By Madeleine Lee
Madeleine Lee (RGS, 1978), is an investment manager who also writes poetry and short stories about everyday things which we often fail to see in our busy lives. She has amassed many poems on trees, insects, fungi and things she sees on nature walks and the meaning therein.
curlers
regular morning at the reservoir
a sudden smell
gnawing from the farthest reach
an image of my mother
in her thirties by her dresser
the sight of hairbrushes and hairpins
the scent of helene curtis hair net spray
the thick cloying smell of her curlers
a sudden chill strew the morning with
guileless ivory blossoms on the jungle floor
shaped like teeth from a prehistoric rodent skull
synaesthesia 2008
brackets
i anteater
today’s brackets
are chocolate brown
feasting on paler log
pretending to be a pangolin
in search of safety
cheering ever so slightly
ii ants
there in front
left of centre
in their onward journey
to escape the sandwich worker
ant class on ward to a vanishing point
4th May 2013
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