Sprng Fever

With all the #spring #poetry around it was perhaps inevitable that I caught the bug.

Much like spring my efforts started small...

Yellow crocus
purple crocus
Lambert and Butler
white crocus.

Got  little bigger.... in the fashion of zen minimalism....

The crocus
the shadow of it's bulb.

Before finally this morning I shot my bolt and filled the air with my risen sap...

 Come Leaves Burst
Trait o'er sun breaks the dale.
Frost's house glows, cream egg
polished tooth, candle mass, whey

over trees. The stamen daisy
windows direct, connect, stripe
the barwaken sky dripping

rainbow strait watercolour
melting snow blue. Cold, rapt,
enwrapped cold, old night pulls

the Queen, who names the vale,
to heave all winter's rain,
hooked, eyed, crochet quavered

gown; frock coated vain veil
virgin rolling, rolling, retreating
up and aft, to the river.

I am sure people in Booths must have thought I was mad, standing in front of the Baxters soup, right hand beating out the meter as I struggled through the fog to find the apt expression to match the the chill misty air,

But no matter.

Cue random picture to bedeck the facebooks....