Tag: poem

Wintering

When cold clings to your bones with painful fingers.
You go for a lunch-walk to watch the sun set.
The clouds shroud so heavily you can’t tell if it is day yet.
Dark tendrils enclose your space; the ceiling light fights a battle lost.

The steam from your soup bowl fogs your vision.
Hard rimmed bread softened in salty broth.
A warm hug and friend’s presence brighten the grey day.
There is no such thing as too many blankets.

Wrapped up like porcelain dolls ready for shipping.
Only noses and eyes emerge; clouds of breath hang over our heads.
Laughs muffled by thick scarves.
Our steps crunch on frozen ground, or kick bursts of snow into the air.
We enter the house with much exclamation, and stomping of cold feet,
Rubbing numb hands, and shaking off frost, as if we were still fur-covered beasts.
Warm blankets snug around the body, lest any air touches shivering skin.
Book in hand, a hot cuppa, and a candle the night may fall now—again.

I collected a poem*

Robin sits on Frost covered branches all huddled and puffed up

Bullfinches, like plush berries, 
Huddled decorativly on baren trees. 
December has snug through the door
Under the guise of November gray.
Heavy pillows full of pending snow
Linger below the blue ceiling. 
I am entering stasis, space in between, 
Before the sun is reborn. 
Watching the days grow ever shorter. 
Everyone is holding a long breath. 
Mallards hide their bills underneath warm feathers. 
Heron amongst silver reeds, 
alternates the leg submerged in cold water. 
Even jaybird flies past without a warning call. 
Kingfisher the only one who can’t stop the busy bustle. 
Cold wind nips my face, 
Blowing away remnants of gossamer. 
Moss makes pompoms along elder branches. 
Redwing and blackbird beaks full of red baubles. 
Everything is Christmas coloured right now. 

*During a lunchtime walk before the lurgy struck. I literally wrote each line as I observed.

Stray Cats

Midnight street

The sheen of rain on cobble stones

Black fur bristling

Tails are agitated bottle brushes

Careful circling round and round

Avoiding eye contact

But never loosing sight of one another

Neither knows

If the other one is save to be around

Who approaches first?

Saturday Morning

The crows caw

Smell of roses

Monet

Walzing memories

A puppy and a stick

J bringing my bike out of the garage

Spring Equinox

unedited free writing for spring

12 hours

twelve hours of light
twelve hours of darkness
yet the planets align
beauty to harness

Writing

silly little rhymes flow from my pen
words phrases punctuation
I hoard like a poetic dragon
in my soul they grow entwined
syllabic stew bubbles in my mind
to spill out in no discernible order
rhyming sometimes or I don’t bother
it’s spring and everything tumbles
stumbles, bursts into being
my words urge and urge forward
just don’t you stop they are screaming
so I am beholden to the pen
to write until the very end

Life!

life stumbles into being with ostentatious urgency
spears of green impale last winter’s brown leaves
purple blossoms stand askew amongst yellow
death from last year barely covered by sap green growth
a longtail tit almost smacks into my head
single minded focus on nesting mating food
flight an afterthought of being
while I look on enviously
coltsfoot, lesser celandine, ****crocus, winter aconites
daffodils, dandelion leaves, hawthorn buds,
cowslip tenderly peek out from mud
first sight might betray you that first day of spring
amongst the brownish, greyish, greenish darks
second sight notices sparkling glitz
third sight confirms the colour explosion has rizz

Social media observation

I am a woman

I can be sad and happy

Have a PhD and change car tires

Dig garden beds and glam up

Write poetry and mountainbike 

Cuddle in your strong arms

And hold you when you are sad

Make art and binge watch Netflix

Roll up with a book and hike in a snowstorm

Most people online yell at one another 

Because they have forgotten that many things can hold true at once

Because they have adapted their personality to the tiny box on the screen

Just don’t be too much, too faceted, too colourful

Lest the algorithms silence you for not fitting into a tiny box 

Old man on a dune, Durness

Knarled legs with pronounced sinews.
Remind me of the ancient hawthorn
at the Roman fort.
Swollen knees akin to burls bend as we sit companionably next to one another.

