A silly little ode to bread

“Since when,” he asked, “Are the first line and last line of any poem where the poem begins and ends?”

Seamus Heaney

The Patchwork of Fields

Trees with branches like antlers and others that are tall,
thin: a parade of young and old soldiers to attention,
dressed in green. Few out of hundreds sway in the early
morning light, older brothers holding them steady. Between
them all, a white lorry steams ahead. Morning bread
stacked within its belly. Waiting for hands to shelve it
and hands to buy it. Bumblebee bright flowers queue in
uneven rows; passing the time while farmers muck the fields
next to them. The walls separating the fields are cobbled,
newer than you would guess and filled with homes for the
small creatures. Birds and insects and a nest of voles in this
one nearest. In the early morning, the farmer is king
when all others sleep and wake later, ready for a hearty
breakfast: a gift from the land to you.


A slightly different one this week, since recently I’ve been rereading Seamus Heaney and Wordsworth, and I felt inspired to try a little r romantic poem about nature after delving into their styles of writing.

It can be trite writing about nature at times, yet without this type of writing we wouldn’t have a lot of Tolkien’s tales, as he was famously inspired by the natural world and the dangers of over-industrialisation of the countryside.

This drabble is nothing near any three of these great writers, but it was fun to give something different a try!

Trying new things is a good flex for your creativity, so why not try something new over the bank holiday weekend? It doesn’t have to perfect, or even good, but to put in your first attempt is to begin to practice something new – anything worthwhile usually takes practice first!

Good luck with trying your something new this long weekend, you’ve got this.


This week’s featured image is a photo taken by myself, a few miles out from my hometown, back in 2010.

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