In front of my eyesYet shielding the sight Or tangible grasp Grasping the penLike holding a joystick Scrambled words spill onto A wobbly page Of incomplete line.His hand hides the viewInk stains the whiteWhat won’t he show? His thoughts,though deepEdited through speechDeliberate for effectTries to impressComplex but incomplete.Hidden agenda A gamer’s worldOf stories and actionAnContinue reading “Hidden Writing of a Ten – Year – Old”
Author Archives: ruthpartridge
Earth Day – One Gift for All
The Earth has a pulse We are connected to itThis is our song
Spring Contrasts
Pocketed by the glove of fogThe day slips into a world of whiteWhere even the birdsAre silentAnd remain unseen.There’s a pointedness In the roughened fingers of windThat wrap around the western walls Causing slender branches to danceBeneath the misted pane.The old roof nods to the windPassing throughSlates rattle and timbers shiftRain coursesThe ground,a sodden carpetOfContinue reading “Spring Contrasts”
Songs in the Night
The radiance of day slips into the Shadow of nightTunes carry over the still air From the barn on the hill Where spangled lightsInterchange Through the gap in the treesEtched blackOn the fringe of the woodWhich steals the breathOf the wind And carries the songIn my heart.
In the Garden- beneath our Feet
Hewn by worm castsAnd labouring forkSifted through the gardener’s hand The dampness lingers under ancient fernsYet to be unfurled;A primeval world ofSweet fungal sporesConnected to the dawn of timeOf process and precisionAnd small detail;Tiny seedlings pushing throughLifting crumbs and flakes of barkand stonesInconspicuousBut with power to change;Drawn from darkness To a world of light;A gentlenessWhereContinue reading “In the Garden- beneath our Feet”
Plum Tree Among the Skyscrapers
Simon Armitage is the new Poet Laureate and I love his poem to welcome Spring. By Simon Armitage
Through the Window
Transient the grainy grey of Morning Slips unnoticed into view Shrillness carried on the ribbon of birdsongCuts through the grey bluish hue.Dense the mist in blanket formA shrouded cover to cloak the sodA distant measure all but hiddenEtched fingers of branches held aloft.
From the Forest Floor
Drawn on whispered breath Of windThe scent of pineOn upturned branchesCaressed by The sentimentOf a winter sunChanneling the Powder blueFunnel of sky.Spent leaves of AutumnSpun into Drifts ofGold carpetCrunchUnder soft feetStartling a wood pigeonBreaking the spell. When we escape the wind, mist and rain that we’ve had all day and venture North East 30 minsContinue reading “From the Forest Floor”
February Mist
When fog hangs over us , as so often it does on the 300 ft contour , why are we always surprised to find a different day as we drop down into the valley? Entrenched, enshroudedIn mist so thick The sun,obscured devoid of lightDarkened boughs hang lowUnder the rain -filled cloudLanes stain redAs mud leachesAndContinue reading “February Mist”
A World in Glass Houses – memory
They saw him coming, they did. Crunching through snow ,up the path to the front porch, the knock deliberate and hard. It was the first time a policemen had called. He was tall and direct:his presence accentuated by his helmet,which he did not remove. A truncheon hung low from his belt. The father looked concerned.TheContinue reading “A World in Glass Houses – memory”
Ruth Partridge 