Beery-plump bees
in gold-banded, furry rugby shirts –

underarmour sleeves pulled

While they stretch and comingle
and whisper in dawn’s first hushed glow,
the weeds know what all

The oily Holly drops scripted clots.
Drips encrypted globules,
on violated vellum, laid

That nightly changes, subtle and bold,
a pale ghost , or a beautiful beacon.

The moon rocks - a

It had been a struggle to survive,
in the end the natives won. The garden
was impenetrable; a

Peace is palpable
in this garden

resplendent, calm
in empty space

fifteen rocks in groups

The sundial marks the day
in swathes of grass
foil for flirty blooms

Like a flower you were so beautiful
That a garden was made just for you
Such a fool am I
I should

The Holly clots
with Christmas blood -
oozing from the wounds
of her own jagged

In raindrops falling curtain,
‘neath the bows of velvet trunk,
Lies in effervescent flush of

Let’s hear it for objects cast aside,
And ones that have lost their shine:
The silvered wood now

When gardening, I genuflect and pray
For ev’ry blessed seed to germinate
A ritual of compost,

Yes, In Bed Too !

We make love deep in a wood
quieting birdsong. In a hidden
corner of the

A guttural green sound in the wrecked garden.

Cough of spring earth
clearing its croaked winter

The garden is grinning with daffodils.

Yellow winks, stealth-gleams,
from pulled-tight green

Bumping home on random kerbs of air,
through summer’s glutted, cloying light,
glistening, sticky

A dark, cold June day,
With drizzle and more.
Time to reminisce,
time to do some

Someone threw the sun so high
It hung above impossibly long

The weeds climbed on each other’s

Always searching for ET,
worrying, counting hours,
praying for her safe return...
A cool cat

Green Fingers -- Quiet mind.

The clamour of competing thoughts
jostling in my head subsides

Spring beckons

Dusk, fading daylight

Trees and leaves, vibrant with life

A choir of