John Lanyon – “Seeds”


Fat, wrinkled runner bean seeds
saved in autumn in a jam-jar
a pinch of poppy dust in a used manila envelope
the half-forgotten, soiled-stained packets of
parsley and lettuce from last year
small, silver-lined promises of
morning glory, evening primrose, night-scented stocks –
all ready to spill from their temporary homes.

Tiny bombs of hope
eager to explode
thirst for moisture
hunger for light,
a welcoming bed.

I will bring you colour
I will bring you scent
I will nourish you
I will take your carbon dioxide
I will give you oxygen
I will root the shaking earth.

Come, it is Spring
the soil is warming
the Moon is rising.

If you do your part,
I will do mine.

John Lanyon lives in the Cotswolds. He works as a gardener, linguist, musician, and writer. Having failed his English Literature ‘O’ Level, he came to love literature through reading it in French and German. He writes about art, the body, childhood, society, nature, the spirit of places, the secret lives of words. He believes you can create complex things from simple means.