“Cricket Bats Or Buddleia.” – A Poem & Poem on Film

This is poem is me on my own life tow path, itching to stay on the cricket bat side not be thrown to the urban side! – The actual first line “to watch crickets bats grow” was the idea that started this whole poem…. I have to thank my dad who just happened to mention “cricket bat trees” as we took a stroll along the local canal tow-path (the Kennet & Avon canal) passing a few “willow trees” (*Cricket bats are made from willow*) – I love that old nick-name they used to have, can’t say I hear it today, sadly. – As we continued walking the whole poem was composed, the railway line that runs parallel to the canal was constantly busy with trains, which gave me all the whole urban verse! – I was actually turning my love of nature & the countryside, but knowing that life was being lost in yesterday and now I had to grow-up & be lost in the daily grind of urban life & nature would only be available when time allowed……

if only my poetry would allow my heart to stay green…..



Cricket Bats or Buddleias.

To watch cricket bats grow,

To reside where clover bestow.

The unhurried pace that grass to hay bring

To be a cuckoo, be the fisher king.

Skating without rush upon murky reflected earth,

Six foot above, a differing world, yet same earth!

To be blessed the tow path, only the chaser

i the captain. Not the acer.

To let man out speed, my own steam now

Beneath heavens of blue, alongside neighbours the only cow!

To be awaken by the choir at day-break,

Be in awe history of nature to betake

To good days where cheery folk speak, of greetings!

To see forever green, no red self-defeatings

With bright skies afore, no nimbus cloudburst

To the joyous path bestowing direction to the sunburst…….

Woolgathering, passing footnotes a slow

On the path where hooves before did tow,

With the script of ones existence to sow

To steer aright path, forgo……

Not to end where the Buddleia seed,

To out pace house-boots….., only to recede!

In bovine trunks. Full aboard.

Stuck a ships mate, for a sentence a bored!

Be in circles going, cuckoo gone. The Einstein frazzled

Satisfying only greedy felines razzled.

In a clog, abide! Narrative of tomorrow creating.

Through nettles be pushed, to end beneath, stagnating

Perceive stampedes of red, nah green. Tomorrow’s

Path, to the lustreless of nimbus and the blue of sorrows……

~ K.S Blackmore



A question for you dear reader

– Cricket bats or Buddleias……?

Comment below  #towpath


Thanks for stopping by, and watching & reading my work, I really appreciate it

Please leave a comment, – I’m fairly new to this poetry writing – is it poetry I write….? And this blogging business too – does my blog have potential, is this a nice blog to stumble across & stay for a while perhaps …..? – Any advice, bad or good? I’m happy for negative comments – honestly! & of course happy comments

(Next Poetry on Film working title “Wembley Goals & Rose Petal Perfume”……stay posted 😁)

“In June’s Time, Lost.” A Poem & Poem in Film

Walking through the woodland with my two companion  hounds, I was amazed how tall the grass had suddenly become. – Which came to me in the lines “lost in grass” / “lost in June” and that’s how this poem began…. the rest of that walk completed this poem

– Enjoy



In June’s Time, Lost.

In June’s Time Lost,

– Earth on her Summer wave, flung

In the years green-tonic slung,

On the fresh canvas among

Mothers patchwork cover wrung

In the companions ‘scape, among

Dragon-flies and butterflies and pen-friends young.

Amidst untamed hay flung,

Where the sun-strikes and feet un-slung

The restored chaos and nettles left, un-stung.

The floodlight days hung,

In wild warm days sung.

– The tree-house upon earth, flung

In the emerald surf clung

– In June’s Time Lost.

~ K.S Blackmore



Why not go get lost in nature`s time……?

Please comment below



Made with the help of many a cups of tea & too many chocolate bars

Thank you for reading & watching

(Ssshhh ~ Next poem stirring under the title “Rose petal perfume and Wembley goals”………)

“That Little Esprit.” A Poem & Poem on Film

When May is nearing the end and you realise you have not heard Mr Cuckoo……



That Little Esprit.

