Ordinary Time

Well, I’m in the throes of sorting through and collating six years of poems at the moment, and this one from 2016 struck me as fitting for both the time of year and this season of life. Stay tuned for more tasters of what will be in the anthology…

Resolution: Slow Fruit
Nothing purposed is instant. Fruit grows
first by roots spreading deep,
nutrients drawn, sunlight synthesised,
chlorophyll taking glory from green.
Look to the fig tree. If you see its buds,
Summer’s promise dangles, yet is not realised.
Tantalising, like
a kitten’s ball of yarn, or a note
waiting to resolve, a game
of slow expectancy.
New year brings blossoms
but fruit is never instant. Trees
ask for patient expectation.
Come here daily; look to leaves
yet wait before you pick.