgloves

Mother was away, plucking hens
So I got my mead, in the special hip flask
Sat by the fence, just by the green
Time slipped along, Ken joined me there

And the day was bottle blue
And the trees were nettle green
Over by the wood, the foxgloves grew
All spread about, with flagpoles new
Broad drooping leaves, with spikes atop
Each set of flowers, like purple gloves

Men calling out, across the fields
A simple spell of happy needs
Gis a light! You got the hoe?
Wos for lunch? I love her so

Ken nudged my arm, I took the flask
Poured out the mead, a thimble size
The blackbirds played a cheerful tune
We drank the mead and felt so good

And we heard the wagon wheels
As the driver crossed the field
Another drop’s a good idea
I filled Ken’s glass, I filled mine too

I rubbed my mouth, I looked across
From a hidden den, came two fox cubs
They gambolled on, they rolled around
They wrestled long, chewed buttercups

The bees were fat
Don’t know how they flew
The foxes tried to eat them too
With a swipe of a paw
A snap of a jaw
Then the bees buggered off
And the cubs carried on

Oh, that mead, sitting in a field
Ken and me, in a reverie

Then I tucked my belly in
Had a little squint
Drank another glass
Then I said to Ken
Is it me 
Or are those little bleeders
Wearing foxgloves?

And then Ken had a little squint
And he said to me
Gis another glass
Then he scratched his arse
And he said to me
I bet you a hundred quid
His little mate wins

Now the cubs
Both wearing gloves
Of silky cups 
With little yellow tongues
Silly pollen pups
Having a bit of fun
Boxing in the field
Good job I won

Cos my mum, come running out
Chasing a mother fox
With a hen in its mouth
I said, oh mum 
Don’t worry none
I’ve just won a ton
Fox cubs box love.

Details | Diane Leggett Poem

The Wanderer Falls

Shadow souls flying across the sea
Of my senses they knew, what a mockery,
How do I write the song says the dream?
Whereupon the wanderer falls

In the scribbled pines 
Of a forest burnt 
In the addled minds 
of ruminants
Under the spell 
Of prescription drugs
A waterfall falling long
Whispering into nothing
And how does a shadow sing along?
With the words planted 
When their minds are gone

The cultured lie pearl
Calumny and drought
Don’t ask me
I don’t know what it means
I just write it down
Medicated monsters flee themselves 
In fiery wagons chasing hope
When no earthly vehicle 
Can help them now

And the darkness of the drones
The forest-flatteners blocking the sun
With gun-carriage storms 
Of all fissile material
Spitting their fish scales 
Into our faces

And who wrote the song?
Down by the deadpond
Now that Weyland’s work is done
Tantalite, tungsten, sin, tin and gold
Seem pretty small in your hand there’s a phone
But all over Africa mines are still smouldering
How do I write the song says the dream?
Lord help me I feel the world psyche waking
Whereupon the wanderer falls.

Details | Diane Leggett Poem

Barn Owl On a Blood Moon

At harvest time
Where a white ghost flies
Across a blood red moon
Behind the fields the rolling hills
Are purple, pink and blue

Over a dreaming wheat field
A barn owl patrols
Noiselessly it glides
Over the golden yellow drifts

Suddenly, it flaps its wings
And stares down intently
Below on the soil a startled vole
Sees a white star fall
A squeak and the owl is gone 
And with it the limp vole.

Details | Diane Leggett Poem

The Burning Vehicle

A slow and painful crash
Where one sees one's face
Approach the dashboard in infinite detail
Where one has time 
To check one's fear in the mirror
But instead takes a suck on a vape
And puts one's foot down
And, speeding through abandoned suburbs,
Is caught in a storm of fire.
Carry me from the burning vehicle?
No, better to wait inside
And watch thoughts fly from window to window
Like glowing ashes
Until the mind is quiet
And the roof withers with embers
Lilac in their demise
For only in silence
Can the sphere of the stars unfold
And the old clepsydra drip dry, again.

Details | Diane Leggett Poem

The British Seashore

On the cliff at the Worm’s Head 
High above the horns of the bay
I see the surfers ride great waves
With horses’ manes
That ever fail, but never end
In the strong Atlantic surge

In the estuary at Dartmouth
Where the oyster boats dredge
Turning and drifting in slow shadow dance 
Great nets of shells are hauled up 
And poured out on to the decks
As I plunge upriver

Tacking along the wending Dart
With bent-puzzle oaks on either side
I hear a sudden hush descend
Upon a lonely river hythe
As time and air, smooth and still
Forever glide, like Mayflies
On cold, clear water

In the seaway by the port
With its unmistakable algal aroma
Of the British seashore
I hear the heavy horn of a freighter
That plies its path
And never sinks, yet ever diminishes
Beyond the waves

And far from the pier of the seaside town
Where sandpipers probe 
In spiral casts
I hear the penthal call of the curlew
Like silver flourishes on a black cloud
That never moves, but holds dominion
In the cold morning air.

Best Poems Written by Diane Leggett

Overmood

The Paw-Trod Path

I'm not done with you yet

A More Beautiful Shell

Alone on the Mountain

Fox Cubs and Foxgloves

The Wanderer Falls

Barn Owl On a Blood Moon

The Burning Vehicle

The British Seashore