Verde

This poem was drafted at a Poetry Business workshop and is based on a real incident on the green dry river bed between Cabo Roig and Cala Capitan beach.

Verde

The verde is refreshed today

drenched by last night's thunderclouds.

The earth has quenched its thirst

dry enough for sandaled feet

to raise dust from a path

scattered with slivers of shattered glass.

I look to a sky

that redefines the colour blue,

carrying a small plane

whose engine harmonises

with the relentless insects

hiding in the trees.

As I look down a gecko stops,

stock still. I stop too

and we both wait for the other to blink.

I look away and glimpse the sea.

When I look back, he is gone. 

Tim Fellows 2019

I Fell at Towton

The Battle of Towton took place during the Wars of the Roses in the spring of 1461. There was heavy snow. It was long and brutal, possibly the bloodiest battle to be fought on English soil.

I Fell At Towton

Red flesh, vivid on splintered bone
where blood flows in angry 
torrent my unseen foe emerges 
through the thickening snow 
that dulls the sound of screams and roars;
mace aloft to strike a cruel blow. 

His eyes a blaze of fear and hate;
his breath in plume
as in a scything, swirling blur 
of arms he aims 

to crush my head, it glances 
from my helmet as I swerve 
but slip and fall where mud 
and gore have mixed with ice 
slick from the snowy squall. 

On the ground I lie and to my right 
a comrade lies, a trace of tears 
frozen on his empty eyes
that stare as once they stared in birth, 
and now must gaze on death. 

A blade is lifted to the sky
and as I await its fatal bite 
I see the snow is settling now 
covering bodies with a shroud of white 
and I can only think that how 
the rose I served must win 
or why else did I fight?

Tim Fellows 2019

Orihuela Market

Written after a visit in the winter of 2019.

Orihuela market

Out

The camels smile their lugubrious smile,

kneel-lying on the cobbled street

as one of the herd clambers to its feet,

to carry the excited child.

The boy, a swirl of bravado and fear

rises and jerks towards the sky.

His sister clings, with no pretence,

between the humps and squeals and cries.

Exotic scents drift through the crowd

out from the stalls, a Moorish feel,

the dancer's hips make snake-like lines

to the pipe's mesmeric reel.

Meats, skewered and layered, drip fat

scents of spice drift in our wake

Full legs of ham, great wheels of cheese

and tempting us, huge slabs of cake.

Back

Candy floss and toffee apples

hints of Britain

in the winter sunshine

banished by churros

dipped in chocolate.

An array of trinkets made from

the bones of animals

No hay maltrato animal

the sign informs

Under the mighty wall of rock

the church's bells hang in loaded silence.

A man who resembles

our image of Jesus

silently passes by its door

The sun is cooling now
and the crowds drift home.
The camel chews and dreams
of deserts.

Tim Fellows 2019

Bunfungle

I wrote this for a children's poetry competition. It didn't get very far but another one I already had that I just threw in as an extra entry got on the long list. Just shows that you are not the best judge of what judges think of your work!



Bunfungle

My best friend's called Bunfungle

he lives beneath my bed.

He's got quite a tiny body

but a big and furry head.

He wakes me in the morning

by tickling my right ear.

He sings a happy morning song

'til my yawns all disappear.

He likes to share my breakfast,

he eats some of my toast.

Marmalade's the topping

that he enjoys the most.

He's in the pocket of my coat

when mum takes me to school

and hides inside the locker

at the swimming pool.

'Cos no-one sees Bunfungle,

he'd scare and he'd surprise!

Frighten them with his giant teeth

and his googly yellow eyes.

Bunfungle's better than a dog

he's more fun than a cat.

I like it when he dances

and wears a funny hat.

Bunfungle always keeps me safe

when I go to bed at night.

He scares off all the monsters

and tucks me in all tight.

I know one day Bunfungle

will have to go away,

when I get big like Daddy

he won't come out to play.

He'll still be in my pocket

he'll follow everywhere

I won't see him anymore

but I'll always know he's there.

Tim Fellows 2019