Harvests

Harvest; fields peppered with corn blocks -

golden lego with black plastic roofs.

Wheat wheels in haphazard abandonment,

like bodies on a battlefield

awaiting the medics,

fork trucked tractor ambulances on their way.

Harvest; the return of a trawler;

its newly ploughed catch

a mixture of wheat and tares –

wheat for the fish factory,

tares for the gulls.

Harvest; the sigh of completion

as days shorten and the whisper of frosts

begin to welcome the days.

Harvest; the first imprint of unread book

delivered by midwife postmen –

what colour do we decorate the nursery ?

Blue for a novel, pink for poetry,

red for a murder.

Harvest; the bright sound of music

reaped from hours tending staves

feeding crotchets and weeding stray notes.

Harvest; the smile of a child

conquering the encounter with gravity

on the first successful bike ride,

“Look mum, no blood”.

Harvest; the catching of breath

at the end of a ‘never-again’ marathon

or the summit of steep steps

against the flow of the early Autumn rain.

Harvest: a walk into heaven

after a visit to calvary.