IN CLAY WOOD

24/11/2012

Masonry tumbles like trees

at the halt of the treeline

that darkens the crumbling

stone into leaf mould.

Ivy choked stumps reach up

from the thorned net

of brambling snares that catch

rabbits and leverets and walkers.

The city is nowhere to here,

it's another turn and stile

that goes deep into sludge piles,

another puddle to drown in.

IN CLAY WOOD

28/5/2012

I knew something was wrong

when the softness underfoot

resisted my tread. Something 

stiffer than fox mess

with brittle parts turned out

to be the carcass of a bird

that was dead some time.

The moment that you realise

you are not alone in the undergrowth,

that a pair of eyes is watching you

hop about on one foot,
scraping the offal from your sole
on bark, makes you cry.

Then the surprise,

the flowers around you take flight.

They were butterflies.