DRAWING TO A CLOSE
Nothing points more to summer

drawing to a close
than seed pods,

thistledown,

a lone, pink flower that’s done its dash,
bell-shaped with finality,

a rose bud
against concrete and brick,

hydrangeas
at the back of a shed,

an upturned wheelbarrow
of battered blue
and birds
eating the berries
and dropped plums.
~*~
THE OTHER SIDE
The inlet calling,

full tide,

cliff face,

ruff
of agapanthus, white

and blue,
stalking

the Vauxhall boat shed. Across the harbour,
closer than you think,
tall villas of ruddy brick
with wizard hat rooves
pointing nowhere.
~*~
LOOKING ACROSS

Looking across to the causeway
and a yellow car,

a blue car,

a red car,

and My Mate John’s van
going somewhere

unlike our son’s van, decommissioned,
as patient as Grey Friar’s Bobby,
as it sits under trees,
ready for the return of our son
with his wife and drei Kinder

back here

where today there was gold

under the rainbow.