The Hare

Up he sits
front paws pinched
chest proud
head twitching.

A lesser character
might be seen
as startled,
even flustered.

But not he -
eyes now locked
legs loaded
and ears unbeaten.


    He traversed down
the steep slopes of his opinions
    and often others were unaware
when he arrived at them,

    and snaked up
the gentle gradients
   of those with more direct views
trying, bend by bend,
   to unpick them.


the clank between brick walls
and a nail going in
or the drone of traffic
or a coo from somewhere in the heat
or barking
or screeching and laughing
or the buzz of a bobbing bee
or a wobble-board wind far above the trees

woke me from my dream.

A Love of Plums

On the pale cracked earth
we sat under a plum tree
savouring the sweetness
of its dark plump fruit;

their sharp-tasting skins
almost splitting,
like cupid's fingers
must have been;
their pending decay
adding to their beauty

until tight, rounded skins
and the start of sagging
exist inseparably.

Tristan Moss

If you have any comments on these poems, Tristan Moss would be pleased to hear from you.