Days when I walk in the garden,
Early morning,
When the dew clings
To all green things,
Before the sun climbs up too high,
Burning the sky,
When each leaf glows,
Each flower grows,
Then I am open to the world,
My soul unfurled,
And I glow too,
And I grow new.
Frank is minding the bar at dVerse tonight. He’s asked us to write a minute poem – 60 syllables, arranged 844 x 3, with an aabb rhyme scheme. Frank is a bit of a king of forms, so he’s setting the bar high.
From here the land rises
like a green wave, so that
perhaps we cling
like fishermen to our
small boat. Are we afraid?
~For Lillian at dVerse, who asks us to be inspired by windows. I think there is more to say on this subject, and my picture doesn’t capture the perspective at all, which is a little frustrating.
Six flames
flickered on
the birthday cake-
pink icing
with white roses,
or green bubbling
frosting
or bright sunshine
buttercream
churned with
love
and words
so many words
stuffed between
cloudy layers
of sweet cake,
coiled dark, like
cherries,
words spilling
over the plate.
It’s dVerse’s 6th birthday, so there should be cake.
Scents flicker
as scents do
here/gone/here/gone
swift gesture
of honeysuckle
glimpse of
jasmine,
the stone
is warm
against my
bare feet
and dark wings
flicker
as the swallows
fly high,
darting,
dancing,
chasing the air,
scrawling
“summer”
over the
purpling
sky.
Happy 6th birthday to dVerse, happy writing and adventuring. It’s open again, after a summer break, and Grace asks us to use the word “flicker” in our quadrilles.
28 Years
She’s waited for years
Straining to hear his key in the lock
She waited all night
Holding the pillow, as if it would help
She sat down on the bed
Her heart did a flip in her chest
The commentary changed
The match was just starting
She was stripping the sheets from the bed,with the radio on
She went back to her work
He went out of the door with a smile
Afraid he’d miss the coach
She was fretting
He kissed her goodbye in a rush.
This is another blast from the past for dVerse OLN. It’s a backwards poem I wrote for NaPoWriMo 2016. The Hillsborough inquest has just finished, and people will be put on trial. The families have waited a long time for this. It seemed appropriate to re-post this today, with respect and sorrow.
May you always
know the ocean,
the steady beat
of her waves,
the great width
of her strength.
Even if you live
locked in a
land-locked city,
may you dream of
the sea.
May you always feel
the joy you feel
at the first sight
of the blue sea
sparking in summer;
the awe you feel
at the power of
the waves
in a winter storm.
May you always know
the salt water
in your
own blood.
May the morning light
drift over you
gentle as
golden silk
May your eyes open
on hope:
a green seedling,
an opening flower,
soft in the
morning light.
May your ears catch
a tumble of birdsong,
a whisper of breath,
in the morning quiet.
May morning enter
your ears, your eyes,
your heart,
filling your day
with the colour
of peace,
the peace of colour.
May your hands reach
into the light,
and fill themselves
with warmth.
May you taste the
tang
of this new day,
May you smell the clean
scent
of a new
beginning.
May your first thoughts
be full
of compassion
your first words
full of joy
and love.
Paul Scribbles is running the show at dVerse tonight, and asking for blessings.
We come here all through the winter. We’ve swum here on days when the sea has been a great, grey cat, tossing us like tiny toys. We’ve emerged shivering, glowing with cold and triumph. We’ve been the only swimmers, sometimes sharing the water with gleaming black clad surfers, sometimes sharing the beach with dog-walkers wrapped in coats and scarves.
Today, however, it’s summer. I’ve picked my son up from a hot coach, after a long drive back from a science fair. There’s a pair of shorts and a t-shirt in a bag on the back seat,and his swimming trunks are in the boot. We’ve collected his best friend, and an older brother who is wilting in the heat, and I’ve brought them to the beach. We’ve picked our way over the pebble ridge, clambering over the smoothly rounded stones, and slipped and slithered our way down the other side, carrying rugs, towels and ice cold drinks.
Up by the causeway there’s a gathering of people, brightly coloured, making their way in and out of the sea. Here, where we are, it’s quieter. We dump our stuff, and plunge into the water, relishing the coolness of it, looking due west, to where the hot sun will sizzle into the ocean in a few hours time. The solstice has brought us the longest, hottest day we can remember, and we are loving it.
Sun hovers, holds back –
cannot bear to leave the day –
gold path in the sea
Dverse is open, and the very graceful Grace is asking for summery haibuns. We had a mini heatwave last week, but we’re back to English summer weather now. Still, a girl can dream.
We picked our way down
to Peppercombe bay,
where the cliffs are paprika
and the grey stones wait
quietly, to be ground by the surf;
through the green hush of trees
to the place where there’s only
the wide sky and the salt sea.
Kim is our host at dVerse tonight. The prompt word is “pepper”. Peppercombe bay is one of our local beaches. You can find an image of it here. We didn’t go to Peppercombe this evening, but we were just a little way up the coast – and there were peppercorns garnishing my gin and tonic, so there’s obviously something in the air tonight.
I have seen flowers come in stony places,
Their fine roots crumbling concrete;
I have seen gulls nesting on sky scraping cliffs
And watched grass quietly creeping out over the lane.
I have held the gaze of a fox on a garden wall,
Heard a blackbird calling from a broken gutter,
Seen a tree growing from a long cold chimney
And ivy reaching blindly through a paneless window.
Who are we kidding? With our taming mesh of roads
And bridges, our glyphosates, our planned piazzas?
One day, this will fall,
In an orgy of vegetation – and daisies will sprout
Between our sanded floor boards, and bindweed
Climb helter skelter up the lamp posts,
And deer will browse among the rusted frames
Of our bark chipped playgrounds.
The wild is always there,
Waiting to return.
It’s open link night at dVerse, and Grace is in charge. This is one of the first poems I ever blogged, in April 2016 – for NaPoWriMo. The prompt was “a borrowed first line” and I chose one from John Masefield. In fact the whole poem is only 4 lines long, so it’s one I can remember…
I have seen flowers come in stony places
And kind things done by men with ugly faces
And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races,
So I trust too.
