Wendy Webb

One day there will be no more pain;
Today there is too much of pain.
One day there will be no more hope;
Today there is too much of hope.
...

Stepping softly into winter
Virgin sheet-white patience fails
Drop on drop of berry autumn
Billows blanched as bloated sails.
...

It is the special season for a show,
a time to leave the boudoir and to shine,
when all the girls in town must surely know
silk stockings and bright petticoats are fine.
...

I wandered, lovely as a crowd
of snowdrops, like a bluebell wood.
I should not fault heaven's graceful flowers,
but how, like death, I wish I could.
...

It's darker now,
sun's late and
sky's pregnant grey.
...

He myrrhs eight legs to spin himself to death
and weave a net of life into next spring,
on baby legs, all cruciform, all spread
to web the earth in futures of all spin.
...

I am the angel of the pine-dressed tree
singing Magnificat eternally,
as Mary kneels annunciation here
where God is fed in flesh in Christmas cheer.
...

It was that hour before dawn,
before the first crack of light
spread shadows through branches and twigs,
when every bird called through stark trees,
...

Daffodils shine rigid bright attention
displaying medals every shade of gold.
Summer's breath, bewildered, bakes crisp springtime.
Hellebores slump earthward-rolling snowdrifts.
...

I could go Japanese,
but my life is far from simple
and time must fly before I meditate.
...

I've seen the most beautiful scene of all,
such worlds will never sense a brighter Spring.
See now, for hero Magnolias fall.
...

It's the morning after - tulip petals
are dumping gaudy colours on the ground,
lips pouting and taut with satisfaction
as it swells with all nature its summer
...

You're gone and now your body's not the same.
So dull and lifeless, you're not there. It's plain
that you have flown away beyond this realm
and earth has lost a gem, a glowing stone
...

Newly raked earth is irresistible.
You saunter across, lazy in the sun,
a sheltered closet shades your bush toilette.
Sabotaged next day, you sniff the damp air,
...

I saw Mrs Tiggywinkle today
and she was in a sorry state: her dress
and pinny were no more and on the floor
her body lay so still but not quite dead.
...

In that hour before dawn
when birds rise, chill with certainty and song;
happy people sleep on
dreaming scenes, so warm, of yesterday.
...

The slugs are wobbly short fat worms
and humans hate the way they squirm.
They are, resourceful worms, so firm
they chew through plant life's epiderm.
...

Each colour in the garden is so bright
and how can I distinguish so much light:
I know this colour's paradise is green,
but plants are like a rainbow, it would seem.
...

I wandered lonely through the city streets,
observing pigeons fighting for each crumb;
a mess of statues vandalised by blame,
wan droppings daubing whitewash on our needs.
...

Late leaves are falling thick this year, like snow,
in floating light of winter's glowing gold.
Deep drifting earth of amber's cheering warmth
then sparks a blaze, too late for bonfire's flush.
...