Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Gerry's- A review

Day 30: 30th April, 30th Poem
The prompt for today was to write a review. So I thought I'd try these few words about a little cafe in Ramsgate


Tucked away in
Pretty courtyard-
(Featuring unique
Brick sofa,  
Tate Gallery
Nestled in the corner
No hint of its unusual
Quirky, atmosphere-

On the menu
Music, artwork,
As well as
Teas, coffees
Homemade cakes
Scones and 
Soup of the day, with
Personal service

Soup of the day
Tomato and Basil
Steaming, rich 
Served with thick
Brown bread and 
Butter - lots
Secret taste of
A haven, hidden
In Ramsgate

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Ponte Vecchio

Day 29:  29th April, 29th Poem
Prompt: to use the idea of a bridge.

                                          Ponte Vecchio

She walks out of Cretella's,
Most expensive Jeweller's on
The Ponte Vecchio bridge
Ring given back
Him given back,
Steps lighter now, one foot, then the  other.
Throws her head up, unblocks small vessels,
  a fresh future promised
With each autumn breath.
clear colours call her to
new adventures.
Her eyes travel down the Arno,
Still,  blue, 
Like a painting, 
Forms beautiful, but not real,
Was that how she was ?
Not  now,
Not now
Now she  feels more than real 
If that can be.
Yes, that can be
Now she  is free

Monday, April 27, 2015

Poem and Story

Day 28:  28th April, 28th Poem

For the prompt:
In The Shade
Like marble,
Having hot bath

And also for today, a story:


             My grandmother would much rather be running the London Marathon, especially as this was to be it's final year. Having already taken part seven times before, it was one of the things she most looked forward to.
             But, instead,  today being her birthday and also the last time we would see her, she is having a party.
             "Grams , what about this one?" Bright pink lipstick in hand,  hair dyed purple and gathered on top of her head,she looks away from the mirror as I hold up her  red dress decorated with tiny gold butterflies around the top.
             "OK, yes, that's fine. Get me a cuppa please, would you,  dear?"
             "In a minute, I just want to help find shoes to match your dress"
              The truth is I want to spend as much time as I can with her before she leaves for good.
Before I can bring the tea back to the bedroom she is standing beside me in the kitchen.
              "Wow, you look great. Well, you always do, but today..." I turn,  fiddle with the cups and quietly wipe away tears  that I can't hold back.
              "I never told you how I met your grandfather, did I?" she sips her tea, enjoying a moment of wistfulness. I try to compose myself as I answer,
               "No, but you better do it now or I'll never know." So she did.
               A tale of young love enfolds and we are both surprised when an hour later the doorbell rings. Mum and dad have come to take us to the venue.
               As we walk into the Sianuthe Hotel, balloons, music and about one hundred and fifty people give us  a cheery greeting. Grandmother smiles warmly as she is escorted through the adoring crowd, to her table, where she sees her close family gathered.
             "Happy birthday, Mum and huge commiserations. I wish it could be different" Auntie Rathuna  throws her  arms around her mother sobbing, as the others mutter their agreement with her heartfelt words. Two more daughters, one son and  five grandchildren take their turn in similar fashion. I try to sit next to my grandmother, but that place has been taken, on one side by my father, the eldest and on the other by Nick, my cousin and the eldest grandchild.
             We enjoy the most wonderful meal , with excellent service and even better food.
             "I think that salmon was the best I've ever tasted" Grandmother says pushing  her empty plate to the side and carrying on her conversation with my cousin Nick. She is always interested in hearing about his research into the  new  drugs programme. She has been closer to Nick since his Dad went three years ago after they found out that he had cancer of the bowel.
             It didn't used to be this way. In 2015 when grandmother was forty, dad told me that people were looked after when they had  these sort of illnesses and nursed till they died a natural death . He also said that people often lived till they were eighty or ninety or even a hundred. I couldn't imagine what that was like, what kind of world it was then . I mean who would look after all those people.
              My grandmother has been lucky. Today is her seventy fifth birthday. The age people are allowed to live to if they are fit and healthy.  If they didn't interfere she would probably live many more years. Maybe she'd be one of those who lived to be a hundred. No, that's too weird.
            The meal  over we hit the dance floor where my  grandmother, who loves dancing, doesn't sit down  till it's over.
The end of the evening comes much too soon  for my liking. But it's the way it is. The way it has to be.     We say our goodbyes, waving at the car as dad drives his mother to the Gryndiomo Centre where they will give her an injection and she will die.
Advanced style. This photo is for all those women who told me that I'd have to stop wearing red lipstick when I "get older." God, I'm happy I don't work as a make up artist, anymore! Ridiculous job that it was..
Hotel name - Sianuthe - anagram of euthanasia
Gryndiomo - anagram of Dying Room

