I would gather apples in the sun
and fling them at the crows that harm no one
because my sickness worsens by degrees
and crows wear black especially for me
but when I turn my back for all I know
their feathers flash the colours of the rainbow
I’ll catch them out one day and we shall see
all sickness then consigned to history
[first posted 15 Jan 2015]
A garden of black roses,
a busted cross – dark eglantine.
A ruined plaster saint around whose hip
an ancient vine entwines.
Black roses for the bedside,
black roses for the bed,
stone fruit upon the table,
stone clouds up overhead.
The cottage on the cliff
that you once stayed in as a child
has fallen into disrepair,
the garden let run wild.
Stone flowers for your garland,
dead laurel for your head,
black roses for the bedside,
[first posted 26 November 2014]