Thistles
they snap like dogs
at passing feet and dare
a killing frost to try.
Extending far beneath the soil,
their flowers masquerade
and jump to land a thump,
to multiply and spread
their spiny arms into the sky.
Ground ivy
tiptoes through the grass,
kisses passing bees
shakes its purple
seed head, sewing
patches beneath trees,
spreads its aromatic
carpet, seeking solace
in the shade, boasting
of its starring role
in beer, in tea
and cheese.
Blackthorn
spur shoots and dark barks
push ahead, scrambles
out of winter in a froth
all thorn and spike
all bitter white
all closely guarded fruit.
Dandelions
fling open
in a spray of yellow
resplendent
for a feast,
offering luminous and generous
for us to see,
to touch, to eat.
The nettles
are a troublesome friend.
They turn up uninvited,
settle in, proliferate,
tolerate the hot, the cold
and take the opportunity
to make themselves at home.
Prone to generosity,
they offer food,
will cure your woes
and even make some rope.
You may as well surrender,
let them stay,
look forward
to some soup.
The grass
Wavy hair grass, swarms of swaying manes,
sharing itself with the wall brown butterfly, the common sun beetle – they adore it!
It shakes its heads in shameless shows, opens its delicate purple clusters.
It doesn’t care who knows
it plans to procreate.
Copyright: Janet Harper 2021