The above piece is a response to the news that the government want GP's to ask any older person, healthy or not, to sign a  "Do not resuscitate" form. We could be headed for a bleak world indeed.


Day 27:  27th April, 27th Poem

We can be hungry in so many ways. I have not done justice to my original idea, but:
Oh, and by the way, notice that each line starts with H or F .. Any thoughts ???


How hungry suffers, he's
Hungry for food, but also
Hungry for a roof, for clothes to wear
For warmth, good health and friendship
For self esteem, for work,
For education, appreciation, he's
Hungry to be needed,  to belong,
Hungry for a smile, a touch, he's
Hungry for love, for the sun,  for the spirit,
Hungry to be free, to be normal,
Hungry for love.

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Response to "Hole in my Shoe"

Day 26:  26th April, 26th Poem

I was just thinking about having nothing to write about and this just tumbled out.    So, for better or worse: 

Hole In My Shoe

Stuck for something to write about
I search on the web for a clue
And  finding nothing that interests me
I can only think of my shoe

There's been a hole for some time now
In the sole of my favourite pair
And buying  new being out of the question,
I'll have to do a repair

So what do I do, where do I start
It's all a mystery to me
I've got some glue, but not the right sort
Time for a cup of tea

I remember what grandma used to do
To make her shoes last longer
She took some card and put it inside
It made them that little bit stronger

For a while,
Till the rain got in

Friday, April 24, 2015

Listen to Love

Day 25:   25th April,  25th Poem

Something a bit different for me - a sort of love poem:
Choosing to use only L and W to start the lines: What do you think??

                                         Listen to Love

Listen to Love - rejoice, rest - in

Love, built to last forever

Love  has founded your destiny.

Who will calm you,

Who, take the burden of your


Who can compare - look to the sky

Who will help you become 

What you are,

Were meant to be

Wrap yourself in His favour,

Warm yourself there - never let go 

Listen to Love

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Top Trumps Card

  Day 24:  24th April, 24th Poem

Today's prompt from napowrimo was to take a pack of cards , playing cards or other, and to shuffle them, take one at random and do five minutes of free writing in response. And then to create a poem from those words. I found my son's Top Trump cards , so:

                                Top Trumps Card

                                           Oh my, great miracle of our earth
                                           Wonder of the world
                                           Shadows, lakes, clouds, trees
                                           Desire - born -
                                          To be thrilled take a risk,
                                           Be surprised
                                          Wilderness of excitement,
                                          Alligators  - pulse racing,
                                          Seven hundred and forty species
                                          To discover - vast expanses
                                          Desire - grows-

                                         Subtropical danger
                                         Florida Panther - gasp
                                         In gratitude for this wonder
                                         Feel the beauty bathe your skin
                                         Desire - builds
                                         Peril Prances in possibilities
                                         Stomach spinning                                                    
                                         To travel to this place
                                        The Everglades
                                        The other side of the globe
                                        Nine hours from London-
                                        Too far

Wednesday, April 22, 2015


Day 23: 23rd  April, 23rd Poem

The prompt was to engage with nature in your own area. 


Wind, tides,
Built this body of
Stone upon stone
A new form
Wild ,craggy,
Boldly it looks out,
The horizon it's
Looked down on by the
Clock tower -
Ancient landmark.

