A Shropshire Summer Poem

Here is another poem from my steadily growing Shopshire material.

This one is rather more cheerful than  'High blue air' featured in my last blog. It is based on fond childhood memories of one of my favourite bird watching haunts near the little Hamlet of Rushmore in the parish of Wrockwardine.
It was a place where I could regularly watch kingfishers and still, for me, any day is a good day if I've caught a glimpse of  these bejewelled marvels.

I'm also working on a compilation of my illustrated animal poems to release as a hard copy paperback so I will keep you informed on that score too.

If you are feeling cold take heart -  'Sumer is icumen in' (The Cuckoo Song, circa AD.1260)

The Dazzling Brook

All along the dazzling brook

The velvet bullrush forests high

Where willow veils and twisted crook

Are heaven wrought on earth and sky.

The Emperor unfurls his wings

And with the courtly damselfly

Pavanes above the mayfly rings

Where dappled trout keep watchful eye.

The listless breezes laced with scent

Of may and honeysuckle sweet,

Strike the scene of spring now spent

To lay the summer at my feet.

Marsh marigold (a thousand suns)

Warm the Heron's patient feet

That tip-toe where the crayfish runs

And beetle boatmen take their seat.

Tufted ducks in centric flight

Divert the launch of startled rail

While Jays with sleeves of sky blue bright

Rob thrushes of their lunchtime snail.

The circumscribing whirligigs

Go giddy in the glimmer-glare.

Great crested grebe's fine periwig

Resists the flow of noiseless air

But now here speeds the brightest star,

A meteor of sparking blue

That flashes through the culvert bar

To clasp the Alder, wet with dew.

Fishgig poised with focused gaze

Upon the scintillating fry,

Held ready on this best of days

To dive and spear before my eyes.

All along the dazzling brook,

Are denizens bejewelled and fair,

The pages of a secret book,

Illuminated, rich and rare.

By the way, if you like this illustration it is in fact composed of various elements from my card craft cd series  available from Card Hut (see the link on my website)www.markbardsleyillustration.co.uk

Poetry on Shropshire

A Shropshire Child.

While things have calmed down a bit and feet are being warmed by fires I have been writing poetry about Shropshire where almost all of my schooling took place.

Initially inspired by a fresh look at Alfred Housman's iconic work 'A Shropshire lad', I decided that it was time to write seriously about this fascinating county where, to be fair, I spent far more time than Housman did ( he was in fact reared in Worcestershire and rarely set foot in Shropshire).

Only 16 of the 63 Housman poems in 'A Shropshire lad' actually reference Shropshire and only 15 specific Shropshire locations are referenced in total - that's less than the amount in one of my Shropshire poems!

The problem and dare I say, disappointment for me and possibly many other readers is that, rather than being a series of odes to Shropshire, the collection is rather introspective and melancholy and has very little to say about the County itself.

My self appointed challenge then, is to write 63 poems (I was born in 1963) all of which reference or are inspired by my relationship with Shropshire, its landscape, life and history.

Here then, is a first taste of that effort. Humour tends to be my area but I am thoroughly enjoying writing something a little more weighty. I haven't decided how I might publish this material yet but let me know if you are interested or would like to pass any comment.

The high blue air

Give me days in the high blue air

Where the tide of care recedes,

Where my feet stand firm on solid ground

And my heart no longer bleeds.

Let me lie on a counterpane

Of scented mountain green,

To follow the lark's ascending flight

And see the things unseen.

Catch me when I fall to earth

In the honeyed heather soft,

Where the swifts and martins multiply

Like arrows hurled aloft.

Where whistling swallows dart and dive

At the mayfly's fractured light,

Let me lie and sink in deep

Till the fall of velvet night.

Give me days in the high blue air

When the hovering hawk is near,

High in Shropshire's verdant hills

For I know my heart lies here.

Copyright; Mark Bardsley