Four poems by Rhona Haywood

Natives of The National Forest all know just how special a place it really is. Some are even inspired to write poetry about places within the forest, such as lifelong resident Rhona Haywood who has composed four poems about different areas that have inspired her.

Time, The avenger

“TIME, THE AVENGER” the Town Hall Clock in
Swadlincote says, Is it true?

Coal we once hacked from holes deep in the ground
cracked our
Homes where the earth did subside,
Now it is gouged from the surface soil leaving all
Barren where nought else can reside.
Better or worse is this, seeing the spoiling, the
Wasting that can’t be denied?

Slowly, the wind, rain, frost, sunlight and warmth
fetch the
Flora from neighbouring fields.
Layer on layer, green cover’s life-cycle builds
Leaf-soil which sustenance yields. Then
“Town Hall Clock” grows, moschatel, with the
power which
TIME, THE GREAT HEALER wields.

Church Gresley to High Cross

Gold gorse lights up the winter track and then
The pussy willow’s pollen guilds the hedge
And leafless, coltsfoot shines.

Pale yellow spikes of toadflax, archangel
And mellilot and mignonette the bird’s
Foot trefoil underlines.

With dyer’s greenweed, silver wormwood weld,
Pink dog-rose, foxglove, mallow, clover mauve
Is sweet for bees to loot.

Red campion, stitchwort, knapweed, buttercups
And daisies, yarrow, ragwort flower and late
The mountain ash will fruit.

This ancient road provides a varied feast
And makes a home for insect, bird and beast.

Swadlincote

Now it is making a brand new start,
The ground that has gravely gashed apart,
With streams again running
And birds that are sunning
Themselves in the forest’s verdant heart.

Of vibrant green leaves sprung from land only just
Freed from the harsh scars that always must
Be healed by the force
That runs life’s course
And raises bright flowers through shrouding dust.

Now the kingcups shine gold and marsh orchids glow pink,
But those bees on the mauve flowers are not what you think.
Take time to wander
The forest and ponder
On sounds and sensations to form a firm link.

Albert Village reborn

If you’d gone down through the fields today
Your eyes would have opened wide.
If you’d been there ten years ago, say,
When the village environs were gashed and grey
Its bleakness you’d not have denied.

There’s a lake a-ripple now, all at peace,
With swans plumed in white and one black,
Green-headed mallards and Canada geese;
White-spotted coots through the reeds without cease,
Away to the island and back.

Round the water’s edged flanked by saplings and ash
And hawthorn and rowan and oak,
The bird’s-foot trefoil and pink century splash
Banks risen through dog rose and gorse with its flash
Of gold that transforms at a stroke.

So, when you go down through the fields again
Let your senses savour the air.
Blue damselflies, bumble bees, butterflies reign
Under clouds or in sunshine, in wind and in rain
Reborn Albert Village is there.