Bindweed 🐝

The battle of the bindweed
A creepy damned affair
As under fence and through crevice
The stuff is everywhere
A wrapping round the plant stems
A stranglehold that thwarts
Growth and health and thriving
As it chokes and kills in short!

And though troublesome in plenty
There’s one good thing it does
For its blooms produce a pollen
For moth larvae and bees that buzz
And so for gardener the bindweed battle
May be a constant fight
Yet a battle won on one front
May be a war lost in hindsight!

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Beyond my four walls

I don’t think you can ever get bored looking out of a window. The scene changes minute on minute from the lighting to the colours to the moods. An ever changing gallery when we stop to look past the familiar to the wonders around us and enjoy every observation. So good for the soul.

Beyond my four walls

Tree Tunnel

Nature Needs No Edit

Winter’s Kiss

Winter arrived
Littering the landscape
In a delicate dusting of desiccated coconut
That smooched innocently with nature
A lacklustre covering of snow
Yet still beautiful
Powdering the world in sifted icing
As she kissed the Earth
In a spectacle to behold

 

Mr Redbreast

Little Robin Red Breast
Sitting in a tree
With black diamonds for his eyes
Peeking out at you and me
Thinking soon it will be Christmas
The season he gets fame
Yet no-one ever stops to think
And ask of his real name

For in fact he’s not called Robin
But to be honest prefers best
The name of Jim or Tom or Rob
Or just Mr Redbreast
Anything bar Robin
He flutters and he tweets
For Lord or Earl, Sir or Count
Would really be quite neat

And so as yuletide happens
And bright red chested bird
Frequents your cards and trinkets please
Doff cap as is preferred
And nod to Mr Redbreast
Be him called Rob or Jim
Or Tom or Ray or Bill or Ben
And raise your glass to him

 

© Francis C. Franklin / CC-BY-SA-3.0 [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Nature and Her Child

Saunter down the highway
Hike over the Peaks
Walk here to there and back again
From Ashbourne up to Leek

Cross Dale and over moorland
Where’re the heart may lead
In sun, in rain, at night, at dawn
When dew forms into beads

To further mountain yonder
Or valley by a brook
That bubbles with vivacity
Whatever way you look

And wonder at the beauty
Of this our Earth so mild
Yet so tempestuous as well
Is Nature and her child

Duck Face

You’re a chip off the old block
That much is very true
The best bits, of course, are me
And the bad? That’s down to you!

Yet when you gaze in the mirror
You’re just like Uncle bill
The chappie who lives down the street
But less said better still!

And as for all the other bits
Well that’s a stroke of luck
Though pull a pouty face and know
You get that from a duck!

  

The Lace Lady

The lace lady adorns the wayside
With her bobbins weaving;
Crossing and twisting thread
Into the hedgerow
Ornamental filigree trimmings
Resplendent in their purity
Ahead their green stalks
Swaying in the breeze
As a veiled bride
Ready for her wedding

  

Swan In The Mirror (Haiku)

Her silent partner
Simulates her every move
In graceful concord