Patrick Osada
Poetry
 

POETRY


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Here's a selection of my poems for  FEBRUARY


I update this website at the start of each month with a fresh selection of my poetry.      


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   Thaw on the Way - Julius von Klever    ( 1850 - 1924 )                                                                                       






WINTER to SPRING (a poetry sequence).


Out of the darkness
day breaks with an orange flame
burning through blackthorn.


The oak glows orange,
clouds beyond tinged salmon pink —
a red sun rises.


An uneasy truce :
day breaks with red in its eye –
it’ll not stay dry.


Another grey day.
choose a word for English rain? —
Unsympathetic.


Spring is put on hold,
sun gleams from icy puddles –
winter’s frosty breath.


Mist fills the valley,
sunrise brings the Midas touch :
gilding everything.


Beyond the churchyard,
secret as a night of snow,
snowdrops claim the copse.


Brilliant low sun
mirrored by the flooded road —
blinded by the light.


Radiant sunset :
blood-orange sun slips away,
leaves an amber sky.


A giant full moon
shines white light on frosty air,
gardens glint like snow.






        LARKS ASCENDING


Beneath a mass of threatening cloud,
I’m wrapped against the forecast snow
as I stride out across Larks Hill.
Below, the streaming vehicles groan
down Harvest Ride and on to town.
Yet here, above the traffic’s drone,
comes birdsong over tussocked grass —
too far to carry from the hedge
but clear above the gusting blast.


Casting about this grassy space
I spot them, dots against the sky,
riding in air too cold for snow,
braving this February day.
Whilst others shelter in the hedge,
these tiny crested, feathered scraps
defy the worst that Winter brings.
Miraculous, daredevil birds
sing out a challenge and a prayer :
an invocation to the Spring.
                                                                          





       





CHAIN FLAIL


With careless ease, in half an hour,
this driver, tractor and chain flail
will decimate our lane’s rich hedge
and recreate the shell torn Somme.


Young trees are left as limbless stumps,
lopped branches, splintered, on the ground
and all the way across the lane,
confetti made from this year’s buds.


Yet here, only a field away,
a proper hedge is taking shape.
One man with skill and simple tools
creates a hedge to last for life.


A swift, low cut pleaches young trees,
he weaves them between hazel stakes
to make a kind of basketwork
of living growth, shapely and tight.


Such skilful work always takes time :
to plash a hedge, stock-proof and strong,
is costed out in yards a day —
the time it takes to get it right.


The tractor man and his blunt flail?
He’ll tear and lop a hedge to shape,
makes no repairs where stock may stray
but always clocks the miles up…


So, where have all the experts gone
who’d lay a hedge and clear a ditch?
Replaced by men who drive machines —
That way contractors end up rich.






HEDGING, FEBRUARY


Through rolling fog dawn slowly breaks.
Beyond the haze, above ghost trees,
the sun hangs like a silver disc
just visible, then out of sight.
Three magpies fly by silently —
dark shadows from a pi ying play
against a glowing screen of white
that muffles every sound.


Larks’ Hill — where those birds used to sing —
lies still, mist’s curtain screens the view
of orchard trees waiting for Spring.
Along the path, out on the lane,
the great reveal as sun breaks through:
the order of a fresh pleached hedge,
the ring of bill hook cutting wood.


Pi ying – Chinese shadow puppets







REMEMBER…?


Everyone remembers special moments:
that flash of sunshine from a perfect day;
an instant remembered being lambent,
a memory to combat days of grey.


For some, there’s a reel of sporting triumphs
of cups and medals won to great acclaim;
for others a degree or making money,
media spots and five minutes of fame.


Most recall those times with friends and family —
treasure precious days from a fading past —
Christmas time with Gran, her house so chilly,
her old radio and the King’s broadcast.


And, for me, the strongest memory yet…
that dance hall in my teens when we first met.








BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU


Today, we went shopping in the morning,
used Council’s multi-storey in the town;
in the afternoon we went out driving
to visit an old mansion on the downs.


This evening, back at home, I checked my emails —
each message like a snapshot from my day :
“Thanks for your visit”...”Coming soon! Our Sale!”
“Now win a prize! - Complete this short survey.”


Ever place we shopped sent me a message,
even a Council advert for new stores,
“Big thanks!” from National Trust for patronage,
“Do come back soon, enjoy our great outdoors.”


And, as A.I. logs every place we’ve been,
CCTV records each time we’re seen…







IF YOU GO DOWN TO THE WOODS TODAY…


Diverging from our usual path —
grassy track through woodland —
a weird light flickered through the trees
where shadowy shapes were moving.


A weird light flickered through the trees
down grassy track through woodland;
the atmosphere turned strangely cold
as summer day was turning dark.


Unearthly whirring sounds began
accompanied by a buzzing hum…
as summer day was turning dark
the atmosphere turned strangely cold.


A dazzling light above the trees
and all the woodland birds were stilled…
Accompanied by a buzzing hum
unearthly whirring sounds began.


A dazzling light above the trees
where shadowy shapes were moving
and all the woodland birds were stilled
down grassy track through woodland.














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