honeysuckle

Poetry Day – 4 of my poems

Pipistrelles
In the uncertainty of dusk
pipistrelles gather invisible sound
picking up echoes of warmth
from old stone walls
winding in the whirr
of insects’ wings
darting closer
in faltering light
weaving me into their loom
of silence –
netting thoughts.

I hear my daughter indoors
practising her scales,
notes swooping
dipping –

roosting even now
in my mind
undisturbed by time.

Chalk Ghost
Chalk ghost on the windowpane –
a barn owl drawn by its own reflection
flew into the moonlit glass last night,
left its outline etched in flight dust.

Swooping Narcissus-like
on its rippling image
left the imprint of each feather –
whirlpools of dust for eyes,
emptiness where the beak should be.
How the glass must have screeched
when the talons flexed.
closing on that wraith-like prey.

published by Poetry Wales

Written in Chalk
Beneath this swaying field of flax
a sea bed swarms with coiled creatures
tiny ammonites
cochlea echoing with Jurassic surf,
snails curling round pebbles
imprinted with the cicatrice
of fallen petals.

Below the keel of plough
fossil fish spawn in salt-white sponge
swim through ancient coral
brittle as bone.

When the moon brims over Knowle Hill
a tide still turns beneath the earth.
Moths move in shoals
through scented waves.

Close layers lie undisturbed –
memory written in chalk.

September
This evening
picking beans after a thunder shower,
shed blossoms cling like drab insects
to my fingers.
Late sun, yellow as pumpkin flowers.

Now, with my colander
by the open kitchen door,
the sun makes a square on the red lino.
Outside hens peck at shreds of light.

Soon bats will draw down the dark,
But I’ll leave the door open,
breathe in the honeysuckle air
while moths circle the lampshade
dizzy from touching the moon.

published by Poetry Wales

Poetry by Jennifer Hunt (copyright applies)
Photo by Brian L Hunt

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Fragments from a notebook

A busy rainless week with glimpses of the natural world from car windows and between social activities – moments like static photos among the hectic movements of an old film.

  •  A huge Meccano-like dragonfly whirring in to land on a bent reed – all angles and joints
  •  The electric blue of damsel flies – migraine flashes in the corner of your eye.
  •  A pond skater making walking-on-water look easy.
  •  A grey heron, so still it could have been a fibreglass decoy – statuesque among the bulrushes, prehistoric, in a time lapse of its own, fused to its reflection.
  •  A tiny newt stubbing fiercely at my finger, unexpectedly strong.
  •  A comma butterfly appliquéd to a path.
  •  A large spider in the attic window – I left him well alone.
  •  Clippings of sage, parsley and lavender – pungently drying in the sun.
  •  Young sparrows chattering incessantly in the bushes.
  •  A green woodpecker on grass in the glow of a red sunset.
  •  House martins spinning high in the evening air.
  •  The smell of sunburnt grass, honeysuckle and warm tarmac while walking home at 11pm.
  •  A full moon drenching the village in liquid light that flowed everywhere.