Open 11am to 8pm
Royal Festival Hall (Level 5), Southbank Centre, LondonOpen Tuesday - Sunday from 11am to 8pm
British Haiku Society. Artwork by Helen Robinson
Bluelookout is a tractor climb
to where you see the South Pacific.
The animals who stay
up there don’t know to see it.
Bluelookout is the colours and smooth
texture of forest pigeons
though it’s ‘dirty’ in some folds
with scrub the old ones would have burnt.
Grasses of exotic green
radiate down its ridge lines
just how snow would lie
and the owner’s house snuggles
in close, not for shelter
but out of all the view.
How many summers is it together,
with your vents and doors open;
how many springs,
full of self-important shoots;
how many autumns,
dusty and home to spiders;
and how many winters,
shut, inward looking
at not very much?
Your pungence, creativity
and openness draw her in.
You’re completely transparent –
or so it seems.
Do you long for your great aunts
at Kew, Edinburgh and Belfast,
full of spectacle, colour, sprinklers?
Do you long for a white staircase?
You’re tended by just the one gardener.
The same pair of brown mottled hands,
pummelling rich black spongey earth into plastic pots;
labels, lovingly written in blue pencil;
sprigs of green firmly pushed into place.
The trains rattle at your windows,
a mini earthquake, but one you can count on.
No need for a welcome mat,
the grass is worn
a polished carpet to your door.
And here she comes,
looking briefly to the gulls,
stepping inside. For a moment,
the sun highlights her silver hairs
caught at the top right of your frame,
as she searches for the hard green gloves.