Wednesday 19 August 2009

Teasel

The teasel is taller
than the tree that sheltered it.
In the warmth of the sun
the shallow pools of rainwater
it carries at its leaf nodes
have all dried up.

Purple spirals of flowers have faded
to leave nests of tiny black seeds
like wasps in springtime

but

it resists pulling,
shallow roots clinging on
until it succumbs
to the sharp
snick snack
of secateurs

and is dragged
shouting from hollow stems
and spitting black pips
to the compost heap.

There, old comb-thistle!
the bees and I love your flowers
and your shadowshine
but you shall not despoil my flower beds
so readily.

7 comments:

thermalsatsuma said...

Lovely!

Rachel Green said...

Thanks Neil :)

aims said...

*laughing softly over here*

Love it Rachel.

Unknown said...

Oh, this is grand. The painting is lovely, as is the verse.

BT said...

That's a smashing poem Rachel. Love the snicker snack of the secteurs. Poor teasel! But I know how invasive they can be. Lovely painting.

Rachel Green said...

Thanks Gina.
A bit of a homage to Carroll with the snick-snack

BT said...

Of course, I knew I'd heard it before somewhere.