... Moving on to Summer in the Garden - May 28th 2014

Because of the mild winter and plentiful rain, everything seems to be early and twice as tall and abundant as usual!  I don't have a colour scheme, but I like colours to be varied, and in summer to be as bright as possible. 

To me there is no such thing as colours clashing in nature!  Very proud of the foxgloves, especially the pink ones.  These make me think of the New Forest  - sun dappled woodland and the tall spires thrusting through the early fronds of bracken.   Beautiful......


  

 

The Larch

I ran to see the larch again

up on the gentle wooded hill

and let the sweeping branches trail

across my cheek and through my hair.

 

Each little tuft of needles stood

fanned along those curving boughs

a tender green, and in between

starred buds pricked out in dusky pink.

 

This is where we sometimes met

beneath the larch’s graceful veil,

the coltsfoot gleaming at our feet

like burnished coins, a treasure trove.

From here I watched the melting mist

unravel from the dripping groves;

then thought I saw you pass close by

but choose a different path instead.

I slept against the whispering larch,

the sun burnt up the hours till noon

and as the larks soared high to sing,

I knew you would not come again.

 

©Sue Burley

 Sunday 6th April 2014

"Consider the lilies of the field........."
                                


                                                                           

I've really been looking forward to this Spring!  Winter dragged on doggedly;  wet and gloomy with hardly a flake of snow or a crisp frosty day to lift the spirit.  The flower beds solidified into a waterlogged mass.  Surely no plant could penetrate this heavy clay. How wrong was I?

Day after day, I scrutinised the bed outside the french windows, waiting for a sign that winter was over. The first to appear were the golden cups of the winter aconite, complete with their bright green ruffs.  Snowdrops were next, their sharp spears piercing the earth; and with the first watery sun, opened their shy hanging lamps.  As these declined, the miniature daffs, some with orange trumpets, trembled in the breeze.  Even primroses, wan and feeble at first, eventually burgeoned and as February turned to March, broke forth into their palest lemon glory.

Today, I have been looking at the patch of  delicate white wood anemones,  and the bluey-purple of the winter wind flowers. And bluebells are on the way, (though I have only the Spanish variety). 

For the home-grown variety, take a stroll to 6 Acre Meadow. They are to be found along the path adjacent to the sports ground. Not quite flowering yet, but should be in a couple of weeks........


                                                                                Bluebells are out now ................................


                                                                        the show is over now - until next Spring!

 

 

Oil Slick – The Prestige

(The 'Prestige' oil tanker spilt its load on 13^th November 2002

of the coast of Galicia, Spain)

There would be some prestige

in accountability

or responsibility,

when the sea heaves black poison

in waves upon the shore.

There could be redemption

in repentance,

but not in indifference

as miles of golden sand

are besieged with curdled oil.

There should be sympathy,

but it’s doubtful

and won’t come from the powerful

made rich by black gold, while fishermen

shocked pale, scrape their living clean.

But there is certainly anger

for the gasping cormorant,

tarred and feathered;

and the small crab, black as pitch

lying fossilised in someone’s palm.

© Sue Burley 2002

(A recent news report states that ‘The Prestige’ is still leaking oil

off the north-west coast of Spain, 4 years later- 2006))

13^th November 2013- A Spanish court acquitted 3 people blamed for the sinking of The Prestige oil tanker in 2002, finding no-one responsible for one of Europe’s worst environmental  oil disasters.

New Year, and I have been trying to turn out a few things, and found the following scribble. By the way, I know there are spelling mistakes! (It has improved since then!)

Susie Richardson – 10½ years old

Lives in Church Road

boring

Old Malden                            

quite pretty with a pond

Surrey

a “posh county” (We arent!!)

England                                      

Us and the rest of the country.  (Been to Brieton and London) but nowhere else

The United Kingdom             

Us plus Scotland, Ireland and Whales

The World                                    

Large, round, lots of sea, spinning, sometimes night, sometimes day

Space                                          

Goes on forrever. If you look up – there are stars, sometimes the sun and moon

but only if there are no clowds    

The Universe                                

Lots more space – whats it all about, does it end somwhere?  Over the rainbow?

That sent me off thinking about eternity, AGAIN, all these years later,

(tho’ a favourite train of thought!)

Are we actually in some kind of giant bubble?  Musings only please- not scientific data!

 

 

Human Cargo

 

It’s best as dusk falls

on a clear and starry night,

the sky slowly staining

to washable blue;

chimneys lino-cut into

the border of tonight’s review.
 

Above the inky trees,

the Plough wages war

against the arc

of London’s sulphurous glow.                    

Stars hone gem-stone facets,

razor sharp and brilliant.

One by one they come,

beyond the pylons’ lifelines;

spangled shimmers of light

descending across the dark vault,

plotting the route, homing in –

                                Qantas,

                                           Virgin,
                                                   Malaysian Air . . . . . . .

 
 

© Sue Burley

 

Wet Nights

 On wet nights the washing line

                                hangs slack,
gently swung by the breath
                                of a breeze,
rousing the sleeping flowers
and fondling drowsy trees.

 

A strand of flashing droplets slide,
                                 a slow glide,
slip united, smooth as oil,

                                 pendent,

turn to jewels, glittering
and trembling from a woman’s ear.



© Sue Burley