John Rickell Poems

She was Welsh as Snowdon's snowy peak
bright voice light as butterfly
never still, dancing through our conversation
turning the afternoon into a rush of delights
...

Hoardings shouting at the street,
those in buses reading as they pass
of perfume, razor blades and Guinness,
selling space and advertising
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So calm the river
No rain since Mothers' Day,
Willow twigs in flower vases
Grand children and their daffodils.
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In the hollow by the course
She, with me and Joff
late one Saturday evening,
The day had been a success
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Can you hear the rumbles
daffodils and cowslips
stirring in the grass?
worms and beetles feel the heat
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The wild Cyclamen
Nestling in the grass
Their marbled leaves
Will stay for summer
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Do not wake the lily
dawn not yet begun,
she lies sleeping
in her bed of green,
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Last night's snow melted from the roads
dawdled in the wood hiding from the sun
losing every minute despite the cold.
rabbits scamper through brittle ferns
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Friday night, the town is quiet
pretty girls with ivory thighs
precarious on their heels,
tread their way to 'Whispers'
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Does the rose beside the green front door
bloom as when I was youth.
Does the gate clash against the post
the spring that gave us rides
...