Happy National Poetry Day!

The air
rich, raw
ripe

leaves my cheeks
red, rosy
plump.

Like the apples
adorning every tree,
nothing says autumn more
than an orchard of Bramleys

hanging there, seductively,
crying out to be picked
waiting to fall
into a cupped hand
or open mouth. . .

The amount of times I scrumped
during my childhood,
no wonder my hands are so deft
at picking for a living now.

The smell wafts, lingering
teasing the senses
tastebuds going crazy,
one bite
just one. . .

I lose all sense of control
crunching crisp skin, then
juicy, succulent flesh,

Nature has never tasted
so good,
life has never been
so sweet.

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Homeland

Hello my friend;
it’s been too long. . .

like I’ve been holding my breath underwater
and am breathing
for the first time.

I’ve changed
but
you haven’t,

still as Peter Pan like
as ever.

Bare
barren
beautiful,

emerald green land
garnished with rocks.

Clouds above as granite grey
as the tors beneath them
a witches’ cauldron; spitting

hissing,
bubbling, angrily

until it erupts
with summer rain
warm, wet
wild

hurling from the sky
as if thrown by thunder himself.

The whole landscape shudders
expecting the sudden monsoon
over as quickly as it started;
tussocks and hills shaking their backs
like wet dogs.

Imagine pixies frolicking
amongst cotton grass,
a carpet of snow
warning of peaty bogs.

They ride sheep, jinxing them
so they stand, obstinately
in the middle of roads
just as cars want to pass.

Stubbornly standing
reproachfully staring, fixedly
with greasy grey eyes.

Lichen and moss on gnarled branches
trees stunted growth,
their only weapon to the relentless
howling wind

habit dwarf and wizened
like the hunched backs of wizards
frozen in a natural form.

This is where my heart starts
and will stop

who knows where it will lie in between. . .

There’s satisfaction in knowing
the unknown,

and seeing beauty
in the familiar,

it’s the glory
of my homeland.