Posted by Admin on 25 May 2006, 12:00 am
There was goose-talk behind the hedge,
and on a nearby hill a power-sander,
refurbishing against Nor-Westers,
proclaimed its worth with brash
intrusive sound.
Discarded acorns and pine-needles lay
underfoot, and rose-hips stippled a
warm pattern among changing greens.
Frantic-winged wild-fowl sought
cover in hazy and esoteric depths.
A chestnut fell.
Across adjacent fields a car’s roof
flashed its heliograph along an ancient
way – a route known to Phoenicians ere
the D-Day of Vespasian.
Farther on, a goat, benign in bondage,
chewed the grass within its circle, and
ponies, sensing empty pockets, turned
to me unsociable tails.
Beyond a farm, where ferns grew from
stone walls, and a dolphin vane was
doldrum-still, the view encompassed
the meeting of marsh and chill-blue
sea, and a lone yacht stoutly
pretending that the Solent’s calm
water yet reflected the cloud-drift
of an August day.
From The Hounds of Cridmore and Other Isle of Wight Poems, a book of Mr Hudson’s poetry with many illustrations by Heather Cobb.
An earlier version exists entitled “Autumn Afternoon” which differs slightly in the text. It is also transcribed in this section.
T. C. Hudson
© T. C. Hudson.
Village
Parish Council