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Monday, November 12, 2018

Red

12th Nov 2018


I can't believe it's been four months since I wrote anything on my blog.
Life has been busy since the summer.
Also, I was unwell for months with a viral infection that laid me low.
I am, however seeing the wood for the trees now and am champing at the bit, with a
lot of willingness but few ideas.
I have decided to return to my Writing Group where I hope to get some inspiration.
The colours today as I walked along were such a wonderful sight. I love the yellows, the reds, the oranges as well as the browns and greens. in fact if you look closely you see all the colours there is, because that what the natural world is like and this time of year emphasises all of that.Image result for autumn scenes



Red

I thought of you this morning as I often do
The situation made me laugh and weep, it's true

I tried the door of another car, it was red, after all
Then I noticed I was wrong and heard  my husband call

It's not even the same make as ours, he says,  as if that makes a difference to me,
just like dad he raised his eyes, and waived in his hand, the key

And then it was that I remembered a particular time
when in you got beside a stranger - he was in his prime

You were both surprised at first and lost for words
dad knocking on the window just made it more absurd

You explained yourself as best you could, leaving nothing out
"his fault for parking  in front of the butcher's," without a doubt

It still makes me chuckle a bit you see
It makes me think that's so like me





Thursday, July 19, 2018

Looking at You

19th July 2018

Looking at You

I look at you on that day, more than sixty five years ago. No idea what was in store for you both. You stepped out on an adventure of love to build a life. 
You were to have three children, thirteen grandchildren and the great grandchildren are still coming. In your rich lives you created many memories and have been part of numerous lives. 
Today I look at you here, ma and pa, and I miss you.





Seaside poem

19th July 2018

Seaside Poem - just for fun

Every day I visit the shore
Each quite different to the one before.
If the trees are still and all is calm
I shine  like glass, a deceiving  balm.
On these days I especially look forward to
Children splashing and crashing the blue.
I oblige their frolics with my happy spray
And again the splash and giggle and play.
Yachters out for a spot of sailing
And further out fishermen whaling.
While I hold myself still and as calm as can be
They give the whales chase and sing merrily.
They have no idea I’m part of their crew
Making an effort, doing all I can do.
I’m little thought of most of the time,
So I love it when I can whip up my brine.
On blustery days I race into the coast
Huge arms of waves making the boast
That I am strong and make no mistake
If you're in my way, I’ll crush you like cake.
I bring debris with me, I throw it around
Flotsom and seaweed spread on the ground.
My angry time, brown and green churned
May do some damage but if you’ve learned
To keep your distance and always beware
We’ll get on fine,
And you’ll keep your hair.


Friday, June 8, 2018

Blue Irises

9th June 2018

May and June A meadow full of beautiful blue irises

I really cannot believe that we're nearly in the middle of June. I had so many plans to enjoy the last weeks of May and the month of June - my favourite. Not that I'm not enjoying them , no, but I had intended to make the most of the longer days by getting more walks by the sea and spending more time out of doors. Playing tennis with the grandchildren etc etc...
It's still my plan, but now I have less time and I feel as if we only have a few weeks ( which we do) before the days start to draw themselves together, giving us less daylight hours. I mean,  in seven or eight weeks time it will be dark by eight or nine.
I'm not a sun worshiper or anything but, I do like the months of May and June - just saying y'all..

I am looking out at the pond from the, now "shared",  studio and I see tall Irises, their blue flowers with no effort at all reaching heavenward. Radiant and glorious they fulfill their purpose.

I Set Out To Meet You 
I set out to meet you
not sure I'm going
I put my trust in the instructions
A light bag slung over my shoulder
containing a bottle of water,
and small cheese sandwich,
and sandals on my feet
for the day is mild.
I pass the factory on the left,
stop, listen,
machines break into the birdsong
quench it -  momentarily.
And rats scuttle in front of me.
I move on ,
 second road on the left
a residential road with its avenue of trees
and anonymous inhabitants
behind net curtains.
Hidden eyes follow
to the end , when I  turn
and walk down a country lane
until I reach the pond
where I wait .
It's where you told me to be.
Clouds gather and I notice
I'm getting wet.
I stand under a tree
but the clouds move swiftly,
turn black.
The rain comes down.
But then I see you.
I slosh through mud , quicken my pace
clothes dripping and heavy
Now you see me and rush to meet me
And together we walk on








Monday, April 23, 2018

Window Shopping

12th April

A response to The Wasteland , by T.S.Eliot. 
I have used some of his lines throughout this poem.

