Cliffs sprung with moorland
jagged slate underskirts
birds sit watching, waiting
morvran hang oily wings
beaks stark statements
sand a swirl of shadows
toes in snaking retreat.
Ocean a rubble of pilchards
the shoal slating
grey waves slipperack
the air harbours wind and salt scents.
Anna Chorlton
I step outside, mind clenched,
wind rustles honeysuckle
delicate bowls of cream.
I wait for you, urgent wings
focused on feeding,
humming, humming, humming.
Bumble bees bounce between blooms
cabbage whites flit on the fray,
My arms chilled by breeze
thoughts dissipate in a river of flight.
Anna Chorlton 2025
While I was walking between cabins with my bucket of cleaning products, there were many birds beside the water I could have stayed there for hours.
Stepping out of a cabin
with my cloths and mops,
trees open to embrace
an olive-green mill lake.
On a plinth stands a bird
so still I ask if it’s real,
white beak closed in hiatus.
Reflection merges
a swirl in the water
cormorant dry as shadow.
I step out of a cabin,
on the plinth, dusky wings tucked,
a heron sleek as a rose,
goslings forage on the opposite shore.
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.
Apple sways shawls
weighted with fruit
ready to crunch.
Tender leaves
flecked with bronze
rustling with shyness.
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.
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
Oh, to Be. Petals hold stern as bumble reaches, dainty limbs forage. She feels a tender glare, sucks in at possibility - a darted death. She wants to take bee from its bower of pollen gluttony, close her fingers about its freedom. She wishes to sup in meadows of wild mists, fly alone through avenues of foxgloves, meet a mate with huge dark goggles, a flashy coat, lie curled against him. © Anna Chorlton 2020
Silver Y Arriving a slow, fluttering bloom of heavy wings, Silver Y settles beneath nettle edges, bramble jewels. Her cloak a layered bark; striking hooks of silver, inner flutes in navy, petticoat edged with lemon, glides - - alights crouches on birch, spider legs splayed, silent as summer. © Anna Chorlton 2020