I had been thinking about putting this poem on the site as it is the time of year for bluebells, a sort of seasonal contribution. Then what happens?
On the way in to work this morning a typical Radio Four item, about the struggle of the English bluebell to resist the Spanish strain, which is spreading through our woods. Not only that, but now there is a hybrid bluebell which can look like a bit of both!
This poem originated after a favourite walk around Blanchland in Northumberland. Now I find I could be writing a whole book of poems on the subject! Something to think about.
Here is the one I have written for now…..
Slender, spread across the riverbank
Your slim neck bows slightly.
A teasing darkness just below the surface,
You lean into the dappled sun.
Fragility shimmers in a wash of purple,
Delicate waves pulsate in the breeze.
Those Spanish girls are not for me,
Strutting with their firm thighs,
Bottoms held high,
Flaring out their skirts, flashing
In flamboyant gesticulation,
Forcing their way into front gardens!
Your subtle fragrance holds more allure
Than impostors such as these.