I take a saunter in this moon of May
Open wide ears, for two notes conducted,
Composes my Summer….. but thus far, dismay!
I foot-slogged….. to bleakness! The cuckoo abducted!
What of a kingdom, silenced of the king?
To perceive my Summer days adhere.
A glum, glum land, ourselves we wring.
But blue not I, for tomorrow, next week too, me and my ear
Will come back still. For that little esprit
Will not steer clear of me!
~ K.S Blackmore



A question for you

Q – Does hearing the Cuckoo start your Summer…..?

A – Comment below #thecuckoo

When i do hear him, it marks the start of my Summer


Thank You for watching & reading & stopping by – I appreciate your time

“A Spring Song.” – Poem + Film By K.S Blackmore

Spring is but a song drifting among the warm fresh air of April and May…..

The line “daffodils crumple” came to me whilst filling the bird baths, and that’s how this poem started …….. enjoy

A Spring Song.

So Spring signs of Winters cassette,
As green shoots sweat, in dry land set
From pastures ate, to Septembers fruit set.
To bumble bees and skies signal,
As feathers warble, among trees un-staple,
In woodland marvel beneath a purple babble.
From chimneys pots asleep turns jackdaws keep,
Where young hearts peep, and leap
From last years shabby chic or new builds tweak!

Seas of sunshine reek and strands of golden streak.
To familiar wings in twirl and curl,
As down on earth, bracken uncurl,
From primroses fold to wild-roses un-fold
Buttercups in meadows and grass stirring gold.
Tulips do peep and blossom does weep.
Springs reap rolls over a leafy sweep,
With bright days leak, unearths a rosy cheek!
As wings of wisdom come peak and sneak,
To a orange tip un-crumple
And a hundred thousand daffodils crumple……..

Q ~ My Song of Spring is ….. ?

A – Comment below Link above


Thank You for reading & watching

(From a whisper next poem – working title “Who`s There?”…..)

“Ode To Yesterdays Angel.” ~ Poem + Poem in Film By K.S Blackmore

Picture the scene – your in a job you actually love, it’s enjoyable, and it feels like your calling, this perfect job you’ve been doing for some years now….. then one morning it’s gone, just like that! Perhaps the first thing you would do call home, phone mum in despair for help & advice ….. Or Maybe realise deep down it’s not the end of the world……?!
Well for me it was – there was no phone call home, or a visit to mum for a cuppa and chat. For that amazing job involved mum, – I was a carer, I was my mums carer. – Five years of being by my mums side through thick and thin, tears and laughter and more laughter and tears. Watching (bowel) cancer slowly take mum (aged 63) away from me.
The shock wave the morning after mums passing and the realisation hits in two life changing blows – mother- less and made redundant (care no longer needed), still hurts now (year and a bit later – a Little TLC needed for the ex-carer would of helped me).
– No one prepares you for that day, be it the person gone or the job that you learnt on the spot, and even the fiance aspect of it.
The whole world that you lived and breathed 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, on call no matter the time – no walking out the door just ‘coz i fancied a day of! – Snatched away, with the feeling of being left in the middle of a ocean, struggling to stay afloat. – A angel mum to often called me, now that Angel starts falling…… through no-ones fault, just the way life turned.
But every angel deserves to be caught
~ This poem sums up the first couple of days or so after that life-changing event (more-so the no longer caring side)

Ode To Yesterdays Angel.
Tears into a twinkle, a twinkle into tears bursting,
From eyes that miss the rainbow surfed.
Walls of blue weathered in yesterdays echoes
This haunt wiped a home as dust settles.
No footsteps came, no footsteps goes
Chatter muted, notes taken, stand-stilling.
Scarce of breath that play stopped,
In silence hit, silence drowns, silence welcomed.

To embers etched in stale crumbs, in cold cups, sheets pulled,
Pills un-swolled, petals stained.
A house colding, lone company, no breathes.
A hand freezing, a hand yawning, hands bereaved.
Surplus to needs the badge unpinned
Passed return, in ashes smouldering
Heart-burnt in yesterdays love ceased.
This tree uprooted, as winter settles
Only ticking clocks haunt in this furrow ploughed.
At peace, – unmasking battle scarring
From the label striped.

Yesterdays angel
– This mourning a angel falling….

Q ~ Have you experienced becoming a falling angel, a yesterdays carer?
Please share your thoughts and how you come through the experience, how you managed to move on, what you done next, Advice, help ?