Window Shoppers 

Last year for three months it was a bookshop,
Then for nineteen weeks, the owner was very precise  -  a florists,
Long departed, no forwarding address .
For many months it stood empty, memory and desire stirring - walls burned green and orange,
 framed by coloured stone.
Today, newly painted in purple gloss, no sign of dross or moss, the offices of a law firm.
Next door is the Corner CafĂ©, chairs spill out onto pebbles and pavement summer sun reflecting sky upon glass tops.
On rainy days you will hear a chatter and a clatter, from within.
Through the window you might see little groups huddled together around small tables
Elegantly laid with tea pots and china cups and saucers
And here is where town councillors often went and drank coffee and talked for an hour.
The two shops next to the cafe both hollow sepulchres  - long left  - grubby from want of human touch 
Nothing to attract the attention of the window shopper. 
But beside them,  New Look - glass front displaying  goods , enticing  you to step past the doors
Through which you see racks of colourful clothes and a few staff members, hovering.
Up and down the street,  people wander, most out for a stroll , not to buy, just to look
As one might go to the woods or the mountains.
No need today to rush about the shops  to find those items that we need 
All Important purchases can be made from the comfort of our homes, on any number of electronic devices
The High Street has become a leisure activity
"Let's have a walk around the shops”  -  people say.
A museum of past times - you ought to be ashamed to look so antique.
What a wicked pack of cards for shopkeepers , dealing as they do in profit and loss
With rates going up and would be customers  only window shopping.
Soon they will be gone - ruins tolling reminiscent bells
And I will show you fear in a handful of dust.



Sunday, April 15, 2018

From Where

15th April 2018

Here are some ramblings in response to Origens , by Imelda Maguire:


From Where Do I Come

I come from the edge of the city,
that suburban, semi-detached, quiet place on the hill,
from a father who was orphaned before he could speak, 
who remembered the bomb shelters, the ration books.
From a father who was himself evacuated during the war.
I come from that "we worked hard to get here"  place.
My father proud to have had an education, 
proud to have become, "blue collar"
to have left the trowel behind him.
I come from the stock of women
who made more of what they were given,
who rose  from the soil of ancestors. 
From a mother who ran, ran barefoot 
from  want and hunger.
Who spent her life adding to her funds,
working hard for her money, saving her money,
afraid somehow, it might evaporate.
I come from that country of alone, 
where all physical needs were cared for 
but my heart was a barren waste,
where the hope of my father hung round my neck
a noose strangling my own true longing. 
But
I come from a family of fighters 
Chains are loosened and the battle goes on 






Wednesday, April 11, 2018

The Music of Life

11th April 2018

As the noise in the church hall buzzed around us while we prepared dinner for fifty, with the accompaniment of clattering pans and tinkling glasses and happy laughter, i was reminded that this time last year I was just getting over a problem I'd had with my hearing. It's interesting how much you notice different sounds and appreciate them when you've been struggling to make sense of the world whilst "locked in" your own quiet space. It's earily isolating. It has given me an empathy with those like some of the people we served today who suffer so much with hearing loss.
Last year I wrote a poem about it:


9th April :
For a few months I have been troubled with poor hearing. It was probably wax and has since cleared up - well almost. Whilst not being able to hear that well I discovered how much I value ( or should value) that particular sense.

The Music of Life

It occurs to me to be thankful 
That I can hear those particular sounds.
His soft voice -  a whisper,
"Are you awake?"
Delicate singing of birds greeting 
The day.
Welcome sound of water running 
In the kitchen,
Kettle boiling,
Cups clattering,
Tinkling of spoon,
Music playing - radio 2, 
Soft steps on the stair,
When he  brings the tray
With morning tea.

Miranda Kerr Blessings 3-Piece Set

Buzz of bee circling the garden,
Water bubbling in pond 
Disturbed by fish.
Engine of aeroplane 
In distant blue.
Revving of neighbours car
Like clockwork.
Fluttering sound of trees 
Rustling leaves in breeze.
Shrieks of joy from children 
Two gardens down.
And the doorbell ringing
Calling me urgently 
To come and answer 

For all the above 
And much, much, more,
I am so thankful