...................this is our new Crab Apple tree flowering beautifully in its first Spring!  It was planted to fill a huge gap in our neighbour's garden, when they had to take down an old Twisted Willow.

 

Gorgeous!

 

And as an added bonus, the leaves will turn a stunning red-gold in the  autumn when the fruit will ripen and feed the birds in winter.  (photos by Graham)



 

 

 

                                                                                
                                                            Primroses in a Kentish hedgerow, photo by Cassy
                                                                                   

          

                                          

When the Rain Stops

The relentless rain slows, so

I look up just as the sun flares

and silvers the tiled rooftops.

Gleaming bright, a lofty convoy 

of cloud sails in from the north

across the vast ocean that is sky;

then white hot sun, aims slanting rays

dazzling through the windows,

spangling the raindrops in liquid fire.

                         

But what I’d like to know is,                         

whether the robin which sings at night              

under the pitiless glare of street lights   

is singing now,

               just for the glory of great open skies.
 

Sue Burley 2015

 

 

Remember how we used to have snow at Christmas, even in southern England?  Well, no longer.....but here is a snowy poem, and some photos of what might have been and what might be in another year.          Just hoping .... these were taken in 2009!

Snowy Night

When did snow last lie like this,

So fired with frost and ice-white heat,

Striking sparks beneath my feet?

 

Walking through the empty streets,

How calm and still: such dazzling light

Fills this lovely smouldering night.

The trees stretch high their glittering arms                                                                            

To stars laced through a velvet sky,

While rangy foxes hunt nearby.

Slipping by the crackling pond, past

Billowing quilts spread in the park,

See; soft flakes of snow wrap up the dark.

 

© Sue Burley

 

 

 

     My younger daughter and her husband were due to fly home to Malaysia on Friday 18th July 2014, when we heard the devastating news that flight MH17 had been  shot down over the Ukraine.

    This is my resulting poem ...................................

Returning  Home

During the night

          the heavens ignited

with anger.  Lightning

         then thunder forced

the sky awake.

 

Your pale cheeks

       glistened with tears

silvery as the rain

       coursing down

the misted windows.

At daybreak,

the white-fringed daisies

gazed at the warming sun,

            the frayed clouds -           

and trembled for you.

 

We kissed, said goodbye

            face to face,

my eyes holding fast to yours.

            Then I gave you up

to the boundless sky, and prayed.

©Sue Burley 2014

Sunset from St. John’s

 

Because dusk is settling over the valley,

the yews are etched black

                                    against a runaway sky,

their branches tossed by a mean east wind.

 

Here are the high lands of the sky,

with violet hills and knots of inky cloud

like wooded knolls:

                                    ribbons of pale grey

split the sun before racing west.

Gulls thresh and fall on the angry wind,

wings dipped in liquid gold

                                    and edged with pink.

Sue Burley

.... We are experiencing a few days of lovely warm weather here in the south-east.  The garden is not looking its best, apart from the nasturtiums which I planted quite late in the summer. 

They are beautiful colours;  orange, flame, fuschia,  gorgeous and heart lifting; I picked a few so I could have them near me indoors.....   here they are! Enjoy......

 

Cyclamen  

For all the world it was dust,      

a discarded no-hoper, crumbling

in a cracked, parched pot;

but saved by a glint of green

effortlessly threw itself into life

under soft autumn skies.

 

Uncurling leaf followed leaf

smooth as flecked marble,

shiny as leather, creamily veined.

Pressed for time, bud-furled parasols

set free flowers of crimson lake

to burst open all spring,

tossing back defiant heads

into the scudding breeze. 

 

© Sue Burley

 

(Published in "The Dawntreader", Issue 028, Autumn 2014)