The orchis tribes

Haunting thy mossy steeps to botanize

& hunt the orchis tribes where natures skill

Doth like my thoughts run into phantasies

Spider & bee all mimicking at will

Displaying powers that fool the proudly wise

Showing the wonders of great natures plan

In trifles insignificant & small

Puzzling the power of that great trifle man

Who finds no reason to be proud at all

#poetry #environment 

#honesty

Comments welcome below

A bean field

A bean field full in blossom smells as sweet
As Araby or groves of orange flowers
Black-eyed & white & feathered to ones feet
How sweet they smell in mornings dewy hours
When seething night is left upon the flowers
& when morns sun shines brightly o'er the field
The bean bloom glitters in the gems of showers
& sweet the fragrance which the union yields
To battered footpaths crossing o'er the fields

#poetry #environment 

#honesty

Comments welcome below

Silent balm

 

Yet still the little path winds on & on 

 Down hedgrow sides & many a pastoral charm 

 We soon forget the charm of poesy gone 

 In the still woodland with its silent balm 

 & find some other joy to dream upon 

 A distant notice of some nestling farm 

 Crowded with russet stacks that peep between 

 Hugh homestead elms or orchards squatting trees 

 Where apples shine sun tanned & mellow green 

 Home comforts for dull winters reveries

#poetry #environment 

#honesty

Comments welcome below

The enemy of all

 

The frog half fearful jumps across the path

& little mouse that leaves its hole at eve
Nimbles with timid dread beneath the swath

My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive

Till past & then the cricket sings more strong

& grasshoppers in merry moods still wear

The short night weary with their fretting song

Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare

Cheat of his chosen bed & from the bank

The yellowhammer flutters in short fears

From off its nest hid in the grasses rank

& drops again when no more noise it hears

Thus natures human link & endless thrall

Proud man still seems the enemy of all

#poetry #environment 

#honesty

Comments welcome below

The gay river

There the gay river laughing as it goes 
Plashes with easy wave its flaggy sides
& to the calm of heart in calmness shows
What pleasure there abides
To trace its sedgy banks from trouble free
Spots solitude provides
To muse & happy be

There ruminating neath some pleasant bush
On sweet silk grass I stretch me at mine ease
Where I can pillow on the yielding rush
& acting as I please
Drop into pleasant dreams or musing lie
Mark the wind shaken trees
& cloud betravelled sky

#poetry #environment 

#honesty

Comments welcome below

A second daughter…

On the 13th June 1822 Patty and John had a second daughter, Eliza Louisa, but in that two years his world had been turned upside down, he was famous.  But there was sorrow too, as they lost a still-born baby son in June of 1821.

The photo shows a Christening Cup given to Eliza Louisa by her Godmother, Eliza Louise Emmerson for whom she of course was named.  John and Mrs Emmerson carried on a regular correspondence for many years and become firm friends.

After her sister Anna Maria's death in 1844, Eliza Louise was to marry the widowed husband, and her brother-in-law, John Sefton.  They had eight children, and a number of the 'Sefton-Clare' clan are active members of the John Clare Society, and this weblog to this day.

Sweet gem of infant fairy flowers
Thy smiles on lifes unclosing hours
Like sun beams lost in summer showers
     They wake my fears
When reason knows its sweets & sours
     Theyll change to tears

God help thee little sensless thing
Thou daisey like of early spring
Of ambushd winters hornet sting
     Hast yet to tell
Thou knowst not what tomorrows bring—
     I wish thee well

#poetry #environment 

#honesty

Comments welcome below

Rut-rifted lane

The cockchafer hums down the rut-rifted lane

Where the wild roses hang & the woodbines entwine
& the shrill squeaking bat makes his circles again
Round the side of the tavern close by the sign
The sun is gone down like a wearisome queen,
In curtains the richest that ever were seen

The dew falls on flowers in a mist of small rain
& beating the hedges low fly the barn owls
The moon with her horns is just peeping again
& deep in the forest the dog-badger howls
In best bib & tucker then wanders my Jane
By the side of the woodbines which grow in the lane

#poetry #environment 

#honesty

Comments welcome below