Just a glance, a smile,
stirs his tail to thump.
My old grey muzzled friend
heaves himself up, steadies himself,
plods across the flagstone floor
rests his heavy head on my lap.
We sit in the twilight.
He warms me.
What days they were, when we flew
laughing – leaping the long
sun tumbled bands of hay
Joy snapping at our heels
I smile again, we sit and stay,
While I fondle his deaf ear.
Posted in Poetry, Writing | Tagged age, dog, friend, love, Poetry, Summer, Writing | 4 Comments »
They came on the chill of a windless night
with faces of glass, diamond eyes, startled hair –
the air crackling and splintering
before their icy breaths.
On brittle wings they hovered
and with spindled fingers etched in ice
upon my sleeping window
intricate fronds and filigrees, unicorns, dragons,
demons, whirling divas, souls of songs –
Sunlight-captured, burning bright and clear.
Waking now, I still hear strands of laughter
as they skate away – stealing
those far flung crystal mornings.
Posted in Poetry, Writing | Tagged childhood, cold, diva, dragon, faeries, fairies, fairy, fantasy, frost, Morning, Poetry, songs, stealing, sunlight. Writing, theft, unicorn, winter | 22 Comments »
I was delighted and amazed that this poem was highly commended in the ‘Fire River Poets’ poetry competition. I’ve been invited to read it, plus some others, at a ‘Winners Evening’ in May. It’s very exciting but also quite daunting.
Here’s the poem…(it’s a villanelle by the way)
Wordless Dream
I dreamt that you were with us all today,
so vivid and so real you seemed to be,
you smiled, you never spoke, just turned away.
You buttered toast, and laid the breakfast tray.
You boiled the old range kettle, made the tea.
I dreamt that you were with us all today.
You never stopped, nor saw the children play.
Instead you polished all the cutlery.
You smiled, I never spoke. I turned away.
Your face was drawn, your features gaunt and grey,
but still you cleaned and worked on endlessly.
I dreamt that you were with us all today.
I begged you please to stop, to rest, to stay.
You placed your age-worn hand upon my knee,
We smiled, we never spoke, we turned away.
A tear slid down your face, I saw you sway.
I wanted you to stop. Stay here with me.
I dreamt that you were with us all today,
you smiled, you never spoke and turned away.
Posted in Autobiography, Poetry | Tagged daughter, Death, dream, elderly, Family, Grief, housework, love, mother, old, Poetry, villanelle, Writing | 4 Comments »
They are all too clever by half –
these words.
Distilled to small hard jewels
attempting to dazzle.
They chink on the page
hard, heavy, cold.
Empty.
Too clever by half.
No resonance
to warm the belly,
fire the blood,
move the spirit
or billow a rainbow in the mind.
An intellectual rattle
Clang, clunk, clink.
Too clever by half.
Posted in Poetry | Tagged clever, fun, intellectual, mind, Poetry, rainbow, words, Writing | 3 Comments »
On a recent poetry week-end at West Dean College, with poet Phillip Wells, I was given a task to translate and interpret a poem written by the poet Rainer Maria Rilke. I chose this one and here is the result.
( I’ve also added the translation I used to interpret it, not being able to understand German, and the original poem)
Breathing, a silent poem! All encompassing
space. Inhaling, exhaling. Each breath a balance
a rhythm, an existence.
A song for life.
I – a single wave, but part of this
gathering ocean.
You – the sparsest sea.
A space between.
How many in between spaces – places
live within me. Breathings
of my unborn children.
Does the air know me, know these dwelling places?
You- the once perfect
pearl of all my phrases.
Breathing, Invisible poem! That great
world-space, at each inhalation
exchanged for this human existence. Counter-weight
of my rhythmical realization
Single wavelet, whose slowly
gathering sea am I;
you, of all possible seas most frugal and lowly, –
space laid-by.
Of all these places in space, how many a one
Has been within me already. Many a wind
seems like a son.
Do you know me, air, still full of dwelling-places?
You, the one-time smooth-skinned
rondure and leaf of my phrases.
