my herbaceous border of poems, XII (’19) ‘as time slips . . . ‘

planting out another favourite poem, this from last year:

as time slips i sip the hours
suntime nonsense flower
dreamer amidst woody bowers
weekend woman springing out
feeling her breathy path by breeze
toward sun stance
hip swung nonchalance
among happiness in bluebells


i, not quite, of the bluebells
increasingly away with the flowers
giddy, sing-song, gone wrong
gossamer rhyme blossom
coming alive

not so much singer as song
not so much goer as gone

waiter upon bees
turning to be

cowslip, daff
meadow sweet

flowering at last
a rose, as if

A. H (1st April 2019)

Previously published in The Beaumont magazine and by Survivors’ Poetry’s Poetry Express newsletter.

A walk near where I was living, the clocks had changed, the woods, the light, Spring . . .

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on

One Comment Add yours

  1. Toni says:

    Reblogged this on a blind catch in the sun and commented:

    reblogged for the change to summer time and losing an hours sleep . . . summer time . . .


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