About Will

Will Gould is an artist gardener. He also works as a creative practitioner, combining science and conservation with the arts. He has gardened at St John's Jerusalem for more than a decade.

Skyscrapers for the bees

Goose grass, cow parsley, hogweed

Chase away the bears.

The verges are rising,

burning with ruderal Urtica

The borders are massing purple and white

Calm enough for bee business

They buzz sweet rocket, Centranthus, Euphorbia

While hawthorn foams at the shores of the ocean

of dandelion ghosts and buttercup constellations

Spring spent

Red campion and bluebells

Nodding with the weight of spring spent

Cow parsley and freshly cut meadows

Bright and beautiful after cold rain yesterday

The sun flattens the greens

and washes out birdsong

A red kite clambers up through a thermal

to hang ‘M’ shaped and daubed with white

The colours are coming

Distant pheasant

Proximal, sound from every tree

Blackbird looped trill and titter

Chippling chip and corkscrew chatter haha

Trill introduced comic tonal whistle

Beak acrobatics too fast for my brain

 

The colours are coming.

Allium hordes scuffling with tufted purple crew cuts

And Nectaroscordum unsheathing upturned chocolate crowns

Blues, white and piercing paeony pink

leaking pools of intense lemon Euphorbia

 

Shuttlecock ferns stretch furry coils like feathered ladders

Reaching for mossy trunks

The trees are leaved now

Though some still half naked

The apples in underwear, pink and white

Slowly dressing in light tender greens

 

On the secret side, in the old fishponds

A submarine pheasant nods through the deepening grass

Frothing with buttercups and cow parsley

And brave roses peep against the warm walls

Calm and Sunny

Calm and Sunny

Great tit see saw

Jackdaw caw caw

Mossy apples like mediterranean olives

Their sunlit trunks become the stone walls beyond

A tufted beige bee sample buzzes

the Pulmonaria, fading in the sun

and two lovebirds Columba palumbus canoodle in the corner bamboo.

 

April sanctuary

Freewheeling through icy downhill drizzle

Rivulets run left then right

A slow hill climb through banks of ramsons

to a ridgeway of hedges reclining to within an inch of their lives

Down again to brown water high and rushing

then up to sanctuary within the walls.

Sharp citrine cushions of Euphorbia

and Arisaema erecting canopies over grey freckled stems

A low carpet of green rises with fading chocolate hellebores and pinpoint periwinkle

Dark arms of jagged apples pucker lipstick buds in to life

And black capped jackdaws strutt and gather

bouncing ‘Tchack Tchack’

As a low fish pond meadow swells below

Night forest

If sleep were to come here

I would turn my back

As the sun of tomorrow

Lies on it’s side and closes it’s eyes

To light shadow faces

Tracing sunken trunks and moss covered fissures

In this forest of the night.

Where the depths of the canopy drown decades of decayed wood

And we walk in the darkness, towards the light.

This forest of the night we must pass through

This surround of light

Drenched in darkness.

Sleep green in the forest

We’ll wake with the same sun

And take leave this evening

Wherever we’ve dreamed

 

 

 

 

 

Beach

With soft sinking steps

Friction froze slopes move to equilibrium

My shoes in litho-mineral liquid

I would happily sink in to it’s cold embrace

but I must select the stones

uniform and roundish, flat with an edge to grip

and throw down from the sloping tide peak

My fleeting contact

A rolling surge overtopped by a smooth constant rush of moon drawn peaks

Drawing clinker from the breathing beach

 

Fontainebleau

In hot luxury lie palatial plazas

And football pitch pools

Placing garden cut vistas

through the forest.

The forest of deer and martens

Now fenced in by traffic or death

 

Traffic that lives through the rain and the smell of freshly cut corn

Wet and dusty evaporating

in the sun like a grill iron

glowing with the wind.

Ruffling birches

take the rain away and sweet sounding Melun surprises

with high rise and low flow.

Taking some of this world with him

The wheat is still ripening

This July

While everlasting sweet peas still

spill down the railway embankment

 

The sun still warms

through breaks in the cloud

While my father waits

On a cold shelf

To be transformed

Taking some of this world with him

Palm House

Power assisted doors enclose

And envelope musty sweet artichoke aromas.

Damp jurassic greens climb titanic stems

like trees, under glass

A slow prehistoric blanket

of mountaineering moss floods fibre haired stems

Ringed and ridged

To protect from giant tortoise teeth