Broomfield Park

A moorhen busies herself,

rocks this way and that

on a wave-washed nest.

Swans float in late afternoon chill,

shadows lengthen,

chestnut buds swell.

Forsythia trembles the breeze –

pastel-green willows barely move

dipping branch-tips into the lake.

Every year I wait for this –

first flowers, trees leafing

on sculpted branches,

reflecting in the water

their steadfast

cascades of green.

©Katherine Gallagher

Deadly Dinosaurs Delving

Dangerous Dinosaurs Dazzling

Decorous Dinosaurs Drawing

Dandy Dinosaurs Dancing

Dehydrated Dinosaurs Drinking

Desperate  Dinosaurs Digging

Dizzy Dinosaurs Digesting

©Katherine Gallagher

At the Playground

(for Julien)

The March wind whisks against us:

my son, three, starts the roundabout

refuses to get on himself. Today

he has planned ahead, says it’s his turn

to push me, watches me on board

and I’m away. I enjoy being passenger,

store all this for later –

the afternoon’s lulled moves,

everywhere the air heady

and he in the foreground

racing his years, reminding me

to take care, hang on.

The ground spins, blurs; he begs it

with each command, checks

I’m not going too fast.

‘You can’t fall off,’ he says

smiling, assured.

I know it, this steady pace

contains us both, days overlap: he will perhaps

never love me more than now.

© Katherine Gallagher

Rainstorm

A single drop

plop  plop  plop

joining other drops

plopplopplopplop

plopplopplopplopplopplopplopplop

Suddenly the sky’s gone black and dark

as the rain keeps pounding hard

on the street, on the houses

battering windows, never fleeting

raining thicker louder quicker

in the city on the streets

water coming down in sheets

raindrops dropping, never stopping

until, until . . .

© Katherine Gallagher

Sky-dancer

a clear lolly moon

keeping counsel

over our road

she sashays slowly

focusing the sky

tide-maker

heavenly waltzer

serene

in the moment

with no pirouettes

tango

no cake-walk

she’s an old face

at home

in her skin

(Published on London Grip Online Magazine, 2018)

©Katherine Gallagher

I like to paint magpies

that I can see

when they’re warbling away

in our willow tree.

I like to paint my Platypus

and my favourite toys,

Trixie Tinder, Red Rocket

and the Rocket Boys.

I like to paint my family

especially my Mum

when she’s home from work

and my brother’s on his drum.

©Katherine Gallagher

With every step among the leaves,

crackling, golden, orange, brown

you hear the music of the  bees,

you feel the rhythm of your feet;

the slip and slide on crackling grass,

and the colours of the burning trees.

Keep on walking – it’s a treat

to drink the air and sing your feet

in crackling grass as you pass.

©Katherine Gallagher

Song

   (after Charles Causley)

I am the song that lifts the sky

I am the wind that flames the fire

I am the cloud that calls the flood

I am the stream that draws the sun

I am the tide that drinks the moon

I am the air that sings the leaf

I am the bird that stirs the branch

I am the tale that flies the word

I am the note that spreads the song

©Katherine Gallagher

Wheels Song

I don’t know why I’ve got feet

when I could have had wheels,

for wheels go so much faster.

Imagine me flying down our street

not in my trainers or boots

but on wheels, with my ghetto-blaster.

Imagine people turning to stare

and all telling me to slow down

before I caused a disaster.

Imagine me gliding off into space

with a quick little nod to the Moon,

then simply going straight past her. . .

©Katherine Gallagher