Sitting, Watching

Turbulent river, fast flowing,
Eddy bubbling, circling,
Broken trunks floating,
Ducks and Drakes courting,
Sun shining,
Wind blustering,
Clouds scurrying,
Tall trees swaying,
Willows weeping,
The Hope and Anchor calling,
Tea brewing,
Ah!  A lovely cuppa for supping,
What a lovely scene to be viewing.
Ross-on-Wye, stunning.

Written by Kris Prevel - April 2013

No Green in the Forest of Dean

Spring, Spring, wherefore art thou Spring?

Here they are then!
Trees, all different, all sentinel,
Of a forest full of life unseen,
Unless you scrutinise the scene.

Larch is struggling to wear green,
Beaten only by willows tearfully weeping.
Everything else is bare, naked and easily seen,
Waiting for Spring, is it around the corner, peeping?

The noisy whisperings of pines run through the canopy,
As if there's some sort of conspiracy,
Swishing their heads together, they seem to agree -
Spring must have forgotten the neighbouring trees.

Yew and Holly surround the dell,
Where wild boar uprooted bulbs of bluebell,
The pond is full of toads frantically spawning,
No attention is paid to Heron watching.

Walking slowly now, deer in the clearing,
I stand still and watch them,
I see one reciprocating,
They are fleet of foot and dart for cover,
And I'm left in awesome wonder.

Rabbit diving into warren,
Squirrel running to it's drey,
Song birds flying into thickets,
While raptor circles, how wicked.

If time enough you have to bide,
Watch Mandarin ducks which now reside
Alongside Swan and Goose, Moorhen and Coot,
Enough birds - for a twitcher's pursuit.

Lambs are born into cold and snow,
Birds sing loudly against the windy blow,
There's no cover for nests,
No warmth for eggs to hatch,
No weather for a clutch.

Rumours of a big Black Cat stalking,
In this vast forest of venison as prey,
How sinister, wild and intriguing,
Thank God I didn't come across him this day.

Cold, scarf and hat adorn me,
Whilst I draw my coat about me.

Strangely irritated by the lack of green,
My demeanour is one of slightly flattened esteem,
I shouldn't feel like this, I can't intervene,
Lots of other things I've seen, made me beam.

Spring, Spring, wherefore art thou Spring?

Written by Kris Prevel - April 2013

Walking through the Park for a breath of fresh air,
The trees are still bare.
Spring season is late breaking,
But the trees will slowly awaken.
Their buds will explode from their chambers of slumber,
And a profusion of green will hit the scene.
Perhaps this year, there'll even be fruit on the Medlar!
Dewdrops will make the leaves gleam.
Everywhere you'll look,
Spring will clear away that which winter took.
Colourful flowers in a drift
Such as Crocus and snowdrops
Will help the spirit lift.
They look wonderful in the copse;  but today,
My thoughts are of Spring and warmer days,
Hopefully to be followed by Summer's blistering heat haze.

by Kris Prevel
April 2013