The Last Post -Turning Over a New Leaf
Fiona Linday
Nostalgic Ecopoetry after the WB walk for City Arts Soundscape
Taking my last walk in the country park just a few weeks ago,
before the gates were locked, I remained positive, even carefree.
If only I heard what the birds were manically chirping about then,
I may well have found myself doing the New Normal differently...
Instead, our group of creative, middle-aged women (bar one gent!)
meandered, listening to wildlife and absorbing the wonder of nature.
As God’s paintbrush swept a green palette to add browns and yellows
until purple and orange hues graced a lawn with crocus furniture.
Our intention- to observe the joys of Mother Nature on the hoof.
We bow below an arch taking time to hear the echoed swishing
of knitted, wiry willow branches thick with waxy, bursting buds.
To stroke a delicate sculpture as sparrows perch above, whittling.
I missed a blackbird squawk warnings of a curved ball thrown
by an overseas wild species, including that variety of bat I find
had since infected us by sneezing out a cloud of deadly virus.
We’re hi-jacked by no worries fake news sent on the grapevine.
Absorbing germs, the treetop saxophone blew a loud melody
before the storm whipped up an apocalyptic, chorus on a gale.
In this vital outdoor space blessed by a cacophony of songbird
Little did I know, the denied right to roam prevented more trail.
To God, I’m thankful you are the same today, as before
and tomorrow the birds will sing along to a country dance.
Where you listen to sparrows merrily chortle from a sand pit
the blackbirds shout a warning to stay away. No chance!
The branches understood social distancing, even back then.
When humans were still sniffing a bitter pandemic scent
Ash trees grew long roots to help prevent their die back, so
we need to learn how these ancient, tactile fir trees bent.
Tomorrow, you’ll touch and hug your family group and friends.
Please, gladly listen careful to embrace everyone’s perfect age.
Appreciate the birds’ instinctive desire to keep a safe distance.
Tomorrow is another day; try next the rebuilding nests stage.
Out of the mouths of the forgiven, wild species babes adapt
to fly in harmony with you together up those mature treetops.
Go record issues fairly printed on recycled handmade paper
until, the unhealthy battle between creation and people stops.
Now, dig for victory while listening to climate change warnings
and I pray you live together breathing fresh air for another day.
This last post I leave to you as a legacy from a new life and
my turn a new leaf prayer aims to sustain your extended stay.
Fiona Linday is an East Midlands author and facilitator of creative writing. Recent collaborations include Attenborough Arts Centre Learners in Family Matters Anthology (Dahlia Publishing, 2019).
Nostalgic Ecopoetry after the WB walk for City Arts Soundscape
Taking my last walk in the country park just a few weeks ago,
before the gates were locked, I remained positive, even carefree.
If only I heard what the birds were manically chirping about then,
I may well have found myself doing the New Normal differently...
Instead, our group of creative, middle-aged women (bar one gent!)
meandered, listening to wildlife and absorbing the wonder of nature.
As God’s paintbrush swept a green palette to add browns and yellows
until purple and orange hues graced a lawn with crocus furniture.
Our intention- to observe the joys of Mother Nature on the hoof.
We bow below an arch taking time to hear the echoed swishing
of knitted, wiry willow branches thick with waxy, bursting buds.
To stroke a delicate sculpture as sparrows perch above, whittling.
I missed a blackbird squawk warnings of a curved ball thrown
by an overseas wild species, including that variety of bat I find
had since infected us by sneezing out a cloud of deadly virus.
We’re hi-jacked by no worries fake news sent on the grapevine.
Absorbing germs, the treetop saxophone blew a loud melody
before the storm whipped up an apocalyptic, chorus on a gale.
In this vital outdoor space blessed by a cacophony of songbird
Little did I know, the denied right to roam prevented more trail.
To God, I’m thankful you are the same today, as before
and tomorrow the birds will sing along to a country dance.
Where you listen to sparrows merrily chortle from a sand pit
the blackbirds shout a warning to stay away. No chance!
The branches understood social distancing, even back then.
When humans were still sniffing a bitter pandemic scent
Ash trees grew long roots to help prevent their die back, so
we need to learn how these ancient, tactile fir trees bent.
Tomorrow, you’ll touch and hug your family group and friends.
Please, gladly listen careful to embrace everyone’s perfect age.
Appreciate the birds’ instinctive desire to keep a safe distance.
Tomorrow is another day; try next the rebuilding nests stage.
Out of the mouths of the forgiven, wild species babes adapt
to fly in harmony with you together up those mature treetops.
Go record issues fairly printed on recycled handmade paper
until, the unhealthy battle between creation and people stops.
Now, dig for victory while listening to climate change warnings
and I pray you live together breathing fresh air for another day.
This last post I leave to you as a legacy from a new life and
my turn a new leaf prayer aims to sustain your extended stay.
Fiona Linday is an East Midlands author and facilitator of creative writing. Recent collaborations include Attenborough Arts Centre Learners in Family Matters Anthology (Dahlia Publishing, 2019).
