The Hawthorn by Suzanne Iuppa



Suzanne Iuppa is a poet, community worker and conservationist living in the Dyfi Valley, mid Wales.

Her poems can be found in literary magazines including The Lampeter Review, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Zoomorphic, Slipstream, The Lake and many others. She has been shortlisted for the Bridport Prize and the WoLF poetry competition, and Highly Commended in the Mothers Milk Writing Prize. She writes her first full collection with a very loud roosting goshawk for company.


Twitter:         @wildernesspoet

























When its not raining

         its a true August

still, the leaves starting their turn,

        wild carrot seeding itself

        berries for mouths

        the scree of a kite.


The clouds hunker down here

       but not today

       the Dyfi has a rest

       from gorging on spate

       heat slows all living things down,


       for collisions

       and recognitions,

       allowing the study of small creatures

       wanting to be close:

       hoverflies suspended,

       some taken for beetles,

       some taken for bees.


Dry white tufts hang on the creeping thistle.


I slip into grassland, plain-faced

            and unimproved,

            onto the ridge, parallel with

            unpassable bracken;

            to straighten eye-level over

            clear-felled tops.


I make for you, tree,

            out of a stint of

            outgrown hazel coppice

            sheep desire-line and cow pats

            losing their juice in the sunshine.

I hear rough retorts to the wind

            obstinate seasons,

            constant rivulets joining at rootdepth.

There are channels in the bark

            to sink love notes into;

            a returning language.


But today, its not raining,

            and the tree says, wait.

Laminate years swell and chip,

            yet it holds hundreds,

            in lichen and pale branches.

Suzanne Iuppa


Gilbert White Poems and Stories

Gilbert White Poetry Event