Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Sunday Morning at Tulferris


Sun shines, leaves aquiver

Trees of red and brown surround

Dappled paving, windows glitter,

In the woodland not a sound.

Golf course basks in light supreme

Sun reflects on shiny clubs

Chipping to the nearest green

Muffled clunk of ball on steel.

People move and voices chatter

Under sky of cloudless blue

Overlooking ruffled water

Breakfasts nourish life anew.

Cleaners clean and Hoovers hum

Last night’s debris all has vanished

Bags are loaded into cars

To our homes again we’re banished.


  1. A lovely morning poem, Joan, Reminds me of something by William Carlos Williams in spirit. Also reminds me of how quickly it seemed the weekend was over - short, but sweet!

  2. You did it! Muffled clunk of ball on steel. Love it.

  3. Brilliant poem apart from the fact that Tulfarris is spelt with an 'a' not an 'e'. One could be fooled by thinking this is written by a really sweet person, all witnesses to drawing room conversations revolt!

  4. I am really a sweet little person - reports of my ribald humour are all lies!!!

  5. 'ribald'= humorously or mockingly rude, or obscene. Which suits best?