at the point
where the river
turns tidal
the undercurrents
slowly surface

- Eucalypt

English Frogs

Crouched at the pond’s edge,
my younger son finds shade from the eighty-eight

degrees sun-trap and points out each
of the frog-heads poking up through the duckweed

and asks, Why do frogs stay still for so long?
On an English day like this,

It can only be because they’re philosophical,
wise or just plain can’t be bothered.

off his mum's bowling
the boy runs to field
his own on-drive

school fete
the head tries to join in
the bonhomie

a few bars of a song
I haven't heard for years...
screeching swifts

The Painted Ladies' Invasion

It commences with a mass emergence
from the foothills of the Atlas Mountains.

Two months later they cross the sierras
en route to Gascogne and Pas de Calais,

where, like William the Bastard, they launch
their invasion on favourable winds

over La Manche towards Ditchling Beacon
and on, via chalk escarpments, fluttering

their glints of orange to passers-by,
streaming in many thousands to settle

on heathland rich in thistle and nettle,
viper’s bugloss, burdock and other treats,

or railwayside allotments where they
alight on Granddad’s nascent runner beans.

Their caterpillars, or those which survive,
metamorphose in flash flood or heatwave

and congregate along the Pilgrims’ Way
for take-off homeward to the Berber lands.

There's a new issue of Shamrock out and it's also worth checking out the new online haiku journal, Notes From the Gean.