Our prompt for today is simply to take a walk. Make notes — mental or otherwise — on what we see on our walk, and incorporate these notes into our poem. I do actually take this walk most days, it is my way of returning to fitness as I recover from an operation. I am afraid that I am not that pleased with this effort today. We have been out and busy in other ways and so this was rather rushed. It also doesn’t help that here in the UK we do not receive our prompt till mid-afternoon. But enough moaning and on with today’s poem.
The Swallows Are Late.
Dandelions growing through pavement cracks
Cigarette ends discarded without thought
The contrast between beauty and carelessness
One struggling so hard against man’s legacy
The other a kind of easy ugliness
My daily walk takes me past such sights
I watch out for swallows each day
For me they are the start of summer
And eagerly awaited.
I mark my calendar each year
On arrival and departure
An avian airport schedule
Their evening aerobatics
Their clicking call
This year they are late.
Spring to me is synonymous with colour
The yellow of cowslips and primroses
Daffodils and golden tulips
… Red to me has always meant summer.
And I admire those daffodils as I walk
Late also this year. Stymied by bitter easterlies
Siberia’s spring gift to us.
But it seems our first few warm days
Accelerate their joyful growth
The grass bank that promised so much
Has now sprung into life and
Swathes of gold adorn my walk.
I walk on past the roundabout
Spring colour again
Purples and blues augment the yellows
Of council planted crocuses
Or should that be Croci?
I must check and …
I smile to myself as I walk by
And turn towards home.
© 2013 Stan Rogers. All rights reserved.