Tag: Poetry

Poetry: winter/spring haiku

Daniel Greenwood5 Comments

For those who aren’t aware, I am a self-published poet of very little renown, thank god. You can see more about that here.

I have a third booklet of poems which are not far off being ready but I’ve written very little in the past year. My pandemic mind has not helped me to write anything, or to read any poetry either.

That changed when I started reading the Penguin book of Haiku a few months ago. It definitely inspired me. I found the 5/7/5 syllable structure to be simple enough for my stay at home mind. That said, I don’t keep to strict rhyming systems anyway as I find that too restrictive most of the time.

I first learned about haiku when studying creative writing at university. It was great to get back into it again. Here is a selection:

Coronavirus,
once an ogre in the woods,
now walks among us

who predicted this?
a whole year of hidden life,
of feeding the cat

why has this happened
when we thought we knew it all
but we knew nothing

January days
never much light to be had
but the darkness fades

coffee-coloured mud
still holds panes of brittle ice
that break underfoot

the pond is frozen
wind moves the willow branches
listen: the ice cracks

bullfinch pink, perching,
it travels through the pine trees
the female follows

streaming over stone
the gill flows through the woodland
taking everything

primroses ready
to open flowers again
to mark the season

hairy-footed bees
cruising around the flowers
searching for a mate

peregrine falcon
passing over where I live
(thankful I’m human)

the headless pigeon:
nobody knows who killed it
or who took its head

a storm came at lunch
sudden whipping back of trees
raindrops splattered glass

face masks in gutters
did people mean to drop them?
one had shit on it

gulls cry from the roof
sparrowhawk sails overhead
followed by a crow

at dusk the wagtails
together on the rooftops
one by one they fly

when will it all end?
will there be a ringing bell
or will it change us

what if we are trapped
if this is our punishment
for taking too much

when will we hug our
mothers, fathers, our children,
when will it be safe?

oak trees black at dusk
clouds build on the horizon
the river flows on

a trespassing drone
seen off by a grey heron
both in silhouette

waiting on the news
you expect the worst of it
but the sun rises

© Daniel James Greenwood 2021

Poetry: Heavy metal orchids

Daniel Greenwood3 Comments

I’m in the process of editing a third booklet of poems. It takes me something like 2-4 years to get one finished because things need to be left to cool and develop, you need time away from it. I have a ghost document of poems that don’t quite fit in. This is one about a walk on the South Downs between Firle and Itford in June 2019.

I really thought this one would work with the collection, but something changed and it’s going free.

As I progress towards finishing the third booklet, I’ll post some more of those which won’t be in it. Definitely interested in your views on them.

Mount Caburn is an Iron Age hillfort (which is no longer there).

If you want to see more of my poems or buy yourself a booklet please head over here. 

Heavy metal orchids

 Barren Downs
 broken by sea
 tropical blue
 and the sinking hint
 of chalk reef
  
 Newhaven onion dome 
 and brown lagoon
 toy town train services
 honking on approach

 up here you all look like
 ants who have
 gained human traits
  
 a thirst for farming
 more than aphids
  
 up here skylarks translating 
 the silence of masts
 stood in muted alarm 

 heavy metal orchids
 so rare they’re padlocked
 in barbed wire cages
  
 at Lewes the ramparts
 of Mount Caburn 
 like a bowl cut 
 but you promised
 the reality was far 
 more blood-soaked
  
 Ouse water a
 concrete slow worm
 with seaweed on the side
 and rusting iron cranks
 crawling with a sea
 of red spider-mites
  
 hare barely 
 breaking barley
 her winging blues
 and tortoiseshells
  
 the wooden bridge
 where the crow
 begs a toll like a child 

© Daniel James Greenwood 2020

New poetry booklet: Sumptuous beasts

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I am very pleased to share with you my new poetry booklet, Sumptuous beasts.

This is my second collection of poems after I am living with the animals in 2014.

