Sunday, 8 June 2014


 Slipping from their cups the acorns rain, making
Tiny disturbances in the universe.
Clattering gently through dark boughs, blue beyond,
They pool around stiff trunks, their newness fading
As they fell; they crack now beneath the foot,
Brittle brown, translated from seed to sound.

Here on the Heath on an October afternoon,
The sun destroying vision, the acorns rain
And the shades of ancient poets
Flit between the hedgerows, comfortingly sighing.

Wynn Wheldon

[Originally published in Tiny Disturbances (Acumen, 2012)]

1 comment:

  1. I love the idea of being blinded by the immensity of life and its meaning and experiences ('sun destroying vision'), but hearing these acorns, as if by deliberate and happy accident, being trodden (by the poets) from 'seed to sound'.

    Looking forward to the walk, and some more treading.