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last update: 10th Sep19

 

 

A Shock to the System                     Renton Road Allotments

 

On The Conversation of Farm Machinery           Pepys Calls in the Joiner

 

A Shock to the System

In edgy light you bottled out of the thin copse
heart pounding with the sudden shock
from picking up the can.
“Something shot out of it,” you said,
and let your hand rush to your mouth.
 
“Over there,” you said,
“Something’s jumping in the grass!”
A pinprick of skin winked in the sun
so we traced its path in the lemon-squash light
until the movement of parting stems
revealed the startled frog.
 
We leaned over, saw how the fellow
was pop-eyed at rest, the floor of his throat
rising and falling in a gentle, regular rhythm.
 
It may be a while before he trusts me enough
to stay within this poem.
 

Neil Leadbeater

in collection Penn Fields, 2019, Littoral Press,
ISBN 978-1-912412-17-4


 
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Renton Road Allotments

Renton Road Allotments were on the other side of town
somewhere you’d never been to
but it conjured up the conviviality
of mixing with people from different cultures
who shared a passion for plants –
the Indian amid the still expanse of Exbury hybrid azaleas;
Jamaicans with their summer squashes
huggermugger with massed astilbes
ranged between the beans
and a small child
bad-mouthing belladonna
because his father had told him
it was the only fruit in the town grounds
of which he could not eat.
 

Neil Leadbeater

in collection Penn Fields, 2019, Littoral Press,
ISBN 978-1-912412-17-4


 
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On The Conversation of Farm Machinery

the loose chatter of the combine-harvester loud-whispering the wheat.
 

Neil Leadbeater

in collection Finding the River Horse, 2017, Littoral Press,
ISBN 978-0-9576608-7-8


 
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Pepys Calls in the Joiner

Together, “with great pains”
they make presses to house his books
because he’s tired of seeing them lying about
reclining in his chairs.
 
It is July 1666 and I imagine
unbroken sun
streaming into his rooms
so that you can see into the middle distance
dust motes thick as thieves
two people stumbling about
attempting to restore some order:
trees, wood and paper
foremost on their minds.
 
It was the start of Library Furniture –
nothing less than
breakfront bookcases
in which a gentleman could display
his highly prized bindings
for others to admire –
not chiffoniers, smaller and lower,
to stand in other rooms…
nothing grand
in boulle marquetry –
nor did it have adjustable shelving
or stand with matching counterparts
flush against his walls.
 
Winter evenings
I see his rooms lit by candles –
hands busy with books
sorting as to size.
Neatness was his purpose,
not subject matter
or author.
Dewey Decimal was a long way off
and cataloguing
not yet on the cards.
 

Neil Leadbeater

in collection Finding the River Horse, 2017, Littoral Press,
ISBN 978-0-9576608-7-8


 
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