Hugh Sexey - Blossom
The flight of the honey bee.

I am flying high above the clouds
And swooping low amongst the crowds
Weaving in and out of cattle
Speeding past the cider apple
Running streams where I see my reflection
Finding more for my honey collection
I'm flying back to the beehive now
Oh No ! how will I dodge this cow
It is munching happily on that juicy grass
I must somehow find another way to pass.
Where is the beehive ? Oh No! I'm lost
I've got to find it. I simply must !
The sun is shining hot on my face
I wish I could find shady place.
Look an orchard and there's the bees
Safe at last. I'm so pleased
No more cattle, no more sun
Only honey and my mum.
-- Martha Emeney --


In the Orchard

The smell of apples fills my nose
On a slope with many trees
Dewey grass soaks my knees
The birds are tweeting
Sharing a greeting
The grass is long
Uncut for days
The cows below are left to graze
A cockerel sounds from the farm below
There is no where else I would like to go,
The trees are blossoming on the slope
And all but one are able to cope
With the cows gobbling up the grass.

To eat the lot would be a great task
There are so few houses
Just trees upon trees
As the cows get closer we'll soon have to leave
A dark patch of sky moves slowly across
As I watch it move along the below fields
The bees keep humming and hovering above
The sun covers us like a hot glove
The cows are here. I'll have to go
As everything else is so low.
-- George Cressy --


An orchard

Fields of yellow and green
Surround me in a sea of colours,
Birds gaily play in a world of clouds
Hills reach the fluorescent sun
Flowers dance in the gentle morning breeze
Shadows form under blossom filled trees
Bees sing their familiar song
While tickling the cotton wool like petals
Sky so blue holds frisps of cloud

Cockerels sing and cows graze
Insects zap across the sky
Aeroplanes make journeys to distant worlds
Petals slowly falling onto a bed of swaying grass
Chimneys puff smoke so white
Swaying crunching stillness -
An orchard.
-- Jessica Searle --


Group Poems
Looking out to Avalon

An eternal sunlit plain reaches
Out to the shroud of purple haze
About Avalon
Out from the orchards in bloom

Still platinum-flooded fields
Sit sagging in the sun
In the turquoise tree edged bowls
On the patchwork of Godney Moor

Green leaves hang, blue or golden
In the stained glass dappled light
They shine, ornamental green faces
On the branches spread like pointed finger.

Butterfly petals flutter, vanish
Into the warm, scented grass
French horn curved branches sing, carefree now
But will, one day, sag with fire bright apples.
-- Katherine Howell --


What can I see ?

What can I see from my perch in the orchard?
I see humans dozing under my outstretched fingers
The cows munching at my feet and rub on my body
And the horizon far, far away dotted with green bushy trees

What can I hear from my perch in the orchard ?
I hear a young sparrow gleefully singing his favourite song
The bees buzzing in and out of my silky white ears
And the rumble of a distant car hurtling along the road

What can I feel from my perch in the orchard ?
I can feel the tall green grass tickling my knees
The wind rustling my hair and slightly chilling my body all over
And the pain as animals steps on my toes or snaps my arms

But as the winter draws near and my leaves have gone
I can see everything and everyone !
-- Hannah Puddy --


A Blossom Orchard

As I sit I see
A pencil line a pencil of blue drawn across a meadow
A bee gathering nectar, doing the flower a favour
Birds flying to their young
And as I see these I think
How wonderful nature is
To make animals fly
For the dainty white blossoms
To perch on a branch
like pretty maidens
and how old, old trees can look
so mysterious
with their long thick branches
Forming shadowed dens to hide in
The dazzling sun reflected
Off a mirror lake.

The leaves ware waving
"hello" they seem to say
come and see our orchard
explore our dens
and smell the dainty maids of pink
on our branches
Cows of cream smooth brown
And pitch black
Graze lazily
And their coats shine in the sun
This meadow has been the same for 100 years
And as the sun pours onto the field
I don't want it to change.
-- Bel Pye --



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