Category Archives: Nature

Light?

Not quite day but

not yet night

light uncertainly

parses grey

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Winter in Suburbia

Past, present, future commingle in this

uncertain weather, dull at dawn,

spats of rain like chaffinches in the bush,

there one moment, gone the next, wind

waking dead weeds, the

threat of snow without the

glee of children, late and

unexpected sunset, startling stars,

silence approaching midnight as the

dryer switches off,

static making sheets

dance like spectres.

Resolution

The old year resolves into

endless rain

washing it away and

draining quickly through our

chalk to hopefully

fill our aquifers our reservoirs our

ballast and keep us

buoyant on choppy seas as a

New Year again tests our

resolve.

Silent Day

That there were no birds on this

Christmas Day was strange enough—

no roving bands of coal-tits

committing rapine on my plants; no

robins with their proud strut; no

blackbirds with their

profound sense of ownership; no

starlings mobbing up then

splitting to squatter noisily;

no rooks or crows; no

libidinous pigeons pouting on

rooftops; merely a few

far-away gulls

skriving the swift wind—but

what was strangest was the

immense silence.

Cleaning

Summer leaves stains

Autumn must cleanse before

Winter’s torpor.

Near Midnight

Near midnight I heard geese honking

though there were no ponds nearby.

 

Migration was in the air but

would they set off at night?

 

I scanned the sky for some

occlusion of the Moon and stars but

 

saw nothing, though their cry

called me to find and follow them.

Anaesthesia

We so anaesthetize dying that

family and friends may as well be at a

pre-Funeral, unable to touch and

talk, reminisce and laugh through

what might be pain but may

also be love’s last kiss,

abolishing last words

famous or not.

Porosity

Most of us are porous,

emotions seeping slowly through to

leave us dry again, though

some come through storms

soaked but only

seeming solid.

Funny Bones

I’d rather be buried whole so

some 26th Century archaeologist might

disinter my bones and make

wild assumptions about my

life from what’s left of my

DNA.

Bare Bone

However careful we are, some

bare bone adheres to our soles

after even a short walk,

unhousled by history,

truffled by burrowers,

powdered by time,

blown by breezes into the

bushes we brush by,

trodden into our carpets and

perhaps, depending on how

fastidious we are,

ending up in our

vacuum cleaners.

Milly Schmidt

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