Nature Through The Psychodelic Lens

Nature Through The Psychodelic Lens

Green greenery
Scenic scenery
The smell of fresh cut grass
As you walk on past
Folds of rolling hills
In the distance spill

In the graveyard
A pheasant roams
Amongst the graveyard stones
Not making a sound -
- not wanting to be
Discovered and found

And rebellious flowers
Rusty old daffodills
Pansies and snowdrop crops
Rise up in swathes
Covering the graves

Fields of acid yellow
Steal my eyes, squinting
In a hazy daze, glinting
All calm and mellow

And beyond, up to the skyline
Poppy flowers lend their magic powers
Drowning the hills in a fine red wine
And wind wrapped snowy showers
Of white blossom flowers decline

A secret stash of bluebells
As if forbidden - don’t tell
Beyond the bracken, lie hidden
And unwell, losing their potent colour
Becoming duller and slacken

The river lazily
Lackadaisically pulls
Itself along, languorous
Slow and sluggish
Heavy and lethargic
Although the stream
Rapidly rushes on

And the sun now drowsy
And dozy drops
Its head

Into the psychodelic bed
Of the evening sky
Split and slit open
In gashes and clashes
Of oranges, pinks and reds

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