The front cover is a great crested newt painted by Henrietta MacPhee. Thank you Henrietta for this beautiful picture.

The cost of printing was paid for by Teresa and Michael Greenwood and all proceeds will be donated to charity. Obviously I am not expecting to build too many hospitals. I will post an update on here if I the amount I have to donate is worth promoting!

The booklets are £2.50, postage is 84p. There is a limited run of 250 copies.

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I would like to dedicate several of the poems to Richard Woolley, someone who cared very much about nature and the things that appear in these poems. Rich was with me in some of the poems featured, namely The heart races, We are the axis and Moonmade fields. Likewise thanks to everyone else who accompanied me on walks and offered experiences that inspired these, if you’ve read them you should know who you are!

If you would like to buy a copy please follow this link. Thanks to everyone who has supported me over time with writing and inspiring me to write these. Hopefully you will realise how easy it is to create something and will do it yourself.

As you can tell from the title these poems are about nature and wild animals. They are from a period of about five years, covering trips to Ireland, Romania, Czechia and throughout the UK in Northumberland, Exmoor and Norfolk.

I don’t decide what I will write about, it is usually a fragmented process of gathering bits together, always from spending time outside. It just happened that this was threaded together around our non-human neighbours on this planet. I personally feel my life would be far lonelier and poorer without sharing spaces with wildlife. I hope that comes across in this booklet if you read any of it.

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Thanks again and happy autumn.

Daniel

Poetry: Spider silk

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Spider silk-1

Spider silk

Reaching for the black
and bulbous fruit
I risk the crab spider
opening its arms and
legs in defence

might it mistake
my finger for the body
of a honey bee

paralyse it, carry it away
into a brambly underworld

perhaps not
but still my fingers
bloodied by raking thorns
and broken berries

they are knotted
in discarded spider silk
a long-forgotten scaffold

with bundled bodies
of emptied hoverflies

© Daniel James Greenwood 2018

Poetry: The falcon etched

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Malham Cove-1

The falcon etched

Wait with the falcon etched
into cove rock at Malham,
meadowsweet aglow
in the fields below.

Wait for the falcon etched,
with those cheeks streaked,
drawn like the scars
on the limestone it enlivens.

Does it ever move,
bird or fossil.

This dale holds great riches
for those talons and talents
to savour.

© Daniel James Greenwood 2017

Poetry: Swanscombe

Daniel Greenwood1 Comment

Colts foot growing at Swanscombe Marsh

The concrete and riverside
flip flop driftwood and rope
harrier haunting a level of reeds
some policeman of phragmites
of seedy beards that bend and shiver
to the breathing Thames

and its godlike pylon
with chickweed toenails
and ravens for lice.

It’s an icon of a time
when England created
for an age when
she will but consume.

Marshland—
you will be deleted.

© Daniel James Greenwood 2015

Swanscombe Marshes is threatened by an impending planning application from London Paramount to turn the area into a theme park. This could have devastating consequences ecologically. Please have a look at the following links:

Petition to Save Swanscombe
Save Swanscombe Marshes website

Poetry: House of herons

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House of herons-1



Imagine if swifts flew through
the empty tunnels of the underground,
if herons trod through the house of commons,
if nightingale sang from the stands
of the Oval, just imagine
what people would say

I don’t think they’d notice.

Maybe the politicians would shriek
and shrivel up in their seats
calling war, terror, personnel error!

‘Imagine! If a big eel stalking
egret could get in here
anyone can and anyone will.’

Herons: aspiring terrorists,
I always knew there was something
dodgy about them.






© Daniel James Greenwood 2015

Poetry: The valleys and hills

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Valleys and hills-1

The diptera’s wings
the low boil of an aircraft
the scribbling of this pen
on this paper
and the flutter
of the opposite page.

All that is without sound:
the valleys and hills
the glaciers created

the small spots
of trees in leaf
in the bright fields

the white butterfly
searching golden grasses
nettles and even me

for somewhere
to scatter its seed

© Daniel James Greenwood 2015