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Resident Poet: Doreen H Reed
Tel: 01485 571913


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Welcome to Poetry Corner for September. There have been so many enjoyable things to do in and around Heacham this summer.  Just click to see “Walk to Hunstanton for Surgery Funds” - you can see me and 21 others at the start of the walk (Stella - who also took part - took the photo so obviously was not in it!).

I hope you enjoy reading the two poems I have chosen this month.  Many thanks to Rene Smith of Heacham and David Yarham of Fakenham for sharing them with us.


I thought it would be nice to have some poems about the months of October and November.  Please send us any self-penned poem, max 40 lines, that you would like to share with visitors to our website, giving a few details about yourself, in particular a contact telephone number or email address.  Personal details will not be printed.

Bye for now.



Autumn Incident

By David Yarham


The last field cut.

The combine’s growls subside.

The stubble, golden in the autumn sun,

A table spread for pigeons

 Who, in hungry hordes,

Fly down to glean among the pimpernels.


Another harvest

Ripens in the hedge -

Hips, haws and bitter sloes and blackberries,

And feathered reapers

Gather on the boughs

Beaks sickle-sharp to take this harvest home.


One finch, the boldest

Of his timid clan,

Forsakes the hedgerow berries for the grain

Which laden trailers

Jolting from the field

Have spilled in golden streams upon the road.


His whole attention

Taken by his meal

He neither sees nor hears the coming car –

Flutter of feathers

On the metalled road,

A moment’s agony and he is still.


Then from an oak

A hungry crow flies down,

The little corpse to him a welcome meal.

The hedgerow birds,

The grain, the speeding cars

Mean that, for him, harvest has just begun.



The Gardener's Revenge

By Rene Smith


Rumble, rubble, soil and grubble

In the garden there is trouble.

Down among the growing taters

Lurk the monopodic gattors 

Jaws wide open, munching, crunching

On the strawberries now lunching.


Down the central reservation

Past the compost conubation

Feathers rattling, all a-preen

Comes that fowl, the quacking queen.

And with glee she slams the breaks

As her greedy eye alights on.

What is this she's found to munch on

Ducks love big, fat slugs for luncheon!