Sea Oats
The branchéd chain mellifluous calls
‘Neath turquoise skies, a carillon entrancing:
Where sea oats sing his love for me, and kelp
So smooth his love advancing.
Rare breezes tease willows ‘long brackish rivers,
Their clandestine titters enjoining:
His bladed trident pierces cupid’s realm, forever,
His fins my lungs enwrapping.
Let trumpet loud, the sea oats sing,
Whilst seagulls scratch in sand, cuneiform things.
Where once, the bladed roses grow,
I’ll splash and love no more.
When the Trees are Sobbing Faintly
Prince Caspar and his grooms man, boundcast into two oaks as punishment, stand broken hearted either side of the A30 to London.
I will marry you!
Yes, my love!
For 700 years Caspar has sent across a bud containing a gold band that neither bandit jackdaws nor barrister magpies can snatch.
By May the reaching branches almost meet over the road in a triumphal lovers arch.
By June the Highways Agency prune them back.