By This Time Next Year

We have much to do that needs doing on our new plot, and much to say regarding the decision to leave behind all the effort of the last seven years at our former plot; but, we’ll concentrate solely on the doing.
We’ll take a leaf from Davina McCall’s New Year’s approach to life’s challenges, and simply say that by This Time Next Year the Monster shall be a transformed creature.
At present we feel somewhat akin to Eliot’s journeying Maji, having decided on quite the worst time of year for such an undertaking, but, just as with those ancient sages the prize shall be worth it, and also by way of acknowledging the day that is of course…
At the moment, and while winter dormancy allows, we are busy transferring all our fruit trees and bushes from one allotment to our new plot located 5 miles away. The weather has remained favourable enough for the time of year, but the car will need a professional valet after the move is completed.
Currently we have one foot stuck in the old with the other foot finding its way in the new, and while not in any way drawing comparison with Shakespeare’s descriptive prowess of the mighty Julius, it strikes me –Cassius-like that is- that we …perhaps…

bestride this narrow world, Colossus like,
and beneath us crawl some petty lot,
peeping out from that shadow cast
to dig graves on their dishonourable plot…        

                                           Yes. That’ll do Pig.

with apologies for liberties taken

With courtesy nods of course to TS Eliot, William Shakespeare and Dick King-Smith

The Monster's New herb bed
The Monster’s New herb bed

Midwinter Jazz

Gladiator Parsnips
Midwinter’s Harvest Christmas Parsnips up and out of bed…sown on St Patrick’s Day…
The final bounty of the year...
Parsnips from the Monster’s depths… The final bounty from the Monster’s old location…

Solstice Jazz

Blackbird trills dark hush of morn,
A carol to winter’s darkest day;
Straggler leaves still cling; forlorn,
The holly’s crown in disarray.

We’ve come full circle in our flight,
Our knowledge dimmed in knowing chorus.
Our hope rests now in promised light
                         On darkling wings, on berries bright,
                          In blackbird songs in the dead of night
And brighter days stretching before us.    ©      JK      December 21st 2016


Merry Christmas to all.  Our wish is that you periodically log in as we move forward with new chapters from the Monster’s brand new stomping ground throughout 2017….





Courgettes swell to squamos ooze;
Spent vines cling to the outer edge of the cosmos
Bed, desperate to maintain a grip on summer.

Late September, and summer’s doings come undone.
Drifts of leaves quicken the wood
And nights tighten grip on each new rising sun.

For a few days everything hangs in the balance:
A golden rosette decrees equal measure
To emptied-out beds and a pumpkin’s bright face

While tangible;  the dark end of bright things arrives
With the first grass frost, heightening track and tang of visiting fox:
And unseen, the hound of winter on its scent.

J.K. 22nd September 2016 ©
Paper Rose
A 1st Prize for the second year in a row… With a big big nod to my partner in grime Janette @janpaulkelly