String bags and ...(edit)

[billy]

if you let me know how you wanting setting out, i'll sort it out for you

lots and lots to like about this AJ if you have one problem it's that it feels like you've packed a little to much into it in places. some good alliteration, and some great pastoral images.

thanks for the read.

I fear this one is sadly lacking in depth and still needs a lot of work, but was just wanting to write something... so here goes!

String bags and plastic wrap.
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Slipping smooth green shafts past worm casts,
a long term ley is set aside for a meadow hay.
Sun drawn and softly soaked, the root reaches of mice
and armoured ants are defined amongst the forested trunks
of cellular ranks. Swaying and eased by a seasoned breeze. good image of wheat or corn fields. [slipping] gave me a problem

A badgered trail winds its way - a ripple in my sward.
A kiss of early summer mist, lingers with dew-dropped bliss. no need for the commar

Daisy ox, eyes me, lovely,
as I scythe my way through her outer ranks,
I am roughly bit by the hawk, Commonly bent
yet Self healed by a burnt salad. why the capped S
The Cocksfoot crests the Dogstail and small
Timothy beds his Lady’s straw, mindless the line above and this line is a perfect farmyard image
of Sheepish fescues festering under the Golden oats.
A pastoral symphony in perfect harmony,
a flowery flotilla of aroma notes. maybe a better word could be found that aroma

Moving
from my hedged in shade I pass Plantained
Tufted hair, under-sown with lush leafed Clover. Yarrow leaves,
pleased to off-load the bumbled plunder of overflowing Butter cups, excellent, i love the use of bumbled
pass on the kiss with downy, toe teasing tears;
a joyous rolling Gloria that glides with Sweet Vetched delight,
over Creeping red lipped carpets, a remarkable Lark, Swallowed
shortly before the final lift of the Swiftly following major fall.

Back and re-booted I mount my metalled beast.
Suitably geared, I to start edit each and every green celled note.

Slipping smooth steeled shafts through the sublime;
line by line, the opening chorus lifts before the final fall.
The sun reclaims her kiss. Redacted dew-dropped bliss
is withdrawn, softly sucked by solar soaked winds,
which pluck the laid out lines – now crushed and silent.
Tossed from side to side, each fragrant note
blanches under a final morning misted kiss.

The winter shadows fall and I pause as I close the barn door;
within, the contented munching begins and rising on the sweet
breath breeze, aroma notes are drawn from string bags and plastic wrap
and once again begin to sing… and I long for barefoot summer days.
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