[table type=”” ]A 76 year old  physics graduate who worked for many years in research, development and pilot production in areas ranging from highly sophisticated magnetic materials, computer devices, microelectronics and manufacturing software, leading teams both in the UK and Internationally in Europe. Considered by the European Commission at one time to be an expert in all aspects of microelectronics manufacturing and manufacturing software and systems. Retired since the age of seventy to take up interests in botany, art, archeology, travel, butterflies and wild flowers. Since 2011 had interests in short story writing and poetry. [/table]

POEMS

by

Howard D. Richards

The Village

Old time worn village snuggles in the valley,

Houses red brick and honey limestone

Wakes slowly from sleep,

As mist rises off the brook

 

 

The summer’s sun not yet above the hill

An early walker out in morning air

Pacing upwards fast

Towards the big house.

 

 In places sheep crop pasture in vista avenue

Lined with fragrant limes and tall slick beeches

Where threads of vapour drift

From warmed undergrowth

 

Village dwellings catch the first rays of sun

Reflecting their intense golden colour

And from its notched tower

The church clock strikes seven

 

Stirrings of traffic drive fast through the streets

Commuters and school runs with uncaring mums

By nine all is quiet

Save for twittering

 

Grey-black Jackdaws, shiny purple sheened rooks

Squawk and kaah in tall dark leafy maples

Tending their coarse nests

And hungry juveniles

 

High above now, in the bright blue sky, the sun

Casts ever shortening muted shadows

Where sheep lie in scant shade

Below the meadow tree

 

People enter the Red Lion and Rose and Crown

For lunch of ham and eggs and English beer

Or other choices

From the chalked up slate

 

Time slows as the hot afternoon progresses

Soporific, the village settles back

Harbouring its secrets

Behind closed windows

 

Two bells ring signifying the half hour

Mums ready for the regular school run

To fetch their noisy brats

With roaring four by fours

 

Shadows lengthen away from the setting sun

A fiery red glow lights up the high street

As the red orb goes down

Leaving wine streaked cloud

 

Evening drinks in gardens as twilight comes

With darkening sky, the street lights glimmer

Time for slumber once more

Silence falls throughout

 

In Hills near Grindewald

 Misty mountains disappear in shades of grey,

Fir trees in banded woods silhouetted

Against the blue sky of a sunny day,

When spring changes to summer, not regretted

 

New flowers flourish on Alpine meadows

In gorgeous coloured patchwork tapestries

Where single species hide like all tomorrows,

Some strange and unobtrusive travesties

 

Lost to all except for the observant

That wily botanist seeking rarity

Such desire in this land so abundant

With pleasures that have no scarcity

 

Those mountains closer to enchantment

Can’t keep my eyes from their magnificence

Towering rocks with snow and ice engagement

Holds me in glorious obeisance

 

God’s own country, some seriously say,

But nature changes over eons of time,

And a moment hopefully captured another day

Alpine experiences are so sublime

 

Winter Months

Where golden leaves drift

Under bare branched trees

And the winds uplift

In the whirling breeze

Like scattered treasure

By the woodlands edge

 

I go with pleasure

For there I do pledge

To get through the dark days

To emergent spring

To see the white haze

That our snowdrops bring

 

Remembering, ………

All tarnished endings

Have lustrous beginnings

 

[info_box]If you liked Howard’s poems, you are welcome to order his Book of Poems. Please contact Nadine for more details. Thank you! [/info_box]