The selfsown poppy finally flowered,

scarlet but not the cornfield kind,

elegantly tall, empowered,

mascara marked but blind.

Four imposing petals bouncing,

spurning the honeybee's caress,

flexing in the breeze and flouncing,

twirling like a woman's dress.

The fat guy sprawled across the table,

flopping over both sides of his chair,

looked as if he was clearly able

to be regarded as slob of the year.

But when the singer took the stage,

our slob had energy restored,

waddled forward to earn his wage

and conjured magic from the keyboard.

We were cracking acorns to feed to the ducks

when she started back in terror.

"What's wrong?" I asked but she didn't reply

petrified by some horror.

Then slowly she pointed at the debris

and I noticed something move -

a couple of baby earwigs maybe

but not such as I could prove.

She's only three so I tried to explain

there was nothing to be afraid of.

"I know you're really a brave little girl

so show them what you're made of".

She relaxed and we resumed our work

but then it happened again.

The chair screeched as she pushed it back

with a little gasp like pain.

And there was the thing of nightmares

threatening with a wiggle.

I know I shouldn't have seemed unkind

but I couldn't suppress a giggle.

It was really quite a cute little maggot

looking so white and clean.

What was there to be afraid of

or was I being too mean?

I picked it up very carefully

so as not to harm it.

"I'll bet it's more scared than you are" I said

"and I don't want to alarm it".

I put it among the broken debris.

"Perhaps we've got enough.

There's no need now to do any more.

Let's go feed the ducks".

She soon cheered up and hopefully

erased the scene from memory

and as she grows will come to give

some empathy to all that live.

"That's life." you said  and walked away.

That's life that breaks my heart in play.

That I love you and you loved me

but time has turned to tragedy.

A Brighton afternoon

Lying back relaxing in the local park

on a public bench in the autumn sun

while the kids explored the jungly bushes,

arrowheads darted across the sky.

They posed the passing question why

all were aimed in the same direction -

heading out across the Channel,

silhouettes streaking the cloud blown sky.

Migrating martins ! All flying south

helped by the storm force wind from the north,

taking advantage of English weather

to help them say goodbye.

Sorry, Sophie

Because you said you were leaving

I grasped the only chance

to ask you out for an evening -

drink, meal, somewhere to dance ?

Your instant, almost echoing

"No" took me aback completely

so when I saw you still standing

there and in the middle clearly

of planning to stay by taking

your coat off, I became confused.

My comment "I thought you were leaving"

was in no way meant to be rude.

I'm sorry if I was appearing

resentful. Rudeness has no excuse.

Please forget my importuning.

You've every woman's right to refuse.

But as ABBA sang 'Take a chance on me'

please forgive and just dance with me.

For several weeks a single peacock

keeps on flying along the track

between the hedge and my allotment

to and fro, forward and back.

Glowing in sunshine when it perches

I love its brightly coloured wings.

It doubtless wants to attract a mate

though unlike some it never sings.

But why keep flying up and down

over the same place all the time?

Do butterflies have territories

to be defended in their prime?