Text to come from MD..
Now I am like my grandchildren and counting “sleeps” until Christmas, so I suppose I had better accept it and admit that all the signs from August onward have got me to this point. Here is a little something to spur others on too.
I believe in magic because I am not dead
Last year I got three wishes and this is what I said
I don’t want to be a turkey, I’ll be a fairy on the tree
So I’m watching from my vantage point as you eat my family!
Cheery little ditty but wait for my one about the Christmas Fairy! Happy shopping 🙂
One of my “outings” as laureate was to be part of a walk on the Malvern Hills, together with other poets, and also to meet with a reporter for the local paper. However, all did not go according to plan and I was mislaid, hence the following blog.
I am delighted to say that reports of my disappearance have been blown out of all proportion, not that it is the fault of anyone in particular (except maybe a certain photographer who lured, yes lured, me up the Malvern Hills on a very misty morning). However, it has given poets in Worcester a few giggles and inspired a couple of poems.
Originally, I was supposed to be the first poet encountered as people hiked, marched, clawed and gasped their way around a set trail last Sunday. Unfortunately, a keen photographer thought the mist would clear higher up !!! and would thus be able to get a few good photos of the event. Alas, wet and cobwebbed grass, sack loads of various animal droppings and silhouttes of trees were all that we encountered.
Having hi-jacked a couple of “willing” victims to incorporate in a couple of photos, the photographer gamely headed back for the carpark passing the bench where I should have been sitting in residence. However, all ended well and all participating poets spent a most enjoyable afternoon together. Another “poetic journey” is planned for next year but, hopefully, in sunshine this time!
and anguished pleas are hurled
at whatever god there may be.
Family and friends unite in disbelief
as do strangers with their underlying relief
that it is not one of theirs. Scared and shocked
they lock their little ones into the security
of closed doors, empty streets
while parental heartbeats race
through heaving chests.
A community unites, frightened by the ease
at which a child “playing out” has suddenly
become an abduction.
Someone in their midst insists they saw nothing,
have nothing to add, no story to tell
as distraught parents are trapped in the hell
of ignorance, not knowing how to cope,
while sorrow steals their hope.
Well, the day is finally here. The Olympic Games 2012 will be officially opened this evening. Seven years of planning finally coming to fruition. I realise there have been upsets, mistakes, incidents and accidents along the way but all that must be put aside as we join in supporting and celebrating the London 2012 Olympic Games. However, I couldn’t resist just one final little dig …….
Text to come from Md..
And now the time has come and so I write the final stanza
Poet friends, I’ll say it clear and mention here Napowrimo’s bonanza.
I’ve tried, yes tried so hard to follow each and every guideline
but more, much more than this, most of my poems rhyme.
Rejects, I’ve had a few but, then again, too few to mention,
I’ve changed what I had to change travelling in a new direction.
I wrote each structured verse and read aloud to make it sound right
but more, much more than this, I emailed by midnight (well mostly).
Yes there were times, oh we all knew
we’d taken on more than we could do,
we wrote all night, keeping verses tight,
we’d jot them down, move them around,
I tried them all, hit the writing wall,
but did it Maggie’s way.
So now Day Thirty’s here, no more to write, no competition
perhaps I’ll write a book, go take a look, my special edition.
So, thanks yes thanks to you for all supportive comments rendered
‘cos now, as I wipe my brow, I have surrendered.
Fantasies or nightmares,
Close your eyes, just dream,
what have you to lose?
Feel his warmth beside you,
breath upon your skin,
fingers sliding down your spine;
you’ve lost it, he wins.
Fantasy is over,
the nightmare reigns supreme,
banishing all thoughts of him,
cruelly mocks the dream.
The smells, the touch, the taste all gone,
dawn brings another day to live through
until night returns,the fantasy to re-play.
You may well remember that mature trees were brought in for decoration in Westminster for the wedding of Prince William and Kate, but caused problems.
There was panic at Westminster Abbey of the kind the Brits do so well,
an orderly kind of upheaval and calmness so no-one could tell
that the maples and hornbeams, though lovely, could hardly fit through the door
and the home of a nesting blackbird bounced twice before hitting the floor.
