Even if it’s a day late…a new poem

National Poetry Day was yesterday—yes, I know, I know! But here’s a new poem with an old picture to delight everyone just one day after the poetry hoopla calms down…

on the velvet pile
of midnight’s darkest fabric
stars stitch needlepoint

Words © Lizzie Ballagher

“Starry Night” by Vincent Van Gogh

Dandelion Clocks

IMG_5921    Who hasn’t grimaced as the heads of dandelions rear up out of an otherwise healthy garden? There is, however, a part of me that thinks that dandelions have as much right to life as any other flower in the garden, and that it is completely arbitrary to declare one plant a weed while another appears in sumptuous splendour at the Chelsea Flower Show…as if, somehow, a nasty system of discrimination extends even to plant life.

And who, as children, didn’t love watching the seeds be carried away on the wind and marvel at their lightness of being?

Dandelion Clocks

After rain, blurred moon bubbles rise

In the green space of late spring grass.

 

Minutes from the rounded clock-face

Of dandelion hours,

 

Those bubbles burst

In a supernova of wind-strewn stars

 

Floating free on far-off fields,

Seeding next year’s leonine suns

 

In interstellar showers…

After rain.

 

© Lizzie Ballagher

IMG_5922

 

Night and Stars

Antiphon

Through the ringing dark,
Shivering stars rain down
Arrows, dazzling showers of silver
To turn the steep night white.

Genuflecting in obeisance to those higher lights,
Small solar lamps, garden bling,
Flicker, dwindle, fade to silence
Beside the benighted lawn.

Breathless shadows blacken, lengthen
In the answering bleach of frost.

Over us, rising from the deep,
A chalk-sailed galleon—
Ghost-ship of the spectral moon—
Looms soundless, mute.

It leaves a white lace wake,
A fleece and glaze of hoarfrost
Across the grieving grass.
Midnight. Moonlight. Earthlight.

© Lizzie Ballagher

1280px-Van_Gogh_-_Starry_Night_-_Google_Art_Project