Lesley Quayle is a widely published, prizewinning poet, an editor and folk/blues singer. She has a collection, Sessions, (Indigo Dreams) and a pamphlet Songs For Lesser Gods, (Erbacce) featuring her prizewinning series of sonnets of the same name. Her latest pamphlet, Black Bicycle, was published in May 2018 by 4Word Press.
Now is the time for ripening plums and yellow grass,
maize shouldering the sky, hedgerows cut,
sharp and angular – the precise geometry of field edges.
I could lie down among vetch and rye-grass,
disturb tiny, starry moths, listen to the hungering
rooks and wait for the first leaf to fall.
I may squint at the low sun, hand-cast a shadow
over my brow, and watch the gauzy edge of autumn
fold over blackthorn, savour the chill of summer’s ghost,
let wilderness seep through veins, fill up the hollow heart,
a nest of root and twigs and stolen down, close my eyes
while drifting spiders weave their silk,
smirr my lashes to placate unfiltered light.
Stay there, ignoring tasks, the scratch and fret
of hour collapsing into hour, like scything nettles,
and maybe sleep, time marked by nothing more
than one leaf after another.