The stubble fields
- jeffpoet
- Apr 7
- 1 min read
Updated: Apr 8
The stubble fields
are a pen and wash in early morning light.
Distant wild bamboo crosshatch pale sun
sown with frost
the fields stretch wide and white.
Old wire and fallen posts a fence undone
a wedge of pigeons
finds something here to peck
amongst small stone and stalk
a sorry crop.
A rabbit twitches in the dawn’s cold pick
and down the contour of hill hot stink of fox.
Winter has its way with curve and line
the old geography of distance crossed
the fallow fall of ground leaves all behind
and yellow air is bleached with harvests lost.
The hours stitched with stillness cannot last
while hatless
the swinging silent day goes past.
These poems are from my new collection IN THE APRICOT DARKNESS (view the cover and contents below in my recent posts). They are now being published individually, daily under 'recent posts' on my blog and will be available shortly as an eBook that can be read online or downloaded for free.
Comments