Summertide Weald

a forest in Summer

A solstice of burnt oaks,a wealth of yews that

despite the ardent heat from yesterday

(more than a day old)fills the sky with lemon.

The furnace of the day`s heart; more than

the cool green,as starlings bang in the sink

of the afternoon.This must be the shade of

a copsed church,but do not fear as the day stretches;

no,the pine bed smells of wax and earth.

Badgers hide in the low bank of ground,

trees join hands,headless eyes hang under branches

We are complete with ourselves;

fresh and cunning and cool in a dark tent.

Reviews

[Jack Cassidy]

The imagery is flawless. Good work. One of my favorites from you...

[De 'Anthony Subban II]

i like it write more poems