Several years ago I wrote my first poem sitting on a bench listening to the wind travelling through the trees in the Botanical Gardens, Bath
The roar
I hear them wake
And bellow at each other
What could this be?
This throaty tumult
I hear and picture
In my minds eye
Blasting through green corpus?
Is this the violent passion of Nature?
Again it comes
Havoc stirs
And I hear the tidal breakers
Of the sea
Crash amongst
Beam limb and
Woody literature
The unfettered stomach roar of Nature
Is what woke me up
Rude, fertile, summoning
A catalyst those bull horns
Gore deep into
The moments peace
As anarchy
And panic are seeded
And the trees are not quiet
