Poems & prose inspired by nature
Gosling Sike’s regular volunteer group from Carlisle Mencap had a break from weeding recently and worked with writer-in-residence Susan Cartwright-Smith to pen poetry and prose inspired by the wildlife garden.
By David:
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The smell of fresh watery plants is like perfume in the night.
The touch of the hard cool tree trunk is air conditioner for hot hands. My arm is like the trunk, gripped by ivy-veins
The breeze is angry like the howl of wolves, but the tweeting of birds makes me feel happy and free.
The dead leaves feel like the end of a year, the dawn of next year is coming and the cycle repeats itself.
The tree has leaves
they are as green as peas
however later there is grief
many moons later, peaceful.
The dark clouds call out for storms
they bring despair, those who were wronged
God brings lightning to the people who mourn
And in dawn…there’s nothing but warm weather.
The Melancholy Thistle
Melancholy is a lonely flower, his name is sad. His colour is lonely.
He looked up to the sky and asked “why? Why am I sad?
Everything is the same, having a name that means sadness, and I am losing my colour and turning old”
A new flower grew next to him, and this gave him hope. Peace bloomed within him. This new flower was a sunflower, and when Melancholy laid eyes upon it, there was love between the light and darkness. The butterflies landing on the flowers gave him hope of resurrection and change.
Melancholy looked on her like a goddess, asked “will you be friends with me?”
She nodded. This friendship gave him hope.
The purple flower said “I am happy”.
By Jordan:
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The leaves are like fallen soldiers from the death trees,
the rain hitting the roof like the crack of a camp fire
or a kettle boiling.
I see a bee in the logpile
mushrooms
hoverflies, wee critters, busy things
growing things
I smell flowers
plants by the pond
I smell tree air, free air
The rain sounds like so many marbles rolling around in a tray
The sleeves of grass are as green as leaves and as fragile as rotten teeth
The weather dramatically yawns as it storms
When the crazy weather shapes into its final form, it creates an apocalyptic storm.
The Purple Flower of the Syke Farm
A purple flower, strong and tall, had a dream
back to being young and small.
As months go by, the purple flower always wondered why, why it had to grow old. It never wanted to be bold.
As seasons past by, the purple flower returned on the morning night. Now the flower can reunite – all purple flowers, tall and long, become high as hills, and finally strong.
A purple flower shines so bright, looking like a nature shrine, on a resurrection night.
By Becks:
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Once upon a time there was a little girl who missed her nana. The thistle had been her favourite flower, and seeing the thistles made the little girl happy. A butterfly, that had been on the thistles, came in to the living room. Was it her nana? Come back as a butterfly, a beautiful butterfly? All the butterflies came to say hello, flew around the girl, flew around the roses and the thistles, all the pinks and purples, reminding her of her nana, and this made the girl happy, and she felt full of love and peace.
By Rebecca:
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The air is warm
Clap of thunder
Here comes the storm
How long for, I wonder
The Melancholy Thistle
Melancholy, sad,
A small white seed
floating through the sky
Alone.
Landing in the damp soil
thistledown, like flying angels
nestle down
alone.
Spring has sprung
growing tall
surrounded by friends
beautiful purple flowers all around
not so melancholy after all!
The wind thieves the leaves
falling from trees
swaying in the breeze
Feeling inspired?
Join one of Susan’s upcoming creative writing workshops here Events | Cumbria Wildlife Trust. The next one is on 12 September and is designed for adults.