Atmen, du unsichtbares Gedicht!
Immerfort um das eigne
Sein rein eingetauschter Weltraum. Gegenwicht,
in dem ich mich rhythmisch ereigne.
Einzige Welle, deren
allmähliches Meer ich bin;
sparsamstes du von allen möglichen Meeren, –
Raumgewinn.
Wie viele von diesen Stellen der Räume waren schon
innen in mir. Manche Winde
sind wie mein sohn.
Erkennst du mich, Luft, du, voll noch einst meiniger Orte?
Du, einmal glatte Rinde,
Rundung und Blatt meiner Worte.
Posted in Poetry, Writing | Tagged air, breathing, existentense, German, interpretation, literature, ocean, Orpheus, pearl, Poetry Exercise, rainer maria rilke, rhythm, Rilke, sea, sonnets to Orpheous, space, translation, west dean college | Leave a Comment »
My heart shifted
It made a room for you,
never to be empty.
I held you- soft and warm,
a tiny bundle,
bald and bawling.
How in a moment
did this bond bubble up
between us?
So strong –
I would kill
to keep you
safe.
Posted in Autobiography, Poetry, Writing | Tagged baby, bond, child, daughter, Family, kill, love, newborn, Personal, safe, son | 4 Comments »
A sonnet for my niece Chloe; written after shopping for her wedding dress.
Chloe’s Wedding Gown
A cascade fall of satin fairy-tales,
still drape from golden rails. A silken stream
of ivory, of pearl. Lace flower trails
between soft organza and love’s young dream.
The robe, a puff of candy floss delight,
adorned with sequins, pearly beads and bows.
The veil, a froth of voile, bejewelled and white.
The sparkling shoes revealing painted toes.
But this is not for you. You will decide –
no glitz, no glam. On fancy frills, you’d frown.
Just fresh wild roses, flowers, for this bride
to hold before a simple long white gown.
For that’s all sugar spun, a pretty trim.
Your beauty Chloe, comes from deep within.
Posted in Poetry, Writing | Tagged beauty, fabric, Family, flowers, gown, love, Personal, Poetry, wedding | 4 Comments »
My Blue Mug.
You sit there,
Upside down beside the sink
Draining.
A dribble of stale water,
imbued with left-over lunch, grease,
soap, slides secretly
over blue porcelain
leaving an unseen trail of lies.
Yet to my friends
you appear clean, bright, fun
who wouldn’t choose you
to hold their favourite drink,
Lapsang, Ceylon, Earl-Grey.
Columbian, Kenyan,
Brazilian blends,
who wouldn’t choose you?
You were a welcome gift.
A firm favourite.
But you soured the milk,
scorched the tongue,
tainted the tea,
embittered the coffee.
Still your blue porcelain shines,
But should one turn you over
Look inside –
They will see the stains.
The fine hair line cracks.
The rings of grime.
Once I loved you.
Now you are no longer mine.
Posted in Poetry | Tagged lies, Poetry, Writing | 6 Comments »
Who am I?
I am before and after,
and somewhere in-between.
A dream on a sleepless night.
A long bitter struggling fight.
I am a changing name
spoken or sung
by those who love me, and I love,
who sing my name in varied song.
I am Mother, Daughter, Sister, Lover,
Listener, Healer, Joker, Speaker,
Watcher, Gardener,
Writer, Friend.
I am here to tend,
to mend,
to reach out.
To hug the world with words.
I spring from tragedy to hope.
I spring from death to cope.
I spring from the sky, the sea, the fire,
the stubborn grit of stone.
My father is the land, the seed, the grass.
The deep rooted tree.
My mother is a singing bird, a bard,
A lilting melody.
Many are greater than I.
They mould the world with
money, power, guns.
But I
with a sigh,
a word,
a trembling caress,
may cause a ripple across
its breathe.
Posted in Autobiography, Poetry, Writing | Tagged daughter sister, Death, Family, money power, Personal, Poetry, singing bird, Writing | 15 Comments »
