Queen of the Sun


She is the Queen of the Sun as she stoops and kneels

To knead clods of earth, to crumble and dig

So that soil finds and forces under finger nails


In this earthen bed she finds solace alone

And works a connection long-felt; a binding

Strength which none other will replace or repair


The soil-clad grace of palms and fingers

Work a magic with the Goddess: Ceres finding

Intimacy in buried seed and blessed roots


Framed by windows in shaded light from

The trembling ash, she rises like the lady

From the copper island but here loam and clay


Not salted waves bear her high, hair loosed.

Chipped nail polish forms a map of work

And passion orders space, colour, texture;


The work of hour, day, month and season

A cartography of time and growth

Hinged to our orbit – and angle,


As photons speed towards us, bringing

Wave upon wave of energy and warmth

To coax the kernel and caress the bud


This is her home, her comfort zone, like

No other, set apart but conjoined in atavistic

Bliss; no nuptial bond but deeper still


The soil finds her in heat and downpour; as

Autumnal winds lash branches, and more, in snow

And frost. There she finds the growing will


To live; to witness birth, death and the resurrection

Of green shoot and flower head as bees climb

Stamens and probe with over-long tongues


To find the nectar, the ambrosia of life, to bind and

Secure the cycle by which she – and we – live and die.

The secret is in the soil; the garden the site


Of man’s pleasure and betrayal. The apple and snake

A trope of enduring hate. But I have seen her

Turn lines to curves; and the corpse of a crow


To blossom. My ancestors smile at this. As if there

Could be no other, as a shared passion forever

Never dies, but like the Spring is resurrected


As time withers so too it heals and brings alive

The fruit of love; berries red and purple, like kisses

Moving over her body, touching her lips……………..


Giles H. Sutherland
January 2013