Part 1: Outgoing

A clicking of mud
as the water drains
Slowly out to sea

Estuary, reed clad
whispering in the wind
Theropod spor on the flats

Man’s needs – cranes, chimneys
easy access to offload
Changes the landscape

But oaks survive,
and birds too
and small things – unnoticed

There is but one rock, in
this uncertain ground.  I sit there
and have a beer.

Part 2: Incoming

In the fens, I am
Seated under oak, serene
Incense surrounds me

Complicated growth
Adorns the bark, lichens and such
Intricate, simple.

A path presented,
There is a choice, to follow
or now make my own

A decision made
Just then the Sun comes out, so,
figure what’s next!

A ship sailing by
framed by the reeds, it’s floating
on a sea of green.


Our new pine forests,
not what we once had, they’re gone ~
But our own, now best.

When we were youngsters,
You could get no better day,
Than one in the pines.

Their permafresh smell,
Their hidden depths ~ dark green womb,
The wind, filtered sounds.

It’s a sterile world,
The adults tell us, knowing
nothing of our blood.

And in an emerald clearing
There is a particular light;
A hind, silent and still,
Stares back at you ~
And you know you are at home.


In bloom, so you are,
Grand flowers, plates, ersatz leaves ~
The better for that.

The first of your kind:
Made Ceratopsians sneeze ~
A shock of colour.

Pruning suits you not,
and sure, why should it? Pointless ~
Give us more flowers.

This land is so old,
doesn’t even realise,
How evil it is…

… but after each Spring,
you blanket the soil ~ a gift:
A bed for Angels.