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The overarching rows of hornbeam trees in Bushy Park’s Woodland Gardens, leading up to placid waterways, have for long had a special place in my affections.

Hornbeams are symbolic of strength (physical and mental), have magical connotations of good fortune, healthfulness and sapience, and the bond between spirits.

This collection of 141 poems is an ode to the intimate, intrinsic connectedness between humanity and nature.

This is my third book of predominantly nature poems, inspired in the main by Bushy Park, next to Hampton Court Palace. Several more of such poems await publication.

A harvest of colours

The musty, musky season

is upon us,

the fragrance of potpourri-

of gently wilting hibiscus

of slowly fading frangipani.

At nature’s banquet

there is much to savour

yet never any glut or surfeit,

all in modest measures

served, sufficient for the day.

The tinting transmutation goes on

as mellowing matures;

and there is the hibernation’s hay

to make while the sun still shines.


Almost missed.

These little pink-purple flowers
unshowily strew the grassy paths
plied daily alone or in company.

Unworried over being trodden upon

their prettiness is easily missed
by sights set too far
and too high.

In their unremarkable lowness,

in their modesty
earth’s richness is displayed.

Elsewhere on safer higher grounds
other little flowers bedeck the scenes
to please eyes looking beyond
so there is joy all round.

———- ——————-

All in one

If there happens to be

a spring day

in winter,

a summer’s day

in spring and

if these days perchance

in autumn get together,

it is bound to be

a perfect marriage

of the seasons,

of minds

with mixed and matched

colours, in shifting shades,

moods, and fervours.


A universe in a small world

Holst’s ‘The Planets’ inspires, yet I see

no reason to roam outer space

exhilaration of the seven heavenly

bodies to experience.

Not in the same order or as scripted,

Neptune the mystic

in this enchanting Bushy Park is, indeed,

clearly present as is the magic

of Uranus.

Jupiter brings in a summery flourish

much mirth and effervescent jollity;

and at hand unfailingly is Mercury,

the winged messenger

to herald the changing seasons,

such as signalling the end of summer.

Then ushers in Saturn, bringer of maturer

times, and sumptuous ripeness.

The tempestuousness and fury of Mars

will for a while confound, albeit

its redness adding to the riot of colours;

then Venus’ peace will permeate.


All that I have

You are all I have for now,

my staple fare

assured in your woodlands

in the panoply of their perennials,

in their species more seasonal

in their creatures vocal

and in those quietly resonant.

You are known to suggest

bushy splendours

with shrubby bowers

serene streams flowing

only music playing

save maybe the hum of humanity.

Hints of former home here inhere

Lakeland pastoral auras in the air.

In this wondrous world

it comes naturally

for body, spirit and soul blithely

to be berthed.

Beauty and bliss 

Lush green chestnut trees in the park

with their rich blossoms tantalise;

elegant opulence is making its mark

and to beauty we are witnesses.

Both earthly and unearthly, the deeper

springs of joy effervesce

now and forever.

From your snug garden cabin you sense

permanence amid transience, not only

seeing beauty, but hearing it,

touching it and tasting it, eternity

in a moment grasped, and the blue tit

bears testimony!

We sense enough in beauty to trust.



There is here a bucolic calm;

a wood pigeon, a magpie,

a grey squirrel eking out some

sustenance and up high

squawking parakeets

ruling the air waves.

A mere momentary stop

is needed

for time to stand still and a fillip


in this quiet place of repose.

Dourer, more sullen days

will inevitably come

with the advent of austere autumn;

for now, there is much to cheer

and much to endear,

Closer home

Gold, silver and vermillion shimmer

in the water,

swans immaculately white

gracefully float,

wings outspread,

carefreely finding

their way closer to an admirer seated

serenely on the bank.

There is wonderment at work

in this part of the park with much

to behold, much to bewitch

and for long entertain.

Enhancing the scene is a full moon

ascending a cloudless sky

and an antlered deer near, not shy,

at ease with human attention.


Like a gem you have been destined

to remain precious,

with the passing years, with the accretion

of time, your worth even more enhanced.

There are never-ending celebrations

in songs, in the joyful commotion

of admirers, or in the quiet contemplation

of some solitary souls.

The bright sun may add lustre

and much warmth and mirth

generate, but even when quiescent

and sombre, the sparkle is still there

and the appeal ever present,

your place always full of life.



Did you hear the nightingale sing?

In the sights and sounds

of the city did you not glimpse

the world of old where everything

had a beginning

in simplicity, growing incrementally,

when life though not so securely

anchored, the best that we came to have

and that we zealously preserved,

had sprung from material exiguity

and existential exility?

But we now have time, means and leisure

to rove freely and beauties admire

adding to our intangible treasures

and our personal legacies.

Golden goodbye 

As usual you leave by slow degrees,

a reluctant exit.

When you are gone, we will not mourn

for there will be another morn.

For now till the end, joys


will keep at bay

any feeling of dismay.

The last glimmers

of intensest moments,

the gloriously gilded crepuscule,

the ultimate crimson crests

make for a true celestial spectacle,

like a dying star’s final brilliance.


Greening mind

Boughs bowing in the breeze,

in humbleness

submitting to the rise

and fall, the undulations

of the animating, indwelling spirit.

In the leafy flows and fluxes

can be felt

some redeeming rhythms

some cathartic cadences

to help ride out the troughs of dulled

nonresonant notes, the light green

signalling the surer way ahead

to a state more benign.

In their turns 

Spring promises

summer delivers

autumn colours

winter erases.

Spring is hopeful

summer rejoiceful

autumn soulful

winter moanful.

In all the moods

of the seasons

we find our peace,

out of choice!

The tapestry of time

anytime is sublime.


Keep it up

Do not mind me;

keep chirruping amidst

the cherry blossoms.

As it is meant to be,

I only sing when I can,

and not quite in tune.

My rhythms in words

can never match

your silken renderings.

You are blessed with

a sleek symmetry,

and divine musicality.

Never mind me-

I am here now

then not be;

go on animating souls

filling their emptiness

with mellifluence.

Lesser, prettier

Far wandering swallows

swiftly fly

back to these shores

soaring high

then swooping

with hurrahing whoops

over the sylvan slopes

of Rydal,

as the divine buttercups

of the Celandine

crave your return.

In Grasmere’s graveyard

by the tombstone

of Lakeland’s best known

nature poet

the lesser flowers wait,

to be rendered

resplendent once again.

My tiramisu!

May your sweet delicate effect

like magic work

to lift me up!

May my spirit gone lank

be given a fillip

savouring the elixirs

of the mellowing season

in all its splendours.

A sumptuous feast is laid on

with diverse delicacies

amid the many-hued spectacle

on display.

There will be no cloying

from excess at such banqueting

for it is not of human making,

and no need to save for a rainy day!

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