We climbed the hill behind the pub,
through the wet muddy grass, our feet
slipping as we scrabbled to the top.
Then we waited, quiet as night, while
the bats floated through the silent trees,
until signs of a bonfire flickered up.
Within seconds a rocket burst -
a rainbow of sparkles in the sky -
its loud 'Bang!' shattering the stillness.
A fox barked reply and the bats fled
behind the hill as more rockets flew
in all colours of dazzling light.
When they were done we stood while the
dark and cold world returned with the
noise of the wild a welcome relief.
I was drunk and
bored with Tony's friends
so I kissed you and
I don't remember that
just the look that
haunts me as they
asked you to leave.
The leaves they fall in autumn
as do my spirits too.
I cannot stand the dying,
as decay does accrue.
Some people love the colours,
as green turns into red,
but I know that it's winter
that's heralded instead.
For in the depths of winter
my soul is balled up tight.
I hate the cold and darkness,
I crave the joy of light.
But days seems even longer
and there's no warmth in me.
I count the weeks till summer
when once again I'm free
to roam the sunlit meadows
and splash in sky blue seas
to feel the garden growing
and climb the highest trees.
But summer days grow shorter
as my heart slowly grieves,
so when it's time for autumn
I do not watch the leaves.
Glenis has been writing poetry since the beginning of the first Covid lockdown and tends to use free verse a lot, although she is now beginning to experiment with rhyming more. She writes mainly about her past, the environment and/or her cats, and does most of her writing at night as she suffers from severe insomnia. When she is not writing poetry, she makes beaded jewellery, reads, cycles and sometimes runs 10K races slowly. She lives just
outside Cambridge in the flat expanse of the Fens.