The Bardic Chair!
Welcome one and all to the natural calling – won’t you kindly take your place,
Distant is the birdsong on the gentle breeze – where the Sun can stroke your face!
Breathing in the moment with a breath of peace – feeling it wash over your skin,
A primal urge beyond the heartbeat – of ancient drums – and you feel the flow within!
The sunlight dazzles hot – amongst the shadows – with a blend of shade and light,
The North Stone framed amidst the Silver Birch – on a morning shining bright!
Subtle highlights the corners with its sheltering crowns – a multitude of forms are there,
Mottled are the tapestries – with the fountains of Birch leaves – energy hangs in the air!
Dancing are the grasses – with the blow as it passes – with their swathes of too and fro,
With its ripples of harmony – sailing the tide – as the layers and textures come and go!
The rush of the movement sings a hypnotic melody – gentle and soothing and free,
Phrases and echoes exploring the rhythm of life – filling in the notes with its symphony!
Overwhelming the senses with the sights and the smells – humbly greeting a time honoured friend,
The Moon Garden shy’s – in its hidden guise – continuing the circle to where the Mock Orange end!
The Willows they wave – through the Hawthorn enclave – where the ditch it holds the stream,
Standing tall and fine – where their whips define – for enclosing the roundhouse a future dream!
The wander of the Robin – he rambles in silence – through the Crab Apple Tree in the hedge,
In and out of the Hawthorn and the tangle of vines – that borders the Grove at its Eastern edge!
The Swallows and House Martins performing their roundabouts – around and about the Trees,
Single Pigeons dissect their flightpaths with random journeys – with a purpose if you please!
The Stones ending Orchard Way to the West – peer from under the overgrowth of season’s reach,
The competing wildflowers – thistles and grasses – swaddle the Yew bed and the Elders each!
Crowded is the gangway of the Hawthorn hedge – that wraps like a ribbon of a loving gift,
Running round the boundary that encloses the Grove – where the orchard casts its drift!
The fruit trees exploring and maturing with age – swelling their bounty with the turning of time,
The Almonds and Hazel Nuts expanding their form – a solitary Greengage seeking its prime!
The Crocosmia red – in the Butterfly bed – with the Borage and Buddleia bathed in the Sun,
While the Rowans grow – their early berries show – forming in the green before the colours run!
The busy buzz of Bees – visiting the Foxglove flowers – the Dandelions – Buttercups and such,
Queuing in the margins at the Clover flowers – Small Whites and Brown Butterflies love so much!
Small Cinnabar Moths with their scarlet wings – flutter resplendent in the glow of the day,
The Grass Hopper jumps – as you wade through the clumps – to the south where the grasses lay!
There’s a Buzzard on the glide over the western tree-line – sweeping circles it heads our way,
Effortlessly soaring through the heat of the haze – where the thermals rise and the Buzzards play!
The House Martins return for a repeat performance – swooping in clusters over next doors pond,
Taking it in turns to rest – in the young dead tree to the South – before they meander on beyond!
There’s a Buzzard comes to go – persecuted by a Crow – to the East above the climbing hill,
Escorted to the bottom where the field meets the Grove – where the Crow retreats at random will!
With the Honeysuckle tamed of its rampant rove – where convenience looks up at the sky,
Compost corner is tidied – with the nettles felled – with the clearing of a path to walk on by!
With the stroll of contemplation greeting early eve – creation puts the flesh on the bones,
The weaving of sentiment paints a mental picture – with everything it owns!
There’s a final calling – giving in to thought’s submission – when emotion feels you care,
When comfort holds me captive with a web of words – in retiring to the Bardic Chair!