Born in Hertfordshire, Deborah moved with her family to the Welsh Marches in the late eighties, where she still lives in an ancient house with her not so ancient husband. She currently runs the Elizabeth Goudge Society web site and writes Poetry in every spare minute she has. A member of the Border Poetry group, she has had poems published in several anthologies and also enjoys giving readings of her poetry at venues all along the Borders She has written three collections of Poetry, all of which have been produced on cd.
Easter Clee Hill
Feeling shifty and rough like the border
collie who rides
an unwilling passenger
on its owner’s quad bike,
feet splayed, as they lumber over ridges,
looking for the hour lost somewhere last night.
Sleet thick as rabbits scuts loops the hills
their clouds making of crow
a magnificent raven
who pulls rain left of the brightness,
wings shiny and hard as worn funeral suits.
We are invited to accompany the corpse
of winter down
the black hedges, studded
with coffin nails of blossom.
It’s tribal at this season, something
must die, a rabbit hit and tossed aside.
Its fur the colour of ash twigs, the shoots
of alder, seen
from this height embedded
into the river’s bones,
its eyes the hunted black of the man
hung, an offering, in the arms of branches.