Spell of innocence

moth_polaroid_poemwould that innocence would stay –
a flickering fireside where an old cat sits
pine logs hiss and children play
word games help to sharpen wits
their laughter bubbles up in fits
when paw bats moth such comedy
close by flames the creature flits
burnt wings change to tragedy
compassion wells the watery eye
one small death and salt tears smart
the spell is broken by their cry
outrage from each woken heart –
“halt your grief and do not moan
soon your heart will turn to stone”

Keeping it simple and using the last word from each line of  Spenser’s sonnet for poetry challenge from the dversepoets poets bar: Bouts-Rimés Revisted

Glory be

temple flowers haiban

Out in the courtyard, fruit trees are in flower. After the clean blue-greys of winter, there is something faintly lurid about the blooms. And yet these are pastels. Perhaps it’s the profusion of pinks and whites making an exhibition up and down the branches that appears unseemly, out of context, in this place of quietude. Jostling in amongst them are the showy ornamentals. Dripping wisterias and wax goblets of Magnolia peeling open exotic centres to intoxicate insect hosts and solitary blundering bees.

I seek simplicity, minimalist arrangements, the clarity of Zen but here it’s as though a dance troupe had suddenly taken centre stage, all giggle and froth and helter-skelter happenings.How pleasing the sound of bamboo brushing away the last petals as the advancing season restores greenery and calm. Just as now I welcome the sonorous call to prayer.

The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers. From every bud and bloom, in the clamour of blossom, amongst riotous colour, is the unmistakeable intoning of a Gloria.

Seated in deep thought
behind shutters birdsong breaks
cuckoo laughs at me

A haibun to include Basho’s lines “The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.” for MLMM’s Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille 

the autumn hawkbit

midweek poem - see what a flower
Scorzoneroides/Leontodon autumnalis

because I was photographing trees
you gave me a wild flower

because we shared that graveyard moment
you brought me this
yellow as the ripened summer
weedy as dandelions
folklore food for hawk eyes

because of how the flower sucked up the sun
it showed  the grim detachment of your proffered hand
kindling conversation by a tombstone den
amongst the oldest of London’s Christians*

because I am well-seasoned now
jaundiced thoughts were squashed like lice
against the backdrop of the old brick workhouse**
and still the poor and derelict are with us

because such moments are rare
and even common flowers fade
I captured your gesture forever

* One of the earliest Christian churches in  England – St Pancras Old Church

** A public institution in which the destitute of the church parish received board and lodging in return for work – see St Pancras workhouse 

A true tale in simple verse written for the Midweek Motif: “A flower was offered to me….”
and I guess a flower suitable for the imaginary garden