                                           Now, springtime arrives
                                           Winds cease,
                                           Shapes warmed - calmed
                                           New season -
                                           Now they come,
                                           Bulldozer, tipper truck
                                           Excavator -
                                           Caterpillar tracks
                                           Up and down
                                           Mounds dug - moved
                                           Leveled,  flattened
                                                                                             Up - down
                                                                                             Past months
                                                                                             Ironed out
                                                                                             Up - down

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Baby Rose Alphabet

Day 22:  22st April,  22nd poem

And going back a few days we had the prompt of the ABC alphabet poem:

Baby Rose

Causes us to have  a
Drink and
Everyone in the
Family loves her. I am her
Great grandma.
How she
Inspires me to
Jot down my poems. I want to
Kiss her, shout out
Loud and  say...
May you live a
Noble life full
Quiet and joyful little
Singing a soft
Tune to
Very sweetly
We won't need an
 Box to keep us entertained
You'll  always put us in the right

Monday, April 20, 2015

Children Are Sometimes Irritating

Day 21:   21st April,  21st poem
The sun is shining, the sea is like a millpond - a springlike morning.

Just to follow the prompt I have given my poem a title that has a truth that cannot be refuted ( up to you). I had fun with this today. Thought it was a bit Joyce Grenville-ish. It's a bit tame in comparison to some of the times when I tried to gather my own children together, but...

Children Are Sometimes Irritating

Ah here's the book
Right let's sit down 
I'll tell you a story.
Need the loo mum ...
OK, Sam, 
Hurry up then...
No... you guys
Stay here
Keep still, 
He won't be long.
Here you are...
Come on.. sit , sit...
Now where were we??
No, you can't ..
Sit next to me,
It's Georgie's turn today,
But mum,
I can't see 
the book,
Well look,
Come sit on my lap
This wonderful story...
Yes, I see you've 
Cut your finger Chris, 
Oh dear, oh dear,
I'll get a plaster
When we're done...
OK, Alex, get Chris a plaster
Would you love!
Quickly mind!
No, don't cry,
No, I'm not angry..
Let's snuggle together...
Ok, everyone ready  ???
Let's begin...
Once upon a time...
Brrring... brrring...brrring,
Bloody phone!!

Sunday, April 19, 2015


Day 20:  20th April, 20th poem:

The challenge from napowrimo for today is to write a landay. That is a 22 syllable rhyming couplet with 9 syllables in the first line and 13 in the second. The form comes from  Afghanistan and is usually written by women. I thought I'd give it a go.

Do not  stare, I'm no different , I'm me,
Downs syndrome is who I am, pleased to meet you, don't flea.

Why did you throw me out in the cold
Please let me back home in the warm, I'll be good, not bold.

Don't pass by without a second glance
Look me in the eye, give some money, my life enhance.

This baby she won't stop her crying,
If she don't stop, I'll go round the bend, I ain't lying.

You never came home last night to me,
So from that I take it she was better company.

Game Of Football

Day 19:  19th April, 19th poem

AS it's FA cup semi-final weekend I thought I'd  ponder on a famous football game of the past.

The Football Game

There was a lull in firing, acrid, bullet-mist - still floating.
Mud carpeted with thin evening frost,
And - carried sweetly on the air -bringing tears to weary men-
Singing- "Silent Night."
Bodies rise above trenches, stretch, hesitant ...nudge each other,
Slowly... warily... unbelieving- one step...then another -
Draw closer, sing in unison, meet in the middle,
  "No man's land"
A ball, a game, a goal - or two, tentative camaraderie,
On sidelines two soldiers - opposing camps- smoke,
Share stories - wives, children, hobbies -
Walk together, relax in comfortable ditch,
Moments of quiet remembering - warm now
They drift into sleep-
Wake to the din of gunfire, the morning sky hidden behind
Smokescreen of war resuming.
German stands,  takes a look - bang....
Shot down by his own, he falls , blood sprays like a garden sprinkler
English breathes tepid, red death -  his "friend"  crushes him in heavy embrace
Gently he places him by his side and prays, and prays,
Tears flow free , mix with life juice - there he waits.
 Night comes, he says goodbye, creeps back to camp ,
Wipes sleeve across eyes answers his sergeant,
"German soldier got shot, fell on me, that's all."

