Archives for posts with tag: Soil

Post rain petrichor –

The garden is drinking deep ~

Lilies battered though.

Overdue rain smell –

The office door slams behind ~

Bring rescued plants home.

Some hands know the soil.
They know what to do with it.
They’re not fine hands, clean hands, they’re rough and thick fingered and calloused but they bring life out of the black and keep a kind of order on the land.
They give firm handshakes.
And hold grandchildren carefully like they hold a china tea cup or a fragile flower.

(For Bob, who knew the land and its people well, RIP).



You might find yourself –
Very far from home ~ but then ~
It’s not far at all.

[Dedicated to the staff in Rí Rá, Georgetown. Go raibh maith agaibh go léir.]

Listen to Godflesh –
Last bus ~ fits in with the book –
Taliban poems.

Three weeks late you were –
Long hair and long nails ~ all set –
Pretend no more, Son.

That soil earth shock smell –
Rain that’s somewhat overdue ~
She’s holding my hand.


How to remember?
When half your brain’s on the hill –
Forever British…

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