Dryads eggs hatching

Strokes and scribbles
Chisel out ancient tales
Like the lines on a human hand.

Dryads’ families lives
Imprinted on beautiful bark
Wrapped around the groaning oak.


Dryads’ eggs disguised as nodules, pulsate
And warm,
Sparkling eyes watching from
Dusk till dawn until
Time for rebirth.

Red Remnant of Autumn


Crumpled withered memory
Frosted crackled tones.

Scented breeze envelops
Her veins.

She falls falls

Sunlight soothes, energises
Stretch twigs, branches
Yawn breathe ‘spring’.

Treacle soft bud
Bursts like a sticky crysalis
Releasing its young.