Friday, April 17, 2015

Acting The Story

OK so it's
Day 18: 18th April, 18th poem  -

Acting The Story

Room set up ,
Hat - ready,
Clammy hands fumble with words -
 No more time to check,
Props in four piles,
Anticipating adventure.
Two wait,
Wait and chat,
Chit chat,
Say nothing
Open the window,
Wait ,
Wait - for...
They will come,
They will...
Clock time-sixth glance,
Two minutes...
And then, 
Seeing  double ,
Checked shirts slowly creep in,
Twins - boys
Next - sisters -walking tight as one,
Hand gripping hand
For safety,
The younger -- fair,
The older dark.
They came,
The storyteller looks for her hat,
Deep breath...
Now we begin...

Thursday, April 16, 2015

In Resonse to Don't Ask Me

In Response to Don't ask me:

Breathing fog into icy air
Scurrying through the dark evening,
On their way to,
Theatres, Shows, an evening out with

furs, food kiosks,smell of chips/ burgers/onions...
there you are sat against the railings, on cardboard
how, how did you come to be there?
What is your story?

Day 17: 17th April,17th poem

Coming home from Canterbury last night I saw a young girl in a doorway. Her clothes worn, her hair disheveled she was smoking and had a small piece  of cloth beside her on which were a few coins. I wanted to crouch down beside her and talk to her but was afraid to. I thought I might take her to have a coffee and find out her story,but I walked on . However, I couldn't get her out of my mind. So this poem came in just a few minutes this morning:

Don't Ask Me

Don't ask me why I sit
In this doorway,
Cold from this floor
Seeping into young bones
Aged by misuse.
Looking, but not looking
At you,
Just catching your eye
 Long enough,
Hoping you'll throw a coin
Onto my need.
Don't ask me why I sit
But wanting only my stuff,
Dirty and ragged,
Don't judge me
Don't judge me.


Day 16:  16th April, 16th poem


I will take my  heart - broken,
Broken in jagged pieces,
Pieces that cut me away.
I will take my broken heart,
Melt and mix with,
Forgiveness and mercy
Add a little salt
Of the Spirit .
Till bitterness and hatred
Is no more.
With courage,
I'll mold a new heart,
A new heart -  full of
Love and kindness
And peace.
And peace...

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

White Sails

What shall I  write about today?

Day 15: 15th April, 15th poem.

Yesterday, we went for a walk in the sun along the coast near our home.

White Sails

The sea a shimmering sheet of glitter,
Sails - white, pointing  skywards,
Formed like swallows returning
Home after the winter.
Watch-Children -
Throwing stones,
Ice creams dripping,
Screaming with delight as
they paddle in freezing water.
Watch -Couples- young,
Embraced  in happy dreams,
Caressed by warm rays..
Breathe in  North Sea health
And- Fish and chips.
Glorious summers day
In April

Artwork by Peter Green

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Since You Left.

Day 14: 14th April, 14th poem

Not being able to create a philosophical thought today I will just ponder on the quiet after the busy dance of the last week, which has been enormously enjoyable, albeit a little tiring.

Since You Left

House lonely - silence loud.
The shower - constant hum of running water,
Now stands quiet
The baby -early morning cries - a call to live.
Teenage girls spraying perfume- feint hints still  in air,
Talking - echoes of their laughter
Timeless ghosts embedded in walls.
Toddler - wandering, following,
Constant questions.
Table bursting , bubbling with chatter.
Singing boys and girls at kitchen sink- never ending dishes to clean.
Every room, every space  full,
Fridge tightly packed.
Empty now - all vast , all hollow.
Lonely house-loud silence.

Photo of grandparents and great grandparents, with Ryan (Dad) Lucy (Mum) and of course, the star of the show, Baby Rose.

