Hugh Sexey - Wassail
One small shed

No light, so dull, not a sound
A sharp tangy smell of cider wafting through the air
Pheasant feathers of all colours tied up round the skull
The floor dampened and moist
Delicious smells of jams, mustards and jellies
My mouth watering with the look
Of all the fruit of the world,
So quiet, no machines whirring,
Just that lovely sweet smell,
Award winning eggs of all different sizes.
So many things in just one small shed.
-- Jenna Purves --


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 --


Orchard Spring

The winter wind whips at our hands and faces
The dull grey sky looms low overhead
But there's a reason why we are here
Something special is in the orchard, something beautiful
Something older than you and me but yet young and fiery.
We are not here for the fresh air or exercise
We've come to see the trees of the orchard
Stripped of their leaves and apples
But still standing strong with pride.
The only colour comes from the grass and the twining ivy
Covering the tree like a full head of shaggy hair
Daffodils bloom, butter cups twinkle
This dull place is teeming with life gearing up for spring.
-- Hannah Puddy --


Group Poems
Something's missing

Cold wind and grey sky
Misty distances and trees so high
But the orchard stays green as ever.

Apples missing, leaves missing
Cows and sun missing
The orchard has become dull

There was no cider being made
There were no apples being collected
Nothing.... Nothing...... nothing.
-- Robbie Marshall --


A tree

I stand here
Cold but not lonely
Others all around me
The daffodil bright yellow
Popping its head out to another spring day
The grass quivering in the wind
The horse walking around silently
Eating happily
And the brambles pricking people
As they walk past.
In the orchard silent but not lonely.
-- Christie Zanelli --


The coming of spring

The wind whistling in my ears
The cold breeze brushing against my face
Daffodils blooming, primroses bright
Thorns crawling over my feet
Winding ivy climbing the trees
Mossy banks of grass to sit on
The cockerel crows to the dawn of spring.
-- Martha Emeney and Serin Rayner --



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