Saturday Morning

Saturday morning after a wet
week despair-wretched
sunrise commences repair
of magnanimity dressed in a
sheer smile and a chorus of
comforting birdsong

there is no retreat into last
week’s expedient illness
no wagging the censorious
exhortations to rise above and
bear a weekend’s ill favour like
a man whose duty weighs

there is only the sun’s clear call
in a bright blue of amnesty and
the raucous jeers of tree-proud
crows parochially venting good
humour in their gutturally
regional accents
© 26 July 2008, I. D. Carswell

This Working Day

Wednesday, April 16 and back to work;
the first new-season avocado pick awaits
when dew eventually vacates the Orchard
grass; an early sun suggests a balmy Autumn
day. It won’t be hard to start again, I say –
a trifle unconvinced. Although awake since
4am I’m fresh and ready to engage.

The chicks now number fifteen hatched
with one to come, not great success from
twenty one we set just three weeks back.
They’re huddled in a tidy gang beneath
the lamp which warms their brooder box,
the warmest spot they’ll learn to leave
to feed and drink – and grow and crap!

When at six weeks with feathers fledged
they’ll be released to strut and scratch on
grass within the chicken run. By then a
second batch will come of age. Sun’s first
rays glance eagerly through window pane
on cooling breeze of frosty breath, subtly
suggests we start this working day.
© 16 April 2008, I. D. Carswell