Monday, April 13, 2015


 Day 13: 13th April, 13th poem. Brain rather tired but had to get something in for the challenge and so much material to play with.


Seventeen aunties and uncles 
Two sets of grandparents,
Two sets of great grandparents,
Two great aunts, and first cousins once removed- 
Two families united for baby Rose.
Small faces look up- silence
Water poured- eyes stare in wonder.
Stand drenched in April sun 
Blazing through pink blossom- 
Photos, smiles, blue sky.
Cake, coffee and cups of tea,
Children's games, 
Happy time together. 
The Baptism of Little Rose.
Baby Rose with her mum, dad and seventeen aunties and uncles.

Saturday, April 11, 2015


 Day 12:  12th April, 12th Poem.

Can't believe I'm keeping up with the challenge. This poem is a little reflection on life in our large family.
There were many times when we were in need and the right item just "turned up".  It was amazing , well , miraculous really.            


The winter - cold - children growing fast                                                                       
Coats not fitting - money short - a silent prayer.
Next morning early - on the doorstep                                                            
A black bag -  future hope.                                          
With expectant gratitude, we crowd around the gift-                                            
Ah, shoes for the youngest - and - trousers for the boys                                           
And -  wait - yes, two coats for the girls                                                  
Just the right size - in favourite colours.                                              
It continues to surprise,                                                
Divine providence    

Artwork by Peter Green


Day 11: 11th April, 11Poem

A little something inspired by a visit to the Turner Gallery in Margate where they had an exhibition 
called   "Self".  
Sorry it's so late. 

Friday, April 10, 2015


So happy to have been chosen as the poet of the day yesterday by

Day 10:  10th April, 10th poem

Yesterday I was thinking about old age, as you do. And what came to mind vividly was my relationship with my grandmother. An inspiration to me all my life. She died twenty four years ago but I am the person I am because of her. She had a huge influence on my life.


My pillar, strong, constant
There in my uncertainty
In the chaos of my wanderings
Unshakable in my instability.
With you the colour of being
Was not elusive or fleeting
With the blustery winds
Of breathing.
With you  unrest of spirit
Was calmed with the powerful
warmth of intimate confidence
With  you I learnt to savour
Those moments of
moving forward
Towards changeless

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

The Peg in The Oven

No Peg

Looking back at this post from April made me laugh, bringing back memories of grandchildren finding me so funny. The joke about the peg kept them going for days. That was only six months ago, but  so much has happened in their lives since then that I wonder if they even remember that time.
When we visited them a few days ago they were off to London to sing Carols.
Well , we no longer need a peg for the oven, having moved house and bought a new one. Now I have two ovens, seven burners and not a peg in sight.
During these days of Christmas it will make a huge difference to the feeding of visitors who might come.
I'm sure there will be a few over the twelve days.
But there won't be turkey. Well not in my house . I have to say it's not a favourite with the family.  It's not bad, just not that great. We do love it , when days after Christmas we make a brilliant curry with the left overs, but as roast meat - no, not the best.
However, I am looking forward to eating turkey on Christmas day this year when we visit my parents for the day and my lovely sister will cook. I'm totally sure it will be the best ever.
A little bit of rambling today. Not much of the poet here...
Oh well,
A very Happy Christmas to all my faithful readers...

 Day 9: 9th April, 9th poem.

This is for Daniella, my grandaughter, who wanted me to write about the fact that we have to put a peg in the oven to wedge it closed. It's rather annoying, but it works. When we move, in May hopefully, we'll be able to get a new oven. It's a bit of a joke that caused some laughter at the table. So:

 The Peg in The Oven

 Feeding twelve with sausage and beans,
And I have to put a peg in the oven.
Not enough to feed all the teens,
As I have to put a peg in the oven.

Cake, banana, that Josh has baked ,
A large one to feed the hordes.
We'll all get a piece
one at least
And he had to put a peg in the oven.
Yes, he put the peg in the oven.

