Kneel before the rich black mud

the minty plants smell when bruised

she sees the double backed burden

spouting eggs into the brown tea water

shame gathers with the loaches at the bottom

as the dragonfly larvae pounce

and eat those who have just been born

the shadows hold no magic to her yet

Hands fly, she captures a creature

pulling its leg to keep it safe

pulling its...

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The Poor Little Dove/Michael Kwack

To watch the wave play with the wind,

I sat by the museum garden pond.

Then a small pigeon came flying,

Landed to her feet, tiny and cute,

And stared up at me, a bit intensely,

Only blinking her eyes, no other move.

She was like a camera model baby,

And I recalled my infanthood pictures.

I started taking some ph...

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Raindrops are laughing,      

Falling,

Like cherry

Blossoms,

Onto the garden                   

Pond 

​I am alone                             

Floating on,

A little cooling the warmth                       

Of summer morning; 

As if flying

Big sky balloons

Of birthday party   ...

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After an age of stentorian coupling

Dots became tadpoles pullulating

Zooming around in marauding bands

A spoon of porridge for their catering

Tadpoles fed porridge and algae

Will grow into froglets in no time

I watched them hop onto dry land

I hoped they would reach their prime

But thrushes and robins were waiting

The novice amphibians proved easy meat

Beady...

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memories taste

like snowflakes on my tongue

and melt in my soul

love remains

like ice on the garden pond

in the memory of water

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Long!

Long I laboured

through the seasons

through the years

working

on the plot:

delighting

as digging blistered my palms

and the soil grew fertile

as digging pained my back

and plants grew strong -

grew verdant

beside the deep dug pond

with its little stream

where I placed fish

an unplanned golden feast for a heron

and an otter

And as e...

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He watched the leaves float

in the pond

windmoving on the surface

drop-pitted by rain,

leaves, orange-brown against the black depths

He watched the leaves stick

to the patio

wetgluing to the slate

slickened by the storm,

leaves, orange-brown against the black stone

He watched the leaves move

on the trees

wildwaving off the branches

leafstripped by t...

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The thick ice on the pond is dimpled on its face:

The same snow that coated the field

Had landed on the frozen pool to yield

To ice its fragile beauty and feather grace

As dents

Body gone, only the skeleton of the snow is left:

The same snow that covered all around

Has lost its substance to the earthy mound

But dull white bones still haunt Spring's heft

As wraiths

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And then, suddenly, it was calm - the morning wind which threw

rain hard against the window panes and sent beech leaves rushing

across the grass to pile gold-brown against all that the borders grew,

all slowly dulling their greens to wet, muted browns, brushing

the soil as their leaves curl and droop - vibrant Spring-strength gone,

fading sadly.

                         The wind ...

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FORGOTTEN PLACES

Away across the green from the council houses

is a small open field with a pond and a dry stone wall.

Fifty years ago this land was all like that – open and free.

Now that land is gone, replaced by bricks and concrete

with no personality and no life at all.

All that is left is the single field with its myriad of life.

More of a puddle tha...

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