Deborah Gaudin

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

eastern edges,

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.