Day 8 Money

Day 8: 8th April, 8th poem

I took the prompt today from Napowrimo - to write a poem reflecting on money:


Money doesn't make you happy,
that's what people say,
But to live in this world we need it,
It helps us on our way

But it shouldn't be the thing that
takes up all your heart,
It only gives material stuff,
The physical, bodily part.

It has no value of itself,
It's just a means to an end,
to bring some joy to those we love,
family and friends.

So, if you find you're lucky enough,
and have a fortune to spare,
Spend it wisely while you can
Give some away and share.

Many people are going without,
they struggle to make ends meet,
You could be there to help them along,
And put them on their feet.

So, don't be a miser ,
with your pot of gold,
make others happy,
before you're too old.

I struggled to find time to write a poem today, as we're so busy with family staying for the Easter holidays.
But the motivation to continue with the poem a day for April forced me to produce something, and in rhyme, which is not really my style.

My treasure is my family.


Tuesday, April 7, 2015


Day 7


Thirty years -Anthony Ray Hinton
In solitary, confined on Death Row, but
Innocent - released today.
We walk the ridge,
Chill winds numbing our brains,
Out on  the Creek
Boats sail, weaving on water - free.
Birds, Avocets,  Godwhitts, weaving on wind- free,
Children run, absorbed in games,
Worries not part of their plan, free.
But we, our minds chained -
Chained, with myriad links-
Incarcerated by,
 Our money, our children, our job,
Clearly not free.
On Death Row his joy sustained him.
No bitterness consuming him,
No attachments enclosing him
Living simply, close to God,
For thirty years he has been free.

Monday, April 6, 2015


         Day 6: 6th day, 6th poem              


Weddings- strawberry cheesecakes,
 Degree ceremonies or new babies-
Strawberries and cream-
Special family times.
Today I sit at a large table
In the sunny conservatory
Surrounded by children
Adult now , parents some,
Animated - they debate together,
While grandchildren - cousins-
In brightly coloured dressing up clothes,
 Are busy, having adventures
In "foreign lands".
On the table strawberries, plump-red -
An aroma of sweet, fruity promise.
And a knife.
 My task : to cut strawberries into four-
 Lengthways-for dipping-In chocolate.
And others, to roughly chop
For Eton Mess - a longtime favourite.
Warm rays caressing my back
Brings to mind  misty memories.

Sunday, April 5, 2015

Out Of The Darkness

Day 5: 5th day, 5th poem.
Easter Day


Out of the Darkness

We get up early, before the sun,
Bold, loving - striking out to where
We'd watched Joseph and Nicodemus.
Gather spices, fresh clothes,
Ointments to anoint His body
We walk together.
 Tears - a balm for the union of our sorrow.
Wailing we comfort each other with stories,
Personal, painful.
We ponder - who will roll the stone away?
And then,
The sun rises
Reaching the place, we stop.
Looking , without understanding ,
who has done this thing?
The tomb - empty.
Confused we stand.
Do not fear , they say.
Out of darkness - the Light ...He is Risen...
And joy ,  hope returns.
He is alive...
He is alive...
He is alive...

Saturday, April 4, 2015

The Ninth Hour

Day 4: 
4th April, 4th poem

Written yesterday-Good Friday:

The Ninth Hour

Caught up in the swollen mass,
 that surges, like a river  
overspilling its banks. 
I am elbowed,
jostled , pushed, shoved,
Through dusty streets, 
The frenzied multitude,
Ringing in my ears,
I look up .
Can I see Him?
For an eternal brief moment, we are chained in a look
His eyes wedded to mine - heart embracing heart.
He staggers
I squeeze through, bumped and kicked.
I look up
Can I see Him?
Innocence before me
I take my white linen cloth
To his face-disfigured, bruised 
Blood, sweat, soak into that veil.
my treasure.
Soldiers drag me away.
I cannot watch ,
His body - cut, wounded , battered,
Struggles up the slope
staggers-falls , staggers again.
All stop. The summit.
I look up,
Can I see Him?
The place of skulls
Nailed, hung, spared nothing.
Arms open wide in embrace.
The lamb on his throne.
It is the ninth hour.

