A Spring Garden

Impatient for summer

her bare toes curl, settle

into soft moss; she savours

sweet violets, but dreams of lilac.

Catching her eye a pale brimstone

lemon yellow, sails on waves of air.

Snow blossom unlocks a fragrance

with the promise of summer's plenty.

Nearby. the willow's green mist quivers.

A sharp breeze cools the wavering sun.

She shuts the garden shed, breathes in

the freshness of cut grass and shivers.

Sue Burley

'A Spring Garden', was published in the Spring Issue

of "The Dawntreader" 2017

My grandchildren have updated the Christmas 2016 Mural, to become the "EASTER DAY Mural"
 or the Murial as we call it!!


There was much fun creating this!!

Before Christmas, I encouraged two of my grandchildren to paint a Nativity scene on the hall wall.

This is what they came up with................

 

 



 I've not regretted it, as it turned out to be a great project.  And sometime in the Spring, the hall and landing will be completely redecorated!!!

I found this gem while reading the daily paper. . . . . . . . .

At present my life is a bit upside down, and this struck a chord and made me think:
It is a parable as told to a child by his grandfather.

Grandfather:
There are two wolves inside us who are always at war with each other.

The good wolf represents kindness, goodness and love.
The bad wolf represents greed, hatred and fear.

The boy thinks for a second and says,  "Grandfather, which one wins?"
The Grandfather quietly replies:           " The one you feed".


(As told by Sarfraz Manzoor - journalist)
                                                              

Summer's End

There is the sun, pale but slowly lifting

through smoky shreds of tangled cloud,

and overhead the moon becalmed and fading.

Such tender days give no sign of easing,
though captive leaves sigh for the clench of frost
and fumbling bees are somnolent and loitering.

Beneath my feet, the luscious grass still springing

near scarlet hips already ripe, yet
summer’s breeze is warm and softly lingering.

In truth there has to be an ending,

but turning leaves drift one by one –
so calm the fall; so strong the sap still rising.


Published in 'The Dawntreader', Summer 2016

  Globe thistles and Marguerites -

                     the glory of our summer garden.............

 

The Spare Room

I think of this small room as mine,

but know it isn’t; that others

come and go – fleeting shadows -

and gaze at the painting of azure seas.

When I return, there are still the shells

heaped and heady with a tang of salt.

Clasping their roughness to my ears

there’s the hissing lure of pounding surf.

Each day the quivering curtains

filter translucent light and warmth

on to my cool skin and pale wrists,

where blue-veined river deltas run.

I lie, drinking in the comforting view;

nothing is new, though time is less

and seasons seamlessly change,

like old dreams – an endless reprise.

 

 

(Published in 'Reach Poetry', June 2016)