This morning
in the rain-streaked golden light
a butterfly was dancing,
wing-tips spilling sunlight
into the citrus sting of bitter-sweet
rippling along the jet stream.
Did it sense the fragrance
still wafting from the open greenhouse
door, that heady scent of leaf and fruit?
The swallows have left already,
waved farewell to summer’s short sojourn,
swooping to the edge of day, the wind
rising now at dawn. But what is left is this:
nights of stars, an orange glow,
the slow drift of firewood smoke –
and the music playing inside of us,
fierce enough to fade, stir again.



Copyright 2012 Louise Hastings


After the Rain by Poetry Novice

Grey clouds lift, a break or two of blue
The rain that ensued has left a shine on the land
Brickwork freshened by moisture’s touch
Grime and dirt of the summer trailing away to a mortal end

Steam appears as the sun once more makes its dominance felt
The flora recovers, safe to raise their full faces
Noises once again, where there had been only roar
The evening sounds of the countryside, on the wind children readily explore

And now the evening settles, shed of it meteorological hiccup
Tomorrow brings a new dawn, a new sun, a new day
Awaiting more warming rays, a return to the heat and the dry.


I’m a 40 something novice to poetry living in south east england with my wife and two young daughters. I fell into writing some thoughts, which became poetic, whilst on a recent family holiday, and often I will put pencil to paper; and now to keyboard.

Old Wind by Darren Hawbrook

Image Credit:

Old wind,
I have known you
but briefly.
From a light sleep
you wake me,
face pressed against my window
like an errant child
without a friend.

You ride the turbulence
in a world full of secrets;
The Confidant to love and death;
blowing kisses of eternal promise
while gathering up last breaths.

Some days you wander
through cinammon streets,
speak in hermit tongue,
an odour of stale whiskey and smoke
on your weary exhalations.

Other times, your playful sprite
chases butterflies
through lily-white glades,
lifts kites aloft with childlike hope
and stirs the autumn leaves.

I hear your fitful
zephyr song
on the wind-chimes in the yard.
Old wind,
I run with you tonight –
if from a light sleep
you wake me.

I am a writer and musician from Lincoln, England, turning my hand to most types of writing. I’ve written poems, songs, short fiction and scripts (including a pantomime), and have reached 70,000 words towards my first serious novel. In many ways, I am influenced by nature and the elemental factors that help to forge the creative landscapes of the mind. I love reading the many wonderful poets who share their work on Word Press, and it is thanks to them that I have dug out my old poems and dusted them off in order to post on my blog at  Old Wind is a new poem, inspired by the teasing wind that rattled through the office windows while stuck on my 9 til 5! Louise was one of the first poets (and certainly one of the best) that I came across on Word Press, and I am honoured that she has agreed to host one of my pieces on her site.

A Blue Moon Night

Shot in Nyköping

Shot in Nyköping (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Someone, somewhere
dreams in images of hope.
A blue moon shines
upon a ruffled bed
under stars, the milky way
and night, bathes
the county’s roofs,
tree-lined hills and bends.
The hour fades,
leaves still green
wave farewell,
turn to gold and tangerine.
A curtain blows,
hustles in a grainy dawn.
Above, the swallows congregate,
announce years end
in the hazy gap
between wakefulness and sleep.

© 2012 Louise Hastings