Hugh Sexey - Wassail
The orchard pony

The light thud of pony's hooves
Slowly nibbling the long green grass
Her mane flying in the strong wind
The soft touch of her warm neck
The gentle breeze of her hot breath
Trotting away under the apple trees
In the peace of the orchard, her home.
-- Martha Emeney and Serin Rayner --


A blanket of sleep thrown haphazardly
Over the weary orchard.
Silence now, but for the soft rustling
Of the wind against the fresh green grass.

One chestnut horse lingers in the corner
Of the otherwise empty orchard
He looks not quite sure that he should be there
But he is waiting for something

Perhaps a cataclysm to occur
Soft yellow primroses bloom in the stillness.
A harsh grey wind whips about my hair
And through my fingers.

Next season the orchard
Will be buzzing with life and vigour
But for now a still mist
Drifts into place and time stops.
-- Carla Gordon --

Aubergine and mustard green

A horse in the orchard
A strange place to be
Wandering around
With no one to see.

The horse and the grass
No apples to eat
What makes him happy
Or stand on his feet

He looks with his eyes
Into the trees
A forest of colours
Aubergine and mustard green
-- Jack Rowley Noble --

Group Poems
Where has the sun gone ?

I stand, I wait,
Only a cold wind cuts across my face
Bare branches wither
The trampled grass quivers
As the sun floated away.

Although there are murky colours,
And the trees creak in the breeze
Only crisp, spiky shapes are shown
The wind leaves its mark when it blows
But the beauty of the orchard still lies.
-- Eve Taschimowitz --


Still and quiet
The orchard lies asleep
Resting, just calmly resting
In the freezing winter breeze.
-- Hesham Afifi --

Grey clouds cover the sky

Grey clouds cover the sky
Daffodils come up
Trees wither and lie down
As I stare at the farm below.

The wind cuts across my face
Flooded fields on the moor ahead
Lush green grass
But the leaves have fled.

Randomly, primroses and teasels dot the orchard
A horse jumps around frantically
Magic colours, some dull, some bright
Make up these trees. Dark as night.

Green ivy climbs up old branches
Lush green grass is up to my knees
Grey clouds cover the sky
As I stare at the farm below.
-- Sam Jones --

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