New Wildflower Meadow


Air trails its fingers through the surface

brushing waves of shade and stripes of light.

Grass is elastic in the way it sways.


Paintbox splashes mixed into the green

without blending; cornflowers chips of sky,

sun in the marigold, moon in the ox-eye daisy:


‘Where to find the ox-eye daisy:

Roadside verges, meadows and waste ground’

so we limit pure lives to poor scraps of earth


to be coated in car grime or to wait in hope

that developers may delay another month;

time while the bees feed, time to set seed,


we reap the harvest of our values now,

no butterflies this year, no harvest mouse,

no joy. Our children live in caves.


New meadow sown is our apology, our promise

to do better. It will grow a million habitats.

Forgiving spirits, let daisies seed our hope.



1 Comment

  1. I was reading Gillan Clarke’s The Painter this morning
    some shades within this meadow poem
    inspiring – particularly like the final 3 lines
    I also like the form 6×3 very much
    Thank you Lyn another most welcome highlight of this beautiful sunny cornish day

    Liked by 1 person

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