A slip of butterflies
glides subtle wraiths
along settling herbs,
taste tangy marjoram
dank heads of buddleia
an apple young as winter’s indifference.
©Anna Chorlton
Cornish writer
Category: nature
Sighs linger along lakeside reed roots, an eery gold rises hangs, still as future's mudflats.
Ice stars underfoot bones of winter trees fragile waifs shield water blue as eggshells beyond, the moor rising.
Winter Garland
Woods hang with the ghost of orange
roam eyes for glints of red
listen for hints in time
a steady pumping beat
along sleeping trunks snake ivy
blue-green as winter seas
a wreath of possibilities
know not the length of life
down wooded banks toward the river
a fist of festive holly.
©Anna Chorlton 2023
I love the magic of arriving at the beach to the joy of coastal flowers. My favorites are thrift or sea pinks.
Petals of sunlit sea pinks sway to the timbre of longing. Waves crash in a surge of wanting and the black sand remembers.
This summer I have spent my time walking in the woods, across the moors and along the beaches near by in South East Cornwall. This poem captures images from my photographs of Golitha Falls, The Withybrook Marsh and Downderry Beach.
A Cornish Summer A glimpse of gold through green, boughs a bronze embrace. Moorland sweeping fields, tender beds held by reeds, granite. Sea a surly glas a boat waits in the bay her red sail furled. Rocks shrugged with weed barnacles, anemone people linger, dogs swim. Anna Chorlton 2022
Spring is celebrating all around us and if you listen carefully you can hear the cuckoo call as I did while out walking on Bodmin Moor, Cornwall.
Today Today’s the day the cuckoo calls across the hills. Today’s the day the jackdaw drops her wool in surprise. Today’s the day the adder sings a tapping song. Today’s the day the frogs sulk in the reeds. Today’s the day the lamb defies its ewe. Today’s the day I walk the moor with you. Anna Chorlton
Field of Trees I’m away to the wood she shows off her green; Horse Chestnut offers fingers gloved in lime, Beech and Ash flutter a thousand butterflies, Oak reveals just a glimpse of her gown, Hawthorn clasps blossom, tight buds of May, Bluebell opens her arc petal by petal, her song arising a haze of eyes.
