Words by A Wensley

For whom the axe falls - a dedication for the dedicated This is for the storm-fallen still-forming apples, The unfulfilled potentials, The brilliant minds, The axed with no axe to grind. This is for the respected yet redundant Gone-too-sooners, Nipped by austerity frost  Before their buds got to bloomers, Faith-in-the-process, And protest-tuners. This is for the always-there-when-you-needers, Flood-emergency-call-leaders, Cut to the core and the kindness still flows - Love-bleeders. This is for the unjustified leavers, Parting through gritted-teeth (We see you, not-usual-seethers). This is for the long-servers,  The ones who wanted to be retirement-swervers*. The undeservers. You deserve so much more Than this dedication - Dear colleagues, friends, hard-workers, neighbours, We'll never get to see the full fruits Of your labours. A Wensley 26.03.2025 - Dedicated to those who are ending their Somerset Council careers this week, through no fault of their own * definition - someon...

A couple of lunar eclipse poems from the past this blood moon lunar eclipse worm full moon morning... Partially Eclipsed Shadows cross the moon tonight, Like memories across my mind. The now exists in partial eclipse, Still leaving part to shine. Your shadow moves across me, Like a wave along the shore.  Emotional tides swell deep and ride,  My sea tranquil no more.  Your shadow then recedes, Like the tide eroding time. You may leave me partially eclipsed, But now's my time to shine. 'Til next time.  A Wensley 17.07.19 -------- Everflow The mind is a tide,  Emotions ebb and flow upon it. And just as the phases of the moon Draw them high and low,  We are sometimes full, Sometimes partially eclipsed,  But forever constant. Interdependent, Whether we're drowning or buoyant.  May our love, and self-love, everflow. A Wensley 12.09.2020 📷 Pic credit to Amanda Baldwin

 Pod 1 - on the last day of February Pod 1 floats high above our moorings;  Watchet marina, still in the high-tide moonlight, Floodlight. Against an elbow height concrete balcony  I lean towards the heavens Watch planets aligning… White walls and red spanners, Inside, Luggage labels hang from stairways, Memories found and left Documenting mutual exchanges… The empty bottles that watch on From craft-box alcoves Demonstrative Of uncorked desires Times passed in togetherness… Sit and watch the sun set over North Hill, The Lighthouse, with the words of Coleridge Painted white, inscribed along the wall From a half-cut bath-tub… Look inwards, Find your words in Watchet, Find the way, Yesterday remem bered, But living for today. 28.02.2025

 Lone Oak Tree A canopy of comfort Beckons me forth. Branches outstretched. Strong, moss-covered boughs, Alive with life's rich tapestry, For insects, squirrels, birds - a home.  LIFE glistens From every shaft of sunlight, On every raindrop, Every leaf and acorn - untense. A picnic for the senses. I sit in wonder as my children swing. Enchanted. I wrap my arms around you, And in the embrace of tree-hugging grace -  Feel the growth rings of years past encircle me, Comfort warmed in experience formed. The core of my being, Reborn.  A Wensley 11.08.19 v2 (An oak at Hideaway Camping, for CH)

  A Street-Cat Named Mower  (for pronunciation think Miaou-er) You were our Street Cat, Our Survival Instinct Cat, Our Scaredy Cat, at first Who ran in fits and bursts. Then you came in, for the kill, Laid mice at our patio-door sill Birds and dragonflies all made jam! Look how clever I am, I am! As no owner could be found, You persisted and gained ground Into our lean to, and our hearts. This is where our story starts. Litter trained? Definitely not! But no shit, when we got you we got a lot, Around the tray and underfoot! Trainers, slippers, welly boots. You'd always find a sunny spot In the garden, or hutch a-top With our bunnies you stretched out lean, To sleep, perchance to dream, no screams! It was this laid-back sun-a-stretchin' That got you a Liv Torc mention In a film about lockdowns,  Haiku and a photo-match = 'Haiflu*' fame found! Then, when we decided to up and move sticks, You sat on our boxes and got in the mix, Ok Ok Mower of course you can come! And yes,...

A landscape portrait of the 20th of January 2025 Quintessentially English rain  Drips from the green, moss-thatched eaves of Rose Cottage, a pink-rendered chocolate box, Faded Jigsaw-box scene; A country lane leading to a Gallox Bridge Bordered by a brook  and strategically placed stones, Unsuitable for motorists, no parking. The scent of chimney smoke a long way from the fires in LA. It's January in Dunster. To walk these cobbled pavements Is to walk the ups and downs of life itself, with care, and precariously. The sound of the church clock ringing out at 1pm And the happiness of amassed children in the playground, Reminds me of innocence, and that it's lunchtime; All the shops display quaint little closed signs, No tea, The only thing I'm consuming today is the ambiance. The sun tried to break through the clouds earlier, As I approached the Dovecote, No white flash of wings today though, no coo, But I did see two wood pigeons Courting on the telephone wire,  (They don...