We watch the boys in their kayaks.
Fishing for pollock far out in the bay.
The third one on the look out is the great seal.
Wondering who mucks about with his dinner.

The old man was up from Yorkshire
I believe
Always loved hiking but he has to use the poles now.
‘My knees, you know? I need to take them now.’
I show him my Nordic Walking poles. ‘Family history.’ I add.

We both nodd in understanding and watch the seal pop up.
Curriously trailing the boys in their kayaks.
We laugh.
Someone is worried about their dinner.

The summer sun warms our skin.
Marram grass almost silver in the bright light.
Diamond sparkles on ripples in the sea.
He tells me about his family. The call of sea birds.

Maelstrom



skin and flesh are imperfect vessels for the maelstrom at the centre

at random 

bouts of anger burst forth 

tears, anxiety

yet the spinning won’t slow

barely contained by physical reality 

I bounce like Tigger just not as cute 

nothing is cute about me

not even the pink nail polish

so all that remains is to shout in bright colours and poetic forms

lest you fear the wounded child grown

into a woman with tallons as sharp as her pen and poignat as herself-loathing

fear not the artist but the art

for it can destroy silences

This is a mixed media art Sketchbook image. To the left is a sketch of a woman with words across her face such as, through the eyes of a child. The poem is written in white ink over the black background The right side is again back background with white stars of different sizes and a negative sketch of a hand showing the middle finger with one pink nail

Wintering

When cold clings to your bones with painful fingers.
You go for a lunch-walk to watch the sun set.
The clouds shroud so heavily you can’t tell if it is day yet.
Dark tendrils enclose your space the ceiling light fights a battle lost.

The steam from your soup bowl fogs your vision.
Hard rimmed bread softened in salty broth.
A warm hug and friend’s presence brighten the grey day.
There is no such thing as too many blankets.

Wrapped up like a porcelain doll ready for shipping.
Only the nose and eyes emerge; clouds of breath hang over our heads.
Laughs muffled by thick scarves.
Our steps crunch on frozen ground or kick bursts of snow into the air.

We enter the house with much exclamation and stomping of cold feed.
Rubbing numb hands, and shaking off the frost as if we were still fur covered beasts.
Warm blankets snug around the body lest any air touches shivering skin.
Book in hand, a hot cuppa, and a candle the night may fall now—again.

+++++++++

I was invited to write a contribution to wintering in academia and became stuck half way through my essay and ended up writing a poem. … of course

Replying to Sara L

That’s it.
I think.
No knight on an exhausted steed rushing to the rescue.
No benefactor pulling notes of worthless tender from fat pockets.
No, nothing like that.
No meaningless gestures.
No empty materialism.
Your touch, every time you pass me by.
You alternate your path just for that.
Silly dancing half naked on a sunny Saturday morning
Cajoling loudly to song.
Cuddled underneath thick blankets the dome of fairy lights
Painted above us by Night.
Autumn: hot chocolate in the garden
Before the last hours of work that day.
Storm battled adventures under canvas.
Bringing you coffee first thing every morning.
Cooking me birthday breakfast on the beach.
Swigging champagne from the bottle in a mountain hut.
A thick pair of gloves you knew I would need them.
Unexpected snowstorm we waited out with hot tea and chocolate.
Arms wrapping around each other tightly.
Holding hands while sleeping.
And so in Love
We safe one another every day.

If you do not know the Poetry Cove yet go have a nosy and join! I participated in the chap book writing month so have a lot of poems to share here but then the semester began, and I managed to slip a disc and things went a bit haywire for a while. Catching up and will schedule some more poems soon.
This one was a discussion we had after a love poem prompt that we found challenging. Here is my response to the inspiration by one of the participants.