In Our Bubble

Tea and Cake

The local bubble assembled.
Aware of the risks they could take.
None hesitated, none trembled.
Ventured all for the Tea and the Cake.

The meeting was called to order.
To check attendees were awake.
Dragged back from dreamland’s border,
Meditating on Tea and on Cake.

The motion proposed was profound,
And dealt with the issues at stake,
With arguments perfectly sound,
“It’s time now for Tea and for Cake.”



Brave little sun, do longer days
Fill your heart with joy?
To gather up the sunshine’s rays
Your blooms, you do deploy.

The world, its path and its incline,
Summer days stretch out.
You care not how planets align
Or how they swirl about.

You only care that warmth and light
Give all that you need.
A gentle rain, the bees in flight.
To grow, to flower, to seed.

Wild Rose

Wild Rose in the hedge
Wild Rose in the Hedge

Amongst the wild entrammelled hedge,
To show your blooms the sun you pledge.
So petal-soft and fragrance mild,
None would believe a wasteland child

Yet under all soft grace and style,
Unseen amongst green leafy guile.
Those whose fingers tempt The Norns,
Will find a stem of sharpest thorns.



Bumble Bee In Foxglove
Bumble Bee In Foxglove

Well, Darling?
Either the purple or the white?
I do so want to get this right.
And find the one that’s really me,
The one that suits me to a tee!

So, Darling.
Tell me which you think is best
Until I’m sure I just can’t rest.
The purple now, I’m sure is wrong,
The jacket sleeves are far too long.

Please, Darling.
That leaves me now with just the white.
But, does it really fit me quite?
Come now ignorance is not bliss.
Does my bum look big in this?



My first is in stalk and also in stem.
My second is me, not you, him or them.
My third is in toil but never in work.
My fourth is in thrive but never in shirk.
My fifth is in eels but just not in fish.
My sixth is in rhubarb, a succulent dish.
My seventh’s in wanting but never in need.
My eighth and my ninth are common in deed.
My tenth is in dirt and also in dust.
Follow this rhyme, then guess it you must.
Just look at the picture, the leaves are the clue,
I’ve made it as simple as I can for you.



Blossoms cascaded,
Downhill unaided,
Falling ballistic,
Pallette artistic.

Nature emergent,
Joyous and urgent,
Overflow spilling,
Vibrant and willing.

Ocean wave crashing,
On the rocks dashing,
Richly chromatic,
Passion dramatic.

Greater Celandine or Swallowort

Greater Celandine or Swallowort
Greater Celandine or Swallowort

Swallows return to build a nest,
From far off lands to take their rest.
To feast on summer’s bounteous fare,
And show their mastery of the air.

From stream and pool, small beaks are filled,
Under the eves their nest to build.
Then line with down this fortress grey,
A home wherein their eggs to lay.

And see the Greater Celandine,
Whose yellow blooms like small suns shine.
‘Twill blossom so until the day,
Once more our swallows go away.

Spring in Full Swing

The Trees In the Wood
The Trees In the Wood

When winter’s frosty footsteps roamed our wood.
Through filigreed naked trunks we could
See how our hill arose against the sky,
Its undergrowth grey seared and dry.

But Spring’s verdure has coloured in the gaps.
What was overt, for modesty perhaps,
Has, over all, a mantle green been thrown,
To hide inside nature unknown.

A Seat in the Sun

Hawthorn Blossom-in-Waiting
Hawthorn Blossom-in-Waiting

The Blackbird flutes mid leafy tree,
To keep his anonymity.
While we below will not guess wrong
But know him by his joyous song.

On dry Oak twig, new leaflets burst.
Their flint spear sheath, the breeze disbursed
And catkin flowers their pollen cast
Adrift, in seas of air so vast.

Green Hawthorn’s boughs where sunlight gleams,
Tight wrapped as fists your blossom dreams.
Against the day when April’s shower,
Brings, in profusion, your Mayflower.


New Bluebells
New Bluebells

The daffodils are weary now,
Their bells no longer ring.
Yellow bonnets packed away,
Awaiting next year’s Spring.

Now under bush and under leaf,
Some nascent shoots appear.
Their folded blooms show hints of blue,
Surmounting each short dark green spear.

A little sun, a little rain,
A little time must pass as well.
Their blossoms swell and then unfold,
Displaying fresh, a bright bluebell.

The Strangest Times


When Blackthorn’s white and Hawthorne’s green
Together in the hedge are seen,
And Old Sol to his zenith climbs,
We live now in the strangest times.

When snowdrops from the snow have fled.
When blackbird rakes leaves for his bed.
When Spring the yearly quarter chimes,
We live now in the strangest times.

When crows call as they wing their way.
When rooks wheel ‘round as so they may.
When words align in metered rhymes,
We live now in the strangest times.



Sometimes we look at swirling mist.
No path, no signpost, can exist.
When aimless wandering seems our lot.
What once was sure is now forgot.

The way ahead, a hopeless task,
There are no questions left to ask.
No answers seem to bring relief,
No faith, no comfort, no belief.

But hope will not be so mislaid,
To outstretched hand, it will give aid.
When lost in life’s kaleidoscope,
Stretch out, reach out, there’s always hope