Emergence - a few more entries

, 22 April 2022
Emergence - a few more entries
Wood Anemone © Peter Brooks

We had so many entries for Emergence our creative nature writing anthology (130!), not every one made the cut - but we enjoyed reading them all.

Here are a few more you might enjoy...

Kerry Hindhaugh said Thank you for offering your free creative writing webinar. This is one of the pieces I started during that evening.

Roots

    There is a tree waiting to be attended to.

    It stands majestically on top of a wide space.

    I can connect only with the branches that I see.

    Hesitating I move forward to find a place,

    flailing myself around the wide tree trunk.

    The sky is blue, and the sun is shining

    between a few scattered clouds.

    The oak is wise with deep roots, ever present.

    When I touch the tree, the sky turns black.

    My eyes close in the moment.

    Next our spines meet and my back

    feels a strange energy that unites,

    my small particle being with this giant.

    This is history emerging.

    Lucy Foss sent First Flowers (For my daughters)

      You prepare the new soil, dig a square patch, An open window yet of unfed earth. With clutches of seeds in muddy hands, You scatter the dusty crumbs. And then, wait. Each day you inspect, peer in to detect Some keen green sign, a small deliverance. At first, weeds and grasses sneak an advance, Unwieldy, they stake an early claim. I watch you rush to see what’s new each day. Then one morning, pushing through quietly, Purple petaled faces scan for the light. Clearing the way, you let shoots breathe the sun. And so you find what it means to tend, Mothering each tiny revelation.

      Jackie Ashurst said This poem was written by my mother, Eva Ashurst, in 2005, then aged 71. She passed away a few months ago and will not see her beloved daffodils this Spring.

      Tight bunched daffodils,

      in a Sainsbury's bucket,

      two lots a pound.

      Poor sad things,

      Never to know the glory

      of coming out to sunlight,

      blowing wind and rain.

      I remember Ireland; our lawn,

      not golden like Wordsworth's,

      but yellow, yellow...

      flattened sometimes by the Atlantic wind,

      but bravely upright again

      each year with no planting.

      Generation after generation of them,

      gathered by my small hands

      to take to Mary’s Altar,

      and know in my child’s heart,

      that in all the acres of Heaven,

      She could have no better thing

      than a bunch of wind blown yellowness.

      Gina Pollard said I wrote a number of haiku poems about nature during last year’s lockdown, after daily walks in Friston Forest with my husband; I’m particularly fond of this one, as I love primroses!

      Primroses greet us;

        Palest yellow and rogue pink;

        Our hearts fill with joy.

        Lee Cornes said The first time that I saw a Silver-washed Fritillary, I was inspired to write a poem about such a beautiful butterfly. Keep up the good work!

        Silver-washed Fritillary

          Passing by, a marigold fire lit up a life.

          Burning bright the tigered light blinding, beyond reach of any understanding.

          Though determined are we to paint, put in words the mystery our Mother weaves around us.

          Let it be

          and revel in that rare of rarest things, beholding there in a state of grace,

          time stilled a mind quieted

          by brilliance shone, ‘til the jewelled life in a flaming instant flew on.

          John Hall loves Skylarks

          Spring to me is simply a song...the song of the Skylark. These small, but

          alarmingly pretty birds, rise above the fields near where I fish and mark the

          days with a song which fills me with a feeling which I can only describe as

          wonder.

          Now I could never be accused of being sentimental, but the song of a Skylark

          almost makes me weep, it is so beautiful, heart breaking and pure. I could

          listen to their song all day and it is a magic moment to see one as it flies

          above a wheat field, pouring out its song as it rises effortlessly into the

          sky and then flutters back down to earth. Thank you Skylark for making

          Spring so wonderful!

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          Comments

          • Richard:

            Lovely selection of poems

            22 Apr 2022 15:32:00

          • Sussex Wildlife Trust:

            Thank you for your comment