We are expecting lots of busy-ness during the next two weeks so I will have difficulty writing for the blog and keeping up with the challenge. I do intend, however to give it a shot, even if what I post isn't as good or finished as I'd like. So carry on supporting and spreading and we'll see this through together.

Did you know?

Total Lunar Eclipse or "Blood Moon", is on April 4, 2015 and will be visible in most of North America, South America, Asia and parts of Australia.

Of course we can't see it here in the UK.

Friday, April 3, 2015

Go This Way

Day 3:
 3rd April 3rd poem.

Was inspired today by a walk along the coast . We took a path from the beach up a pretty winding staircase. Each turn gave a different, yet  interesting view which  made me reflect the path our lives take. Not sure I've done justice to it in this poem.

Go This Way

Go this way, tread these winding steps,

                                    Up this steep slope.

                                                     Stop here, rest,

                                                                      Take in the view,

                                                                                     The castle - almost ruins

                                                                                                     Glory days over.

                                                                                     Carry on up, round that blind  bend,

                                                              See the lake- veiled in mist,  

                                                Joys hidden in shrouded past

            Struggle further,up  towards the peak,


                                                               The path narrows, stones underfoot slow progress
                                                                           Turn, see the valley

                                                                                            Deep, dark,

                                                                                 Holding lost moments of gloom.

                                                                                                 But now, for you, up, up, 

                                                                               Crawl on to the summit,

                                                       Lift yourself up,

                        Stand, breathe deep

     Look around,

                                      All before you takes shape

                                                             Holds together.

Thursday, April 2, 2015

This April Day

And on the second day....

Day 2 of the challenge "a poem a day in April".

                     This April Day

Look out to sea this April Day.
See the horizon curve
Across wide water.
Waves churned by wind,
Break on shores,
Sculpt  fresh  forms.
And wind turbines,
 Like catherine wheels
Turn to the tune,
Of spring.

And just to keep you going, another little story:

                               The Torch                                                      

“What’re you doing?”  Rob moaned sleepily, falling into the middle of the blow up bed, his elbows and knees hitting the cold, hard floor, as Liz stumbled over him.
“I’ve got to go to the loo,” she whispered, groping in the dark, “where’s the torch?”
Rob’s hands felt in the pocket at the side of the inner tent.
“Here,” he said, clicking on the Tesco pocket-torch and holding it up.
“Thanks,” she grabbed it, pointed it at the zipper and quickly opened it.
            She stepped quietly into the outer tent area so as not to waken the girls, whose low, rhythmic breathing assured her they were fast asleep. With the sound of rain on the canvas roof echoing in her head, Liz got on hands and knees and searched for her wellies. Next she slowly swept the torch in a circle. Now, where was her coat? Finding it on the back of a chair she shivered as she put her arms into the damp armholes, making a mental note that she must keep her clothes inside at night.
Wellies and raincoat on, she ventured outside onto the wet grass. Lifting her face to the moon, half hidden in cloud, she noticed that what she thought was rain was only drizzle. From the din inside the tent she expected a downpour.  Another sound, dull and repetitive, drifted from one of the other tents. Someone was snoring. 
Liz held the torch tightly in her clammy hands. She could see only a few yards in front of her, everything else left in unknowable darkness. She picked her way through the first of the two fields she had to get through. A feint smell of smoke from the bonfire of the previous evening wafted in the air, reminding her of the BBQ, the wine and friends singing late into the night. The only reason she’d agreed to this camping trip. 
As she continued on, the occasional sound of cracking twigs from the woods around her broke the silence and made her start.  She tried not to imagine what might be lurking in the black.  Pulling her coat tight around her shoulders she quickened her pace, grateful there was a pathway to follow and greatly relieved when the lights from the toilet block came into view.
On the way back to her tent she wondered if this would be the first and only time she went camping. What she knew for sure was that if they came again they would have to get a more powerful torch.

Now i have to put my think cap on and get writing the poem for tomorrow.

See you then.