Moving Stones (By Paul Holland – Again)

Five hares on a morning field

Five ways to wake early

To glorious sunshine.

Spring’s clocks springing forward

Bringing me stumbling out early across the yard

My myopic squintings

Saluting the sun.

To be

Startled at the springing forward of the hares,

At their desperate hurtling away

And them disappearing into the back bog.

From where I was never to see them again.

Binoculars squinting serving only to point out

‘..the difference between a Hare

And a rock in a field?

If you see it move it’s a rock’.

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My Fingers Are Stiff And Sore With The Cold – By Paul Holland

My fingers are stiff and sore with the cold
There are no smells from the pines
The winter sun shining through
Carries thoughts of warmth
The resins not warmed enough to ooze
I’d have to carry this pack much further south for such heat now
My shoulders hurt.
My poor fingers
Better get on
Winter brrr…

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Rain Clouds – By Paul Holland

The hills are the spine of the world

The clouds bumping together in their haste to find the valley’s spillway millrace.

Now only their spine’s mark

All that’s visible in the rain clouds advance.

Below the village pushes up the umbrellas

Maybe shivers

As those hills disappear away again.

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A Snowline of Yellow Furze (By Paul Holland)

I’ve given up the shore for Hills

These Hills

At twilight the Lough glows yet red

Clutching the last of the Sun

I’ve given up The Shore for these hills

Hills yellow with furze

Coconut smelling

And birdsong trilling out

Below ribbons of streetlights

Show colour, a friendlier yellow

It’s the mounds that have it tho’

Dusky mounds of fecund blossom

Falling away making this

Spring’s snowline of bushes

Broad brushstrokes

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Moving Stones (By Paul Holland)

Five hares on a morning field

Five ways to wake early

To glorious sunshine.

Spring’s clocks springing forward

Bringing me stumbling out early across the yard

My myopic squintings

Saluting the sun.

To be

Startled at the springing forward of the hares,

At their desperate hurtling away

And them disappearing into the back bog.

From where I was never to see them again.

Binoculars squinting serving only to point out

‘..the difference between a Hare

And a rock in a field?

If you see it move it’s a rock’.

Read Full Post »