And my response:
What On Earth Comes Over Us
Waves of Christmas music drift through my head,
It's that time of year again - happiness, tiredness, dread
That things won't all go right.
Where's the list I wrote last night , what shall I get for Aunty Chris?
What size turkey shall we have? Or this year shall we give it a miss,
Oh, I am in a terrible plight.
But what is the whole thing really about, why do we make such a fuss?
Why is the whole world celebrating , what on earth comes over us?
It's only remembering a baby's birth and that happens every day,
But this little baby changed everything as he lay on the soft , dry hay
A poem I wrote yesterday, just for the craic:
JUST SAYING
Love is you taking the bins out,
And noticing what's behind that bout,
Of anger.
Just saying...
Attentive too to times of tiredness,
Not minding that I've not got dressed,
But languor.
Just saying...
Knowing I like a different channel to you,
Giving me my chance as well to view,
For longer
Just saying...
And when the opportunity arises and we're able,
Taking me to dinner to sit at table,
And romance me for ever,
Just saying,
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.
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