THE ARRANGEMENTS

Land art meets the photo-poem in this set, in which I allow myself the liberty of rearranging what I find on my walks. Photographs taken in Ashurst, New Forest, unless stated otherwise.

Some joker

must have popped a feather

into the top of this cone.

Maybe it was me.

            

The seasons persist

in the ancient ritual

of draining the leaves

from the trees.

The birds seems to manage

but even the collected feathers

from a stroll around the park

won’t be enough to get me airborne.

As a leaf

I’d avoid drains:

it's bad enough to descend to the ground from a giddy prime.

Why risk going down further? 

Here's where natural number theory

seems to break down:

you really need seven cones, or nine,

to make a fully satisfactory ‘8’.

‘Leave it out!’

I want to say, ‘why take my bench

when I’m not even sure 

what it means for you to sit down?’ 

             

The acorns are ready

to hop into their cups,

so spring must be coming –

though not for a while…

         

 

There are no cars

in a wood.

So what is the function

of traffic lights?

In Roman times

IV ivy leaves

were considered a portent of sufficient power

to offset the fact that I just made it up.

 

(Though ivy does play a part in Ancient Roman myth, being associated with Bacchus, god of wine and sex, who used the former to inebriate to acceptance, the latter to bind for the longer term)

This is as straight as it gets

for twigs

trying to stay on the right side

of the laws of nature.

 

 

Who'd have thought leaves

apparently so driven by whim,

would take any notice

of the markings on the road?

To grow through a fence

is impressive enough.

To grow on a fence

suggests new potential for the life of plants.

Few people know

that the lyrebird’s tail

evolved from the prehistoric mare’s tail

and that's why the lyrebird calls it a tail.

(May be a tall tale, though it's true that Equisetum - pulled in its annual dotage here - is a 'living fossil' dating back to the late Paleozoic forests )

Here sits

the tree – too short a stump to stand up far –

in the grisly cover

of its own demise.

Twig aerials are ingenious

but are they worth having

when trees can communicate 

so well underground?

Was this enough coffee

to keep Sleeping Beauty awake?

Far from it. More like my daily consumption -

and I don't sleep ugly, so far as I can see.

(Dalston, London)

I’m no doctor

but I’m fairly sure

that shitting cones

must mean you’re very ill.

How many hours

does a leaf-clock have?

In autumn, at least,

it doesn’t appear to be twelve.

(Camberwell, London)

Christmas is over

along with its trees.

The shadows are sharper

than the needles proved to be.

(Kensington, London)

My take away from Islington

is this:

it was windy for arranging polystyrene boxes,

but I didn't mind.

(food container litter in Islington, London)

 

I like it that nature

is full of surprises 

how often do you see this:

brown leaves and berries?

(Southampton)

On the question of worms

all I can say is

I don’t have the answer,

and neither – by the looks of it – do they.

The magnolia clock

says now is the time

to come into season.

There are hardly the hours in a day.

I’m not too confident

changing a fuse,

so where am I meant 

to start with this circuit?

(Southampton)

It took

bloody hours

to arrange these leaves

into such a natural formation. 

To write about three almonds

two brazils and a cashew

would be completely nuts.

So I'm eating them instead.

 Politics, football

climate change, leaves…

There comes a time

when you have to take sides.

 

When the lichen moon is full

winter waxes ever so slightly

badgers hunker into their sleep

and the tides froth mildew green.      

  

When the lichen moon is crescented

winter wanes just fractionally

badgers stir but do not wake

and the sea makes sickle waves. 

                                                        

 

This is a public service arrangement

of the pieces of litter from Whartons Lane.

Don’t worry, I mapped the places of origin

ready for their exact return. 

If it seems unlikely

that feathers will make good the cracks in the road

consider the plausibility

of the plans to hold back climate change.

 

I threw these petals in the air

and they landed

on the branches of the trees

as if that were meant to be.

(Aldgate, London)

Five suns

may seem better than one

but think of the impact

on global warming.

(Totton)

The Moss Brothers -

as they’ve been nicknamed by balder branches

green with envy at their greenness -

tend to bed down together. 

(Lyndhurst)

The orange appeals

for flavour, not for pity.

I shouldn't think of Marsyas

yet I do. 

(St Leonards on Sea)

Conditions 

seem blustery

making the even fall of petals

that much more surprising. 

The catkin stars

are coming out.

Will everything I hoped might be

now turn into an ‘is’?

 

I know what you're thinking

and you should be ashamed

of making the assumption

that I might have thought that too.

 

(Hythe)

 

This is the way

to the petal-precious garden

where pink is so predictable

it's pretty well perverse. 

Soaring to over two hundred metres

the razor tower

is a very sharp climb.

Of course, this is just a maquette.

 

(St Aubin's Bay, Jersey)

Were nature and I

to play a match of Petal Tangram,

here’s how I claim

that I would win.

 

I’m a fan of plantains

for being their own distinctive little group.

But I very much doubt if plantains are set

to act as a fan for me.

 

Strange times indeed 

The holly’s berried

early this year

and clustered all to fuck.

(St Leonards-on-Sea)

There’s no room for racism

in the word of leaves.

After all, what couldn’t be

 just a passing phase?

The blackberry and currant tree

may not be common

and I've never sampled the drink that it makes

but if it tastes as good as it looks...

 Chestnut stuff

goes well beyond the stuffing:

hence the sweet environmental

chestnut version of draughts.

 

(St Leonards-on-Sea)

Just one conker-eye’s 

still on the blink.

The others are open wide,

scanning the park for boys who’ll adopt them.

It’s a pity

that the rosehip dandelion

is a protected species in the National Park

because it makes a refreshingly healthy drink.

(Ashurst Bridge)

After the rain

the petals lie

exactly as they used to do

before they had branches on which to hang.

 

 

 

Back in the old days

the leaves used to drift down one a time.

Now they fall in clusters

cognisant, doubtless, of the changing world.

Here we are

pretty much stopped 

while waiting 

for the green light of spring.

 

(Winchester)

Leaves may not be

all that equal on the tree

but that counts for nothing

when they hit the ground. 

 

 

 

I was going to observe that ‘converse’

is the opposite of ‘reverse’ - or is it ‘obverse’? - 

when I realized it isn't:

it's the opposite of silence.

To feel the pain

of separation

is to live -

and isn't that what life is all about?