Letters to garden makers

Dear Monty, Today I was saved by the trees - colour, detail, sun and scent Heaven sent Yet in the midst of it - quiet burning How can a man rescue himself ? The gold, yellow, copper The oranges and the reds The crisp leaves underfoot The crystal cold water And yet even being rescued by these - anger still rises I am a profane man The drive home from the park Highlights this heart was formed in the dark Too slow for some too fast for others I cave in to the anger displayed through a car window From peace and joy to a furnace as red as the leaves Shamed, I sit in the garden A flock of crows like flying black rags blown by the wind Flap below the poplar I watch the light and find salvation in it Even for a man like me. Paul.

 Dear Monty, Holidays give time for reflection - here are three illustrated poems inspired by the town of Newport Pembrokeshire. 1. Begotten Today have I begotten you The child feeding the pony an apple over the stile The sun weakly shining over the sea The smile The food and wine shared in a stone cottage above that sea And below the hill of angels. He became a little lower than the angels Today have I begotten you The sun The earth The moon The tide When does it end - This ever learning and never understanding ? When do we rest from our labours or cease from our endless fight ? 2. Bright water Geese flocks noisily feeding Haunting the estuary with their sound Stones stand Norman walls Ancient church These walls have stood for longer than the flesh and blood that built them Perhaps this is why there is desperation and frustration for us mortals who rage To see the pace at which we age The power that once drove us to unite Now ...

Dear Monty, I am cold in throat and bones. Weak sun The garden Italianate in its appearance cheers me Then as if by some mystical communication A post-card from Siena Piazza del Campo From Charles Hawes In another strange parallel He has a cold And the weather breaks I'm looking at winter bones Through thinning leaves - Each season gives generously I'm not melancholy.         Paul