Documenting the seasons of coastal Dorset. I'm a complete amateur so don't trust I'm always right. If ever you see I'm wrong - whether with identifications or in anything else - do say!

Tuesday, 10 November 2009

PICKING THE LEAF - (A PICTURE POST)

One of the kindest things about Autumn is the way it offers each desiduous leaf an opportunity to take centre stage.  Amongst the many, it can shine out from the crowd.

And many there are!


But your eye falls on one.

At the top of a tree.
On the ground.

In a hedgerow.

On the path.

Almost gone.

Gone.


I hope it's alright to copy a poem.  It's by Gareth Owen and can be found in 'The Works 4' (Macmillan 2005)

Wellingtons

 I love the wild wet winter days
Of rain and slushy sleet
For it's then I fetch my Welligons
I mean my rubber Gellibongs
Oh dear I mean my Webbingtons
And pull them on my feet.

My sister Jane hates rainy days
The cold makes Mary cry
But me I've got my Wellinbots
Oh dear I mean my Bellingwots
No no I mean my Weltingots
To keep me warm and dry.

But isn't it a nuisance
Isn't it a shame
That though I love you Wellibongs
I just can't say your name.



This is a p.s to the post.  We've had a message from Gareth Owen (himself!) saying he is happy for the poem to be here but he would also like you to know about his website.

This is it

GARETH OWEN : WRITER AND PERFORMER

17 comments:

Mr. McGregor's Daughter said...

It's quite the swan song for the leaves. One moment, glory; the next, leaf mold.

Rosey Pollen said...

I think that all the time, am I going to get in big trouble for putting poetry on my blog. But I think after a certain number of years, it should be public domain, right? I don't know. I loved your poem, it was nice of you to share it.
Goodbye leaves. :(

Lucy said...

Hello Mr McGregor's Daughter.

I feel positive about Autumn this year. Last year it was mustardy dull. Even its decay is cheerful . . . and with the promise of nutritious leaf mould to follow, even more so!

Lucy

Lucy said...

Hello Rosey.

I think there must be a difference between ancient and modern poets.

I emailed Gareth Owen's agent to say I'd put his poem here and asked them to let me know if they'd rather I didn't.

If I were a poet, I'd be pleased to know people like my work. I'd want to be told though - just as I would if people copied things from my blog!

Lucy

Elephant's Eye said...

I think the poets would prefer less of the ancient and modern. Is it out of copyright? And I call mine Wellingtonians. They need a long name!

Lucy said...

Hello Diana.

I'm not sure a poem can be out of copyright if the poet is alive. But, even if it were, I'm not sure that would make a difference.

I like the idea of calling Wellingtons 'Wellingtonians'.

We used to call them gumboots.

Lucy

Far Side of Fifty said...

Beautiful leaves you have there Lucy, you still have some Fall color.. love the poem..:)

James said...

You took some really nice pictures and I enjoyed your post.
James

Ron Eklof said...

A most delightful post with a charming point of view. My eye is selective as well.
And poetic whimsy for digestif completes the meal.

Lucy said...

Hello Far Side.

Our Autumn is in mid-swing and lovely.

Lucy

Lucy said...

Thank you James.

Lucy

Lucy said...

Thanks Ron. I am not surprised to know particular leaves catch your attention too.

Lucy

Monica the Garden Faerie said...

I love leaves and seriously must curbside shop for more today!

Lucy said...

Here's a message from Gareth Owen . . . do you know he has a website?

This is the link

http://www.garethowen.com/

Lucy

Kilauea Poetry said...

Love your leaf series..Beautiful Autumn captures!

Lucy said...

Hello Kilauea Poetry.

I'm sorry I've taken so long to reply to your comment.

I'm glad you liked the post with the leaves. It was fun to gather them together.

Lucy

Lucy said...

Hello Monica.

I like the idea of kerbside shopping for leaves.

I'm glad I did this post when I did too because winds and rain have brought nearly all the rest down in the last few days and they have gone into the brown mush underfoot stage.

Lucy