Saturday, 20 June 2015

And THE Cuckoo..

One of those mornings when the air is pearled with silver beads that lift and float with every movement; too full of light to fall to earth.   A sky of hammered pewter brushes the fresh-cut grass and swaddles the trees.   A myriad snails pebble the field; Fibonacci whirls like fossilised Catherine Wheels.   Jackdaws sing scat to the thrush's song; the avant-garde augmenting the lyric.    When the rain comes it is serpent soft, hissing through leaves of spearmint-green.   The dog-rose is in flower and the cuckoo has yet to change its tune.
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9 comments:

  1. Unknown21 June 2015 at 15:06

    Oh I'm so glad you are back. It's a desert of words for me when you don't post for an age :(

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    1. Richard Goode21 June 2015 at 18:56

      Aw, thank you Anita - that is such a lovely thing to say. Yes, sorry, it hasn't been easy getting on here recently, but I will be posting more soon :)

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  2. Mandy22 June 2015 at 21:19

    This comment has been removed by the author.

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  3. Mandy22 June 2015 at 21:20

    Almost as if I were there. Lovely.

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    1. Richard Goode23 June 2015 at 18:16

      Thank you, Mandy. I'm missing your words ;)
      *No pressure though!*

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  4. Richard Goode23 June 2015 at 18:17

    Thank you Yannis - and warmest wishes to you and your family too

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  5. mandy l. smith6 July 2015 at 13:29

    Such poetry! I can imagine being right there - seeing, feeling, smelling, hearing.

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  6. Caitriona Sweeney24 August 2015 at 20:24

    Love this!

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For your voice is important... and words that are shared grow wings.

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