~ Please Comment (click link above ⤴️)


“March.” ~ Poem + Poem in Film By K.S Blackmore

When winter starts to tail of and March with a feeling of Spring like peeps in the window befriending us all….. inspired this poem…..
Spring is in the air – yay


Is Winter dispersed till the calendar ends?
Through windows unlatched Spring befriends.
The bore of snowdrops and trees penned,
In sepia last season now rended.
The chain released and the lock descends,
The alarm trends and starlight ascends
With the slumber party ending
Turns day light dreaming
Ears re-tune and life`s re-tuning
On washing lines spilling.
Crumbs thrown, the cake tin refilling
Romance recites in gardens singing.
The black and white still turn lullaby
In a patch work of pastels untie,
Crocus and daffodils and cherry blossom high,
Brimstone butterfly and the wild roses untie
With a warming embrace March befriends.

~ Q – What of March befriends you…..?
(comment below)


– For me the sight of a daffodil, alone or in a clump

“Ode To Ruby.” ~ Poem + Poem in Film By K.S Blackmore

A poem I penned thanking my choc labrador “Ruby” for giving me a reason to wake up each day, after the death of my mum (being her carer was a double blow for me to face – my mum gone and my job gone too). Ruby as this look she gives me – head tilted and a deep look in her eyes (- I feel she feels my pain) and this poem came to me…..
Thanks Ruby (my fur angel) this ones for you X 🙂 …..

Ode To Ruby.

A rainbow in fur befell my way,
`Coz with you there is no grey.
– A angel portray,
In that face with eyes that say.
Wipes a grin across the mood each day,
So much patience’s drifts sorrow away
Shelters me before tears out-weigh.
Get me up for-noon, no lay!
Lead me out the door aweigh,
Where the blue skies convey
And rays of sun light spray
Spare me, before cloud survey.
Your tail not once does grey,
`Coz with you there is no grey
A rainbow in fur befell my way.

~ K.S Blackmore

~ Q – Has your dog become your angel…..?
(comment below)

“Ode To Milk Flower*.” {*Snow Drop} ~ Poem + Poem in Film By K.S Blackmore

January’s first sight of a milk flower inspired this poem….
Before the last Snow Drop melts……

Ode To Milk Flower.

In this grave of Jan a welcome sight,
Site of sorrow yields bright
Hold faith for the year show-light
Starlight gazing in this dead-light,
Delicate beads spilling white
The years first tender bite
Drawn up through earth tight
Angels drawn in earths night
Flirting in Winters unloving bite…..
Milk Flower emerges in sight!

~ K.S Blackmore

Q ~ What does the sight of snowdrops bring to you….?


Comment Below

“Oh Winter.” ~ Poem + Poem in film By K.S Blackmore

Sat in the car one November Saturday afternoon ~ a typical Winters afternoon – freezing, pouring down with rain and bleak, this poem came to me…..

Oh Winter.

Oh Winter,
And now you prevail merely a beginning,
And already I`m disheartening.
You are not Summer or Spring romancing
And even Autumn I keep in holding.

Oh Winter,
You descend promise-less,
You descend a lock key-less.
A charmless gift that lingers impatience-less,
Untied in dried grass dreamless,
In aromas of bitterness,
From the baked sun of June`s end amiss

Oh Winter,
Do not let earth walk in sleep,
For I`m helpless in weeping,
With flora absent, few creatures peeping,
In this contemplation before me, Winter a sweep.
No hue left, does seep,
To ease these long drawn short days steeped
A negative of seasons reaped.

Oh Winter,
In this January day in brown,
How will I stir, when morning light in frown?
Un-ascending till lunch touch-down.
And all I sight is scare and brown,
In this cupboard bare-down.

Oh Winter,
You are not ones season of best!
I become bluer still with dark-some, rested,
Before me and more-so unblessed,
In these days of night, frozen of zest.
The heart freezing still under-vest.

Oh Winter,
You cast the canvas white,
Each solum morn light.
Blowing feather and fur a brutal breath bite,
Leaving tiny beats a mountain plight.
As I`m earthed beside a burning timber light,
Not prevailing till daffodils in sight.

Oh Winter.

~ By K.S Blackmore

Does Winter make you sigh….. ?


Comment Below