Coffees, Green Flies and Isis.

The grass in the fields is thick,
But it is only the beginning of June and there are months to come
Of fat stems and growing,
Young grass growing,
And a ewe with two lambs eating,
And the grass will be cut back with scythes,
Men walking the fields cutting back the dark, full grass,
Their blades slicing.

We could just let the grass grow,
Ripen in the summer sun,
It will come,
Let them have a full year,
A whole cycle unshorn,
And in winter lie back gently,
Sleep on till another spring,
And the lambs would be a year older,
And the man in the lane could clap his hands and smile,
Standing amongst the sweet cicely, rainwater,
Sunshine, buttercups and blue bells,
Watching the flies drinking,
Greenish tinged flies he’d not seen before,
Drinking the nectar of the flowers,
They smell like honey, honey smells like flowers,
Like wild-flowers giving of their tiny selves,
To flies, to men, to the sun,
And from the sun unsung, unheralded,
Not heralded, lauded, alive.
 
 
Nick Telfer is a “faux Jock” who lives in Manchester with his wife and two children. He helps look after a couple of restaurants in North Wales. Between those, his family and his friends he finds a little time to write poems and stories, which sometimes get published and may get collected together in the future. Poetically and sartorially he nods towards Sir Philip Sidney and William Carlos Williams.