Slimbridge

I am a member of the WWT,  and like to visit Slimbridge as often as I can,  sometimes with my grandkids who love wellyboot land and the wigwams,  and sometimes with my husband when we walk and sit in the hides.  A couple of weeks ago I noted down a few notes about the sights and sounds we experienced as we sat quiet and still in one of the hides. 

Dried reeds rustle, part,  
Revealing sepia river ripple.
Brash goose-clamour competes against
The dual tone hoot of a distant train. 
Curling curlew cries rise spiralling,
Mingling with the willows
Weaving patterns in the sky. 


© Copyright 2021. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Directions

Day 30:  write a poem in the form of a series of directions describing how a person should get to a particular place. It could be a real place, like your local park, or an imaginary or unreal place.  There's an old joke about someone asking directions,  and being told "I wouldn't start from here." But that's the only place you can start, whether it's a real journey,  or your journey through life.    To get to where you want to be Start from where you are.  Take the first step,  then - most important - Keep going in your chosen direction.  Take along your close companions If you're worried they'll be left behind;  Trust you will meet new friends In unexpected places. You may get lost along the way,  Blundering your way back on track After several false starts Before you find your destination.  You may choose to stop, distracted By the bright lights of interesting diversions. Take time to decide if you need to back track Or if th...
Read more

A Life Lived Well

Another friend has passed away, and will be dearly missed. Yesterday our book group honoured her memory by attending her funeral,  and spending time back at her house amongst her family and friends.  I always find it odd that we find out more about a person's life after they've died than is ever shared while we think we know them.  Our quiet friend, of firm opinions softly spoken, Will never again welcome us into her home,  To discuss her choice of book, relish her homemade cakes, To admire her eclectic collection of postcards on the loo wall, To envy her stream-fed pond, her rambling cottage garden.  Instead, her family warmly welcomes us in, The house humming with tales from those who knew her well,  Who somehow know us: our names, reputations, book choices, Our faces smiling out from frames set among family photos; All of us sharing stories of her love of nature, books, travels, All of us honouring this steadfast, self-effacing woman, Between us cherishi...
Read more

The unhappy bride

Inspiration from unexpected sources - The Unhappy Bride You can often be inspired by seeing something unexpected,  out of the norm. In this case it was a series of photographs taken of a woman wearing a bridal gown standing outside a locked church, walking by a river,  and finally wallowing in the mud,  ruining her dress.  It made me wonder about her back story, and i came up with this poem,  written in a ballad form reminiscent of the days when I used to go to a folk club.  The ballad form is written in verses of 4 lines,  with 8 syllables in lines 1 and 3, 7 syllables in lines 2 and 4, and a rhyme scheme of abab. The girl is young,  she meets a man Who tells her that he loves her They meet at night,  whene'er they can He soon becomes her lover. Oh sailor boy,  stay by my side Don't leave me here to moulder Please say that I can be your bride Before the moon gets older. The man agrees,  to keep her sweet, Meaning jus...
Read more