An old solitudarian

woodpeckered snag

Naked old solitudarian
standing in tatters of scrub oak and hawthorn
bare cover for such unholy inhibition

Neither shot by shell nor shrapnel fragment
far and further still from the western front
all’s quiet in the unruffled moment

but linger on as keeper of the watch
witness the sudden tchik-tchik shot of scarlet top-notch
vivid green livery or pied polka dot

parade-ground sound of drill and drum
ten to forty strikes per second thrum
targeted pandemonium

woodpeckers mine in sheer shafts of bark
dot-to-dot joinery – until owls remark
a barbican grotto for perusing the dark

Another of my snag inspired versifying for Sunday’s  Poetry Pantry. And the Midweek Motif  on Wednesday will be “Watershed Moments.”

Pray Silence

Picture the sound of a thousand colonies
abandoned by bees
battlefields when cannons cease
the ever after rest in peace
of the deceased

unearthly quiet

or imagine the sound of dialogue
intoning on deaf ears – not dumb adage
but muted gasps of language
white noise and a pulsing lub-dub
of internal baggage

deathly quiet

sotto voce I commend
hushed tones, fortissimo pedal dampened
stillness of thought – but pray leave silence til the end

© Laura Granby 2015

Joining the circle of poets united in the Midweek Motif: Silence

Being six

sea, sand and blue sky memories of being six
Being six

monotonous months of monochrome light

drear and cold as the fifties withdrew
when the sky suddenly turned a miraculous blue

riding cloud nine on that very first flight

where fairy pink shells were scattered in sand
and hoof prints of sea horse went cantering round

a rubber duck ring buoyed a salt water sprite

there were buttery crab petit déjeuners
a locket and laughter for an age six birthday

it was all seaside love from the very first sight

and Dad in his shorts and holiday frame
– what a change.

© Laura Granby 2015

A simple poem to suit the age as I join other versifiers  for Sunday’s Poetry Pantry . And the Midweek Motif  is SILENCE.