Lucy English's Unsprung poem
For anyone who missed it or who wants to enjoy it again, here's Lucy's Unsprung poem from last night. I love it... I can smell the autumn...
I live in a city,
but there are green corridors
touching the countryside and I can feel the pulse.
Walking up the river path to Frenchay
down a wooded furrow steep with
creaking oaks, alders, sycamores. Leaves are yellow.
Brambles high and the bracken’s turning bronze.
I love the smell round here. River mud and wet nettles.
Something’s musty. Cold water slants along the weir.
There’s nothing rare, no polecats, no dippers,
but I saw a flit of long tailed tits and the blur of a scruffy fox.
I am only one mile from kebab shops, cheap melons, street girls.
October. Wednesday. Dusk, and there’s only me,
walking up the slow path to Frenchay.
The soft pat of falling leaves.
A cloud of gnats rising from the grass
and a robin calling.
Lucy English, 2010.