Wagtails

Posted November 30, 2013 by Val Moulton
Categories: Family, Nature, Poetry

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I see a pair of wagtails
silver        and black
heads and tails bobbing
running           darting
        dancing
on the patio

Wee Willie Wagtail, how I love to see
Wee Willie Wagtail, wag his tail at me.

in a sudden breath of November
you are behind me
your tweed jacket rough
under my young fingers
that faint smell of tobacco

and the room
silver tray on the wall
      50 years of practice
oak sideboard        solid
crammed tableware papers
black and white photos
        jostling
                spilling
                        out of the doors

we are all there

        laughing

Wee Mister Wagtail hopping on a rock,
Daddy says your pretty tail is like a goblin’s clock.

Meadow Cranesbill

Posted August 5, 2013 by Val Moulton
Categories: Nature, Poetry

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SAM_1467 2
A scattering of petals on the chalk path.

Lacemaker

Posted January 1, 2013 by Val Moulton
Categories: Poetry

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I watched
her little fingers
twist and loop the thread,
push the needle
into fine lace.
This one a handkerchief,
this a piece for the table,
hunger pricked.

The size is the price.
Lay the coins end to end
along the daisy chain.

I wrote this poem when I was researching lace making. Lace was made by women and children at the time of the Irish Famine. The price of the lace was arrived at by covering the piece with coins. Most of the money went to middlemen.
From A Sense of Place

Harebell

Posted November 1, 2012 by Val Moulton
Categories: Nature, Poetry

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Harebell - geograph.org.uk - 201688

As summer fell
Away to autumn
I found
A solitary harebell
In the long grass
Where knapweed
And yellow rattle
Flower purple and gold.

That tiny splash
Of eggshell blue caught
The ripples of the wind
And danced,
And I danced too
With sheer delight.

Six Overcoats

Posted October 27, 2012 by Val Moulton
Categories: Local, Nature

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Although this beech tree copse is just a couple of miles from where I live it was six overcoats colder this afternoon. The icy blast from the North whipped the trees into a crazy orchestra.

Beech Copse

We were glad to join the skeletons warming themselves by the log burner in the Courthill Tea Room.

Skeletons by the fire

Sheila Mullen

Posted September 28, 2012 by Val Moulton
Categories: Uncategorized

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My aunt, Sheila Mullen, from Dundalk, Ireland, died yesterday. I remember her with love.

Slugs

Posted August 30, 2012 by Val Moulton
Categories: Poetry

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Today I came across
A cornucopia
Of slugs on the path.

Slimy and fat,
Yellow and grey,
This bevy of slugs
Slid away
With malicious intent
To the next banquet.


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