Sunday, January 20, 2013


for Mark

All is raw and cold slices,
uphill against a distant sun
There is no respite from the pagan dark
but the seeker will not be idle

I have found the secrets
in the coastal gardens, snowdrops
shivering in their daring blooms
and flowering cherries undaunted
and reckless pink

I know where they are, old friends,
 hazel with its yellow tassles
 and nearby the wooly grey heads
of willow inform the waxing days

You see, there is life, ever present
pushing a common will
We are the steady ones born under
a heralding spring, early perhaps,
but someone  has to break the good news

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