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Not many people in the park,
nobody near enough to hear me,
if I say a poem or two.
So I do.
From Things You Find in a Poet's Beard by A.F. Harrold
Trees are good at what they do,
at being oak or beech or yew.
Oh to be in Magherabeg
Where I was adult free
From sun up til head down,
Stomping through streams in worn out wellies,
Chasing rams down to the Swilly.
We're floating into the blue,Me and my blue balloon.Over the rooftops of the town,The brown fields and the treesAnd the Downs – we're floating,
Nobody can see my name on me.My name is insideand all over me, unseenlike other people also keep it.Isn't my name magical?
Little toad little toad mind yourselfmind yourself let me plant my cornplant my corn to feed my horsefeed my horse to run my race – the sea is full of more than I know
We watch them, hypnotized.Pale and mysterious,They rise and fall. Joe says“They look like ghosts.”
The jellyfishdances through the waterwaving its frilly underwear.
We found one on the beach.
It had become a polythene bagfull of water.
They told me
you live in my roof,
You rumble the night
with your claw dance,
I am in a forest;My brothers will never find me here.Over my head is a green umbrella;I feel the earth under my bare feet.