Lavender, plum, where the apples yet sweet,
         and the rumble of cares long lost to the ears,
the earth, and all that was in the merry and the piebald
frost-bitten stripes of corn to the morning dew,
thrice and yet warmed to the sun’s shiveringly
quiveringly lovely gold dapple drunken harmony
         and there, where the stores of flowers
like the rugged memories,
the guttering of trees,
coppices, and natures’ bound to green, to grow
unselfish, to hew, we hew,
         we know no better.

© Eve Redwater 2012

This poor chap was hanging on to this lavender as the wind blew – bless! © Eve Redwater 2012

Man, Rain, Everything

For those who remain stood
With the slope of their back
To a creamblooded wave,

The pickforks and toothpicks
To the feet and the toes,
Observant as they needle

The maws of scarlet crabs,
And to the right, in the firm
Of an April frost

Comes a snuff of italic rain,
A blackwhite chipped grey
To the nose of a dog yet swift,

The batter of purple-bruised berries
Under a calamity of wet,
They learn to do rhythm

In the mouth with a caracal pinch,
Unravelling soured pieces
A calla flower bursts in the throat,

Stops, then blooms on the crest
Of your limbic rose tongue,
Stopped, before the vaccine words

Blew short an incognito, ochreous dandelion,
She who tips her lost children to the wind
Against flat-palmed duns in the tide,

And you, this day,
Black shoes beached
Through a tumult of sand,

Imprinted on the mould
Of a sugar tipped hill,
The water, air, a flurry of green-cud grass,

A pale of flowers to the ears,
Poor motes sot wild in the breast,
So many of us, together.

© Eve Redwater 2012

[It’s been raining all day today, I love it! It helped me write this for Dverse~]