I walk through paddocks past a fallen gum
its pink wood flesh half sawn
then rows of pines with ring barked waists
which someone said would turn them into apple trees.
And I observe the level of the ditch
fetid brown with green algae.
And certain gates are sometimes open
others closed or propped halfway.
And once I see my neighbour
her arms filled with golden mushrooms
plucked from under trees.
I thought them poisonous
but she says ‘No they’re great in stews.’
And there are people stood against the tide
or on the trail of eager dogs.
They wave, or puffing stop a time and chat
impatient to be off
while I take note where cockles grow
and view the rock which seems to be a fish
dead except it does not putrefy.
And there are flowers too and aloes
in the gorse above the sand
and a pond eel that leaps when I pass by.
(c) Helen McKinlay
A simple poem by me today. A true description of a walk I used to take a decade back. I doubt it has changed much.
Have a great week and do pop over to the Tuesday Poem Hub, where Tim Jones is this week’s editor with a poem by Gemma White, “This is Love.” Tim says ‘Gemma White’s short, stabbing lines perfectly mirror the aggression of P. J.’s playing style. The poem pops (and rocks) as much as the song.’
(NB P.J. is P.J. Harvey.)
While you’re at the hub check out the variety of poems posted by other Tuesday Poets.