Another Field Gone

When the pigeons lifted
and their wings flapped
like pages flicked in a book,

the field became our own again.
Seed hung on the tips of summer
and tractors waited in heaviness.

Another June to August
had left us. The barbecue’s we
have yet to cook. Campsites

known but never seen, stars
wasted in moonlit skies, owl
hoots locked out by a door.

Then the tractors came to plough
away the sun growth.
We turned to thicker curtains,

logs on the fire, coal, coal,
and blackened fingers.
Another year older for the next
summer. And bones thicker

with work, skin creased with rain.
Wishing our lives would be lived
again.

By Gareth Culshaw

farmer with children on tractor


Gareth lives in North Wales. He loves the outdoors especially Snowdonia. He is published in various magazines across the U.K. Visit his website here.

Photo by William Perugini

The Old Building Made Of Wood

I am walking into a wood
that is like an old building, crumbling
to the ground. Light spears
through where it’s not meant to.
Wind pinches the air, shaking
the summer out of the leaves
A kestrel lingers on the edge
with its ghost flapping wings.
I move with each press of foot,
feeling the hard cobbled earth
of roots and limbs. A buzzard
is pushed out of the trees,
birds separate themselves
from the wood. I become a lone
figure, walking with feet
that gain weight by losing light
each passing year.

By Gareth Culshaw

hiking rocky path through deep forest


Gareth lives in North Wales. He loves the outdoors especially Snowdonia. He is published in various magazines across the U.K. Visit his website here.

Photo by Jaromír Chalabala

Light

There is just a smudge

like thumb-wiped chalk
on a blackboard.

Birds have woken, woken.

Trees have sprouted
out of the darkness,
shedding their night coats
onto the floor.

Birds have woken, woken.

The sun finally
moulds

buttoning daylight into
the sky.

By Gareth Culshaw

lake sunrise with sky reflections in water.


Gareth lives in North Wales. He loves the outdoors especially Snowdonia. He is published in various magazines across the U.K. Visit his website here.

Photo by miloszg

KEE KEE KEE

The storm raged in the sky
then brought itself down
to disturb the shadows.

I waited for it to go, waiting
until the branches didn’t row
anymore like canoe paddles.

When the wind had fallen off the

edge

and the night sheeted the wood.

I walked towards the wood

then stopped.

A sound, a half sound, as if she
could not bring herself to call any
further, like the wood had shrunk.

Sliced the air, the air.

On seeing the light take root
in the morning I went back
and saw a tree lying flat

the wood had lost a limb
the wood had lost a limb.

She knew,
she knew,
she knew.

By Gareth Culshaw

 tawny owl on tree stump


Gareth lives in North Wales. He loves the outdoors especially Snowdonia. He is published in various magazines across the U.K. Visit his website here.

Photo by Steven Cooper

Click here to read more about Tawny Owls at Owl Pages

Dancing Jackdaws

They thumb the sky
standing with emptiness
the coals below all used
now dance in the air

dance in the air.

The jackdaws are house
building on the old chimneys
their ash wings flick and flutter

dance in the air
dance in the air.

The village below sits
like an old hearth, until
the jackdaws make the blue

sky wave and ripple
giving light to their lives

By Gareth Culshaw

jackdaw couple on a chimney of a house


Gareth lives in North Wales. He loves the outdoors especially Snowdonia. He is published in various magazines across the U.K. Visit his website here.

Photo of jackdaws on chimney by Siegfried Kopp