Annual

(Twelve poems inspired by the seasons)

*

January

a weak unlikely forward wind 

sneers a growling bark 

at yuletide’s expiring frivolity

then scowls once more

to brusquely usher in

the new year’s hopes 

desires and fears

in this dour and clammy chill 

Janus with his ancient tethered 

clanking key, hesitates  

unsure which die to cast

then plays his hand

to scatter our fortunes 

without a blink

*

February

here comes my sublime beauty

Februa, she of icy breath

and eyes of amethyst

to once more pierce my heart

to snub my pure white devoted love

capricious erstwhile Valentine

cloaked in snow with winged feet

briefly still to catch my gaze

deigns me kiss her pearly ring

her only token a floral bed

shaken brusquely from her snowy cape

the violet and the primrose

and she is gone.

*

March

a fearsome battle looms

early, on this Martius Ide

Rhedam growls 

her wicked breath

a loud and stormy lion’s roar

that rips our throats, 

our eyes our sense

throughout these lengthened 

brittle diamond days

her sharpened glacial eyes

direct the icy phalanx down

to break yet another 

bent and battered foe

whom though defeated, stricken 

lain on harsh scrubbed sodden grass,

is welcome neighbour 

to the new-born lamb

*

April

sweetly oaked shadows

beneath the silvered wooden lych

waits a fool, for his sweetheart

solemnly he holds a daisy chain

but with eyes closed tight

thinks only of the sweet pea flower

next year’s ghosts scurry past

to say prayers this St Mark’s Eve

plump raindrops black the gravel schist

to play a hapless sombre tune

to mourn the absent bride

impassive, waits the fool

*

May

this crushing heavy ache 

these long, long sleepless nights,

when all around is hawthorn bloom 

lilies and the nightingale

why must I choose, why? 

between two such perfect maidens 

that come to me 

this misty morning

Maia, decked-fair in apple white 

long woven tresses kiss 

the dewy emerald lawns

whilst cherry pink 

among the birch’s silver bark

rides Bona Dea upon her 

vibrant hobbyhorse.

both come to dance the garland round

blossom-laden heavy, lightly tripped

around the virgin’s pole 

a ribbon romance,

to stir the poet thus

why must I choose?

*

June

untended wayward tendrils 

a rampant honeysuckle

grazes peeling paint and dusts 

the window’s dullish frame

morning’s lark has long since flown

and two beauteous siblings

stretch to feel the early sun

Juno, Hera both akin 

lay prone in silks and pearls

around fat ripe berries

roses pink and birdsong

trilling on and on,

breathing life force 

through the flaming day

*

July

aging Leo sated and replete

dozes long 

in summer’s stifling torpid blaze

deafened by the silent din 

of clumsy crane flies 

that hop and clatter to safety 

on the waterlily landing pads.

fearless young Caesars play amok,

between a stand of lifeless silent oaks

the only melody a swish 

throughout the knee-deep 

larkspur’s purple ruby bloom.

*

August

and so, we rest and guiltily take our ease

amongst the buttered yellow corn, 

a’feared that listless haughty August

may stir from smouldering embers 

to catch us naked in its swathe

like blinded furtive lovers 

lying hot and damp, 

amongst the signal poppy crop 

seduced, we roll to face the pastel sky 

and shade our eyes

aware somewhere the reaping has begun

*

September

the harvest barley stands in crooked stooks,

impatient Vulcan waits 

and stokes his fiery forge

hark, Goose Fair time approaches fast

excited children fight with conkers 

eat the blackberries

under heavy sapphire skies 

young schoolgirls dance

corn dollies jiggling from their belts

asters bloom, seven becomes nine

and without a care the stubble burns

*

October

a grey dust bloom 

coats plump blue sloes

badgers sniff the damp 

turn and go

nature’s balance 

paints leaves to russet gold

swallows, swifts and starlings 

fly to their fold

small children tease folk 

with flickering punky flames,

now harvest’s in there’s 

apple-bobbing games

new wine, tumultuous 

gurgles in the cask

new babies cry out loud 

as if to ask

opalescent lazy cloudless afternoon 

ushers out a waning sun 

eager to greet an early moon

with tacky hands deeply-stained 

with blackberry blood

we turn for home  

relishing our hedgerow food

*

November

a glum, doleful moon alone 

only witness to such dreadful tragedy 

spies intently on deadly Scorpius 

chaperone to the winter’s chilling breath

who, dragging slain Orion’s bloody cloak

sweeps the crackling bronze-crisped leaves

like autumn’s janitor

on this night all souls are blessed

this bloody month, this killing time,

mischievous night

a fragile armistice befalls us 

with our good clean ale

and hopper cakes

astride our blinkered hobbyhorses

tonight, all are hallowed

*

December

summer’s long passed

vivid apple greens

silks and limes

now fade as thin as memories

so too autumn’s leafy bottled sage 

damp underfoot no longer laugh

or cackle beneath 

our heavy dancing boots

sodden maroons camouflage 

the squirrel’s rummage

magpies chatter mockingly

tenors in the portent’s hiss 

from the bitter north

mistletoe pearls await their hour 

above the Yule log’s flame

in darkened corners 

dormant eyes peer drowsily

to bid the failing year farewell