Tag Archives: earth

The Lesson

Our heaving lungs suck the air as we climb.

Higher, higher.

Aching legs and numb feet scramble over boulders and broken branches.

Rain, wind, and a glimmer of sun. A distant mist descending

from the sullen sky onto the earth, erasing a castle, a monument

a city.

Leaves shake violently in the cutting wind. Noise.

Squelching mud, snapping twigs,

unnatural sound, we create it.

On the cliff top, the landscape is our canvas.

Acorns and chestnuts, branches and stones, litter the floor

like a countryside collage  hung on a  classroom wall. Winters decay.

Carcasses of cream coloured leaves, consumed by insects, lie randomly

forming delicate lace arrangements.

Brown mud, brown leaves, brown bark, paint the backdrop

of a multi coloured woodland.

Green moss on a broken wall,

orange, yellow and grey foliage A tiny shoot, pushes through the earth.

Layers of  life on death, death on life. The liberty of nature.

Nature is shrinking, the colours rinsed out by

buildings, roads, litter, wire fences

hemming in the farmers cows

hemming in history.

Humanity’s smell is pungent,

food and  people

people and food.

Through the wind, a distant drilling is heard.

©Eilidh G Clark

Dead Summer

The following poem was published in The Write Angle Magazine, please check out some of their work on Blogspot .

 

Sheets of amber mist sweep into the woods

and trees,  burst like fireworks

red, orange, yellow and green –

flames against a charcoal sketch of the Trossach’s;

A jaggy cardboard silhouette cut out of a 1950’s film set.

 

Leaves peel from  sodden branches and rock-

A leg and a wing, to see the king, and land beneath

The soles of my Wellington boots,

which mix  the mulchy bracken, into the earth –

a cold casserole of dead summer.

 

The hill is a graveyard.

Thistle corpses are crispy baskets filled with fur, saluting.

Bramble bushes cower like woven nets clutching

Sleeping life. And autumn,

shoots freezing jets into the humid air,

before they rest in basins, waiting.

 

I feel them rise and creep into my hair as I descend

into the valley.

 

My feet kick up a swirling cloud that hovers

over grass. Snapping twigs rudely interrupt

a tap dancing gull,

it hops sideways over a flattened mole hill

which is waving a barbecue Hula Hoop flag.

 

I pause

The ghost of summer wraps around my neck like a feather boa.

©Eilidh G Clark