Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry


Olives only fruit from new growth.
There must be a pruning after each harvest
For a fresh one to grow. There can be
No towering majesty in the fight
To feed.

Olive trees are no shelter from the rain
If the rain does arrive on these parched
Terraces. The stones are nothing but the
Sharp edges of famine. We have to plant
Other majesties to seduce the clouds and
Rip them open.

Green and black and swollen.
The bodies drift away in the floods.
There will be no-one to pick
The next harvest.

R 14/09/2023 10:13

Too much going on to summarise. But mainly good things.

Three weeks since Florence died. I don’t think any of us have really accepted it yet, and we talk to her in the garden each day.

Get notifications of new posts by email.

We don’t spam! Read our privacy policy for more info.

Leave a Reply