As summer draws to an end, the poems I have written and put on this blog as my week’s poem are all gathered under the section on Places we love, the link to ‘Denmark’. It has definitely been a summer devoted to family and nature. At our home in Amtoft I felt totally welcomed home by family and by the nature of the place. After a few weeks there circumstances forced a move to Fyn. Here we stayed in a lovely summer house by the sea; going for runs and walks and bike rides, and the occasional dip in the icy water. It has been wonderful, and best of all has been the nearby forest where Torben and I have spent many happy hours walking and exploring. Although we have lived for years near some of Africa’s mightiest game parks, the sight of a deer silently watching us as we walk in the forest is still a thing to inspire awe.

It’s those woods again…

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Forest poem

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I claim this hour for poetry,

those whispered words of tyranny.

The glade enclosing sun and breeze

while wind is tearing at high trees.

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I claim these woods for poetry,

the quiet sounds of mystery.

A word that will not let you rest,

a hatchling falling from the nest.

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You come across them trembling still,

sharp gazes held by force of will.

A flicker at the edge of thinking,

sweet phrase with shadows interlinking.

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Beneath the forests streams of light

 – quiet,

and then sudden flight.

You tense, heart waiting, watching breath,

the earthy smell of life and death.

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The intertwining mysteries of words and states of mind

The thumping hooves, the hollow bark  – the roebuck and the hind

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This time and place for poetry,

the pleasure and the agony

A memory you won’t forget,

the solid and the silhouette

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I settle upstairs with my tea to the angry buzz of lawn mowers whipping grass into shape for autumn…

Inspired by a morning walk, in which I strayed into a forest near the summer house where we are staying.

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Forest

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No adjectives strong enough to describe

The shadow of a single leaf

On a single branch

On a tree

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No words to describe

The majesty

The eternity

The green

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To die here

 Rain washed remains

Absorbed by searching roots

No awe more awesome than that of forest

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Summer is moving towards its productive end in Denmark and the countryside is alive with harvest activity…

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End of summer

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I sense the end of summer

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the smell of spread pig shit on heavy air, the earthy odour of newly turned soil, the pitch of tractor engines labouring to pull ploughs,

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green fields turned gold, losing their sheen as monster-sized combine harvesters growl open-mouthed over hill after hill, a flurry of dusty activity, leaving clean shorn emptiness and straw

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tractors and bailers hurry behind, grain trailers filled, dryers rumbling, straw bailed, hay bundled,  landscape rumbling with the sound of heavy machines at work

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onto the cleared space flock wild geese, filling land and air with loud calls, wide wing-spans, noisy comings and goings

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the satisfactory weight of good grazing on the backs of cattle grown fat and wild and shaggy over long months on summer grass

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apples hang heavy on low bowing trees, gardens show their deepest greens and reds, buzzing with wasps and butterflies over dropped plums

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forests turn dark and broody, filled with the smell of fungi and the passing of seasons, moist soil hungry for leaves soon to fall

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sound of the wind leaning to autumn, tugging at dark resisting leaves still held back by stray strands of summer’s golden hair,

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end of lovely summer, the start of something new

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We had a day, just ourselves, were we explored a forest and a beach, and it was just perfect.

Love’s day

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A day when love lives

Surrounds, abounds

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path leads –

sun shines –

birds chatter –

rain sparkles –

pebbles crunch –

wind plays –

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All is perfect –

In love

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The last week in Denmark has been windy, and no doubt the windmills have generated a lot of electricity… but on really windy days they seem frantic and powerless

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Windmills

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Foolish windmills wave frantic arms

Thinking to direct the wind

Bossily erect on green hills

Pointing and gesturing

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Wind laughs past

‘Play your games,’

Blows a gale

And sends them into a flurry

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I woke to a grey day, but on going out to investigate, I found it was silver

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Grey day

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Morning is silver

Gleaming heavens, silver seas

Silver droplets slice glistening sky

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Shivering puddles

Quenching rain on thirsty lands

Silver beads poised, rolling, falling

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Whispers of wind

Soft sparkle of receding dreams

Fresh promise shimmering

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On far horizon

Blue is rising

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It’s summer

It’s sun

It’s too hard to write…

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Collecting inspiration

absorbing information

Writing will come….

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After months living in the vast, throbbing, thriving metropolis of Dhaka, one of the most wonderful things about arriving home in Northern Denmark is the closeness of nature. Here nature is like a living breathing presence, anytime you have the time to look for her.

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Nature’s welcome

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Stepping out into clear golden morning

Elusive nature purges jetlagged dreams

She’s waiting: naked, open-faced and smiling

She leads down pebbled paths with dancing steps

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Tossing barley hair in invitation

She waves her trees and twitters in their leaves  

Murmuring in summer flavoured whispers

She tells a tale that swells my heart to tears

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In majesty and miniature she charms me

Sweet flowers deck her honey scented limbs

In endless views she shows me all her treasures

Her all embracing being, home again

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