Genval Lake

A half-hour drive in springtime sun
Out of Brussels - can be fun
Commuters go the other way
And miss the countryside display.

Rosières, Genval, Rixensart
Leafy lanes with scarce a car
It’s peaceful, birds swoop overhead
Their daily rush hour quietly spread.

Fair Nature’s April cloak is green
Through febrile fronds can still be seen
Tiny birds’ nests woven neat
In lofty boughs - a safe retreat.

Genval Lake – a tranquil spot
Split by language; No, don’t mock!
A “castle” where businessmen reside
Has a plashing fountain just outside.

Man’s imprint on this place is slight
Old homesteads nestle out of sight
But I get the feeling there are many
Whose mansions cost a pretty penny!

Along the hedgerow a small gate
A gentle push – I step through straight
A grassy damp before me lies
With rustic bench, rough-hewn surprise.

Time now to chill, take in the view
Ponder on life – as poets do
I reflect upon this lakeside scene
Palette of fifty shades of green!

For a moment I slip back in time
And let an artist’s eye be mine
Inspiration for a Flemish weaver
This could be Belgium’s Lake Geneva!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Thomas - at 3 Months Old

One year ago or thereabouts
When frost and snow made life here bleak
A brand new little life force sprouts
And spends in Brussels one short week.

The parents-to-be were unaware
That a tiny soul was on the way
And future Auntie although near
Thought just two had come to stay.

But Thomas now is three months old
A lusty lad with cheeky smile
First clothes outgrown (or so I’m told)
Vast wardrobe for the laundry pile.

Brother and wife find time is short
As Thomas needs his own routine
There is so much he must be taught
Long lie-ins are a distant dream!

He’s well behaved, my Brussels sprout
With visitors from far away
And growing fast so there’s no doubt
Thomas is twelve weeks old today!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Echoes of the Past

You find it* in a shy seclusion
Far away from prying eyes
Its romantic past is sure to please you
For it has a charming guise.

Admire the ceiling far above you
Completely flawless in design
This is perfection at its peak
No modern style is half so fine.

Behold it! Such a room of secrets
What stories could the mirror tell?
Alas! What passed within its walls
Has long since been forgotten well.

The red décor and grand chaise longue
The chandelier in shimmering glass
The polished chairs both firm and strong
By master craftsmen, made to last.

For all around these lustrous walls
See the gay attractive frieze
How many hands have written at this desk
Or rippled o'er these ivory piano keys?

Dark recesses hide huge china plates
Sad memories of a bygone age
Though not a speck of dust is seen
Time has turned another page.

Step back and gaze on all this beauty
Breathe of it and take your fill
For while the outside world is changing
Here at least has time stood still.

Written in 1965

* A friend's house in Edinburgh

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Rear Window

Though raindrops splash my window pane
And clean the cobbles in the lane
I notice on the nearby tree
A little bird - he sings for me.

Proud sentinel, he scans the scene
The snow has gone, the fields turn green
No leaves disguise his look-out perch
And impede his panoramic search.

A gentle wind, the branches sway
He flies discreetly on his way
While others of a brighter hue
Soon take his place and watch anew.

The white horse lingers by the fence
I see the empty lovers' bench
But no one stops by on their walk
To pass the time of day and talk.

My gaze falls on the terrace wall;
The wisteria, which loves to crawl
With purple bunches all in flower
Lies sleeping and awaits its hour.

But soft, from nowhere I can see
The blue tit flying back to me.
He lands with grace right in my view
The terrace can get busy too!

For those who take the time to look
And listen, nature is a book
In constant use, whose illustrations
Bring us daily revelations!

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Re-Educating Rita

It starts when Rita oils Frank's knob
As she seeks more learning, not a job
And Frank, who likes to hit the booze
Considers Rita as good news.

The stage is set; events move fast
Rita, streetwise, working class
Embarks on studying "proper" books
While Julia's ratatouillé cooks.

This hairdresser is quite astute
The Open Uni bears ripe fruit
Soon Forster, Chekhov, Blake, Peer Gynt
And poetry - make Rita hint

That Frank should turn again to verse
But all this makes his drinking worse.
The learning lark suits her a treat
But Denny throws her in the street!

No matter; she has found her voice
And, as she says, she now has choice.

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

November 2004 - Skit for the AmDram Brussels Cast Party of
Willy Russell's play: "Educating Rita" in which my husband Mike played Frank!

A Popeless Case

Day One* without the Pope - he has withdrawn
The Swiss Guard, out of work, now look forlorn
Benedict the pilgrim, simple Jo
Has put aside forever papal show.

The cardinals in Rome will soon convene
The Catholic Church meanwhile behind the scene
At antiquated straws begins to clutch
It must instigate reforms to stay In touch.

The task appears impossible to do
The cardinals deep down may think so too
But soon they will be called upon to choose
The next incumbent for those bright red shoes!

* Pope Benedict resigned on 28th Feb, 2013

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

Born: Joseph Aloisius Ratzinger: 16 April 1927 – 31 December 2022 

April is no Fool

Time moves on – I flip my chart

From March to April – a new start

Thirty days before me spread

With increased sunlight overhead.

 

Nature blossoms on all sides

The coastlines fear the strong spring tides

Nests in leafy hedgerows trill

The early worm an easy kill.

 

Tree litter roughly cast aside

Now on the move as insects hide

New grass and nettles, Shepherd’s Purse*

And Shaggy Soldier all converse

 

Along the sunlit woodland floor

Obeying spring’s primeval call

A splash of yellow – aconite

A rash of scillas, bluebells bright.

 

It’s amazing - everywhere you turn

Your questing eye will soon discern

The thrusting signs of life that crawl

Over cobbles, gates or garden wall.

 

Winter stamps its foot in rage

As youthful springtime takes the stage,

Cold and Ice are on the run

April*, no Fool, has begun!

  

(c) Poet in the woods 2014

* Shepherd's Purse on the pavement

* Historical note: Some historians speculate that April Fools’ Day dates back to 1582, when France switched from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar, as called for by the Council of Trent in 1563. In the Julian Calendar, as in the Hindu calendar, the new year began with the spring equinox around April 1.