I adore Cargoes, John Masefield’s lovely poem about ships, first published in 1902. It’s the rhythm I love best: that powerful, compelling, remarkably musical beat that ties the stanzas together so beautifully.
Inspired to write this poem about the seasons, I decided to use the same rhythm. Here it is, my twenty first century homage to John Masefield and my personal paean to the wonderful British weather.
Seasons
Silent winter garden, eloquent, waiting,
Asleep within the snow; low, cold, iced, blind,
with spring near-distance,
breathless and lovely,
coiled in the curl of the sweet, white rime.
Luscious spring garden, vibrant, bursting,
Striding lithe and emerald as the birds shout loud,
with summer in its pocket,
windless and scorching,
somnolent and turgid in the green-sapped vine.
Dazzling summer garden, dazed and dozing,
humming with bees; vivid, verdant, tall, proud,
with autumn in the wings,
crisp and fruitful,
high wind and bluster as the skies scud cloud.
Capricious autumn garden, raggedly weary,
shedding colour fast; wind, rain, fog, shine,
with winter on the doorstep,
frigid and cruel,
hard and unforgiving as the sap declines.
