Apple

Only one Cox's apple left
From the two hundred and fifty six
I took from the tree.
All wrapped in brown paper,
Placed in boxes in the attic
In October's russet eve.

Still green
Mottled red,
Uneven,
Reflecting early Summer's light.

Light streaks through my window
And slaps into the skin
Green skin
Hard and pitted.

A fruit from a withered tree
So roughly smooth
Cold
Perfectly formed
An orb of light.

Fresh meadows memories
Feet wet to the ankles
Wading through grass -
Basket heavily laden
With new, ripe fruit.

Meadow birds compete
With childrens' shrill voices
Their picnic blanket spread
Under Orchard's pregnant trees.

Crunch of teeth
Bursting forth the juicy,
Crisp flesh.
Slurping, sucking in
Gathering the flesh with your lips
Grinding the sweetness
Sour,  in your mouth.

Dull thud
Apple falls
Lands on grassy
Green Earth.

Hot Autumn days
Rotting flesh rolling
As you kick your way
Through time.

The upper side shiny
Virginal
Innocent
Carefully concealing
The deadly wasp.

Smell of fermenting flesh
Squelching underfoot
As you mourn the passing
Of another fruitless year.

Close the shutters
Lay down your apples
Conceal Spring's freshness
Within their skin.

Lie by the fireside
Eating apple pie,
Custard.
And wash it down
With gallons of cider
You kept cool in the cellar
From early last year.

Saxaphone

You are sleek
Curvaceous
A beauty in your glinting smile.
Your gentle tones
Seduce my love
His tongue ever eager
On your ever-ready mouth,
Passionately -
At times brutally -
Caressing you.

Whilst I
Shut away in privacy
Listen to your overflowing tones
Smooth and monotonous
Ever moaning
Driving me mad.

Grandma's Best China Teaset

You sit up there in your Sunday Best
Like a family ready to venture to Church
Like a bunch of old relations
Waiting unexpectedly
At my front door
Unwelcome
Yet obliged to welcome in.

Your rims are the faded gold of a weak winter sunset
You wear dust like well-fitted hair pieces
And only bathe when Great Aunts call
Dreading their kisses from crumpled lips
Which are pursed in disapproval at your faded dress -
And as your teapot dribbles
Like an old, incontinent Uncle,
They tut like scornful peacocks
Secretly relieved
That you were handed down to me after all.

Spider

The Spider weaves its magic web
Across the window of my mind
As I wait here indefinitely
For something to happen.
Spider knows no time
Or boundaries
Just keeps spinning
Like the tales you spin
Every time I ask you where you've been.
My eyes transfix
Upon the web woven there
As I watch
It becomes entangled in my hair
And I no longer have the desire to move
Or try to break away.
I am wrapped in Spider's stick web
Cocooned
No longer holding my breath
No longer breathing
Gossamer eases the pain
My heart stops.

The Feather Duster

Shocking Pink
Extrovert
Yet you hide away
When the cleaning lady calls.

When she's gone -
You creep out with me
And we party
All around the house.

You coil cobwebs
Like shimmering bathrobes
Around your tempting feathers,
You love to linger in dark places
No other eyes will see.

Sometimes -
On family days,
You pretend to be a Pirate's cutlass
Or the broomstick of a Witch.
And once,
You were a Magic Wand,
Weaving spells of dreaming spires
And fairies
That only live in Angel's dreams.

Cecil

This quiet morning light
Shines harsh into my eyes
And wakes me from my sleep.
I know when first awake
All is well and calm
And then awareness seeps
Into my mind.

This quiet morning light
Betrays my peace
I realise the depths of my grief
For you are gone
And I burn for you.

Oak Tree

You wear the field around you
Like a gown of mud
Which flows away from your gnarled knee-caps.
The hem of your gown
Is the sparkle in the stream
Which is stitched around your feet.

Your fingers reach skyward
And wave to the stars at night
Frightening the children
In their stories of witches on broomsticks.
'These are no broomsticks,' you sigh.
'It's just me waiting for new Spring garlands
To deck my old cold branches
With light green,
Bright green colours.'

My mind boggles at the thought
Of all you've seen,
All you've heard and known
As the centuries have flown -
This muddy field -
Was it once a meadow?
Or perhaps there are traces of a hamlet,
Homes now sunken into the Earth.

Did children sing in your outstretched arms -
Sit on your bony knee-caps and play,
Their chubby fingers finding Acorns
In your hair -
Trip around on the hem of your gown,
Washing their feet in the sparkle there?