A place to share my stories of plants with you
Gone Like the Compost
Gone like the compost
like the way you lived your life
Stuff flowing from place to place
then getting stuck
especially in your own flat.
mostly outside, giving, you were given the chance to change people
You were given the wisdom of ages,
for an age that only just managed to listen and hear.
A mind too rich to keep to oneself, too full of ideas,
that most only heard the surface, most only saw the arena.
In memory of Richard Clare, september 2013. Stephen Watts
Raise a glass or light a spliff
A schoolboy scuffling home down dusty backroads -
stopping to pick a wild violet
twisting goosegrass in his fingers
a crown of thorn apples and flowering quince
‘Nesting in’, one by one
the aubergine plants
Pissing alone in your bucket
Living a different way
with a smugness of knowing
Oceans of mint
I’m standing in the steaming pile of leaf mould
warming my feet and ankles
I remember you softly layering the tree roots one by one
The blossom of your orchards
Those seeds in endless trays,
precious beads of inheritance.
You must be buried under an apple tree.
I have dreamed this already
your feet reaching up towards the trunk,
your body stretched out feeding the earth
your hair an extension of the roots.
For Richard Clare, May 2013, by Anne Marie Culhane