Ross Gardner and should not be reproduced in any format without prior permission.
An opportunity for some poems to see their first light of day. I hope they are enjoyed.
Softly over stone-shadows and silica.
Gurgling down burrow-holes.
Stirring groyne-trapped cobbles
In a warm clamour
Of contented bemusement.
Beyond scattered strandings
Of pallid weed
The beach hauled up by roots.
Breaking in a lichen surf,
Lost among rabbit's teeth
And stunted birch trees.
A wild place with a soft hand,
Today at least.
Taking Flight (on the efforts of a swan)
Flight reclaimed in the nick of time
And from the steely grip of cold physics.
Drawing up her skirts and rolling her sleeves
She sheds momentarily any stately airs
In a wheezing cacophony
Of wings and treading water.
"... hang on ...... just a minute"
(stiffening her resolve
and willing the rest to follow)
"... just a few
seconds more ..."
The ballerina beats her chest,
A transformation in motion.
Reorganises her graces -
And with barely a curl of
that stiff upper lip -
Into brute force and defiance
Against the full weight of the sky...
I watched a maple seed,
Two wings whirring in perfect balance,
With a certain poise in the gusting wind
No different, in its way, to the deftness
Of gulls wings, or buzzards, or a kestrel in a hover.
And so it span, with a purpose outside of instinct,
All the efforts of its lineage terminating
On a granite set in a 'desirable' London street
And I knew then the true meaning
Of good intentions falling on stony ground.