The trumpeters practised their fanfare spurred on by the listening crowd,
it was the last, the final rehearsal, they stood upright, stately, proud.
Bystanders outside the Abbey cheered and waved little union jacks,
it was twenty four hours to the wedding but spending the night on their backs
on a cold and hard concrete pavement, meant they limbered up when they could,
so they waved and they stamped and applauded just where they stood.
Elgar was still in waiting but the crowds were beginning to wain,
yes they loved all the pomp and ceremony but they’d been told it was going to rain.
So they unrolled tents and brollies, creating a most colourful sight,
but as the music rose to a crescendo, they rolled over and said gooodnight.
It’s lust at first sight, the girl to your right,
the one with the straight brown hair.
The one in the dress, no, not her – she’s a mess
be casual, don’t stare.
She’s classy alright, no holes in her tights
and look at those heels on her shoes.
She needs to be kissed and I just can’t resist
a girl with so many tatoos.
Her pale blue eyes no longer
saw the colours of the world,
no longer viewed the bluebell sky
as it merged with the dark blue sea.
But, within her mind’s eye,
colours remained vibrant,
just as she had first seen them, as
nature had intended them to be.
She had witnessed the rise of the sun
in a sky shot golden and pink;
had watched that same sun setting
making way for the darkness.
school children at large;
roads full of traffic cones
caravans and cars.
Airports are heaving,
controllers on strike,
Easter in England
Oh, what is it like?
When the sun comes,
when the rain stops,
when tornados play
I simply remember my favourite month
that wonderful month called …. May!
(If you can manage it, this should be sung out loud to the tune of “My Favourite Things” – happy singing)
Horlicks. Cocoa. Diazepam.
Grab it when you can.
Silent Night mattress,
NASA Memory Foam,
Snuggle in a duvet,
“No Place Like Home”.
Penny for your thoughts;
Dream Catchers hanging;
No dreams caught.
Paul McKenna on CD.
Hypnosis for the weary
But just dreams of you for me.
I’m a garden refuse wheelie bin
quite a pleasant shade of green,
I used to wait at the pavement edge
but now I’m rarely seen.
I’m purpose-built to do the job
I store all garden waste until
the council send their trucks
to empty me, with haste.
But the months have passed
and I haven’t moved
just stood here with my load
waiting to hear those trucks again
as they hit the open road.
I’m full to my lid and bursting
with twigs and rotting leaves,
so council men come rescue me
and empty me please, please, please.
It was in the half light of a new day she left.
The imprint of her body moulded into the sheet
like a handprint on damp sand.
Even in the confused state between sleeping and waking
he knew she had gone.
Tracing the curve of her back on the sheet, inching
forward as if she was still there,
he placed his head on the pillow where hers had lain
and smelled the faint roses of her shampoo
but tasted salty tears.
She stared in the mirror, eyeing herself
pleased with the face looking back;
the puffed eyes with pouches
and wrinkles both sides, now gone
like the old skin so slack.
She moved from the mirror
and picked up her glass,
adding tonic, refreshing the gin.
Yes, dreams can come true,
you can change your life,
thanks to a lottery win!
As I waited in the surgery
for my turn to hit the chair
I closed my eyes and made a wish –
I wished I wasn’t there!
The sound of gurgling water
the hissing of the air
I wished and wished with all my might
I wasn’t really there.
The drilling stopped, no further sounds,
had the patient died?
“Oops! Wrong day, wrong week,” I said
the hygienist saw the lie.
“Please don’t stress and worry,
it doesn’t hurt a bit,
it’s over in a minute,
resume your seat, please sit.”
My confidence had left me
I know I’m really weak but
I’m sure that I’ll be braver
If I come again next week.
“So” the smiling angel said
“You think I’ll let you in?
You can guarantee to me
that you are without sin?”
“Oh yes”, I said with ready smile
“I’ve never hurt a fly and knew
that I would come straight here
as soon as I did die.”
“I’ve never hated anyone
nor done a callous deed
I’ve not been lazy with God’s gifts
and always did succeed.
I’ve never overfed myslef
and gave to Ethiopiaid,
I’ve never lusted after men
nor from my husband strayed.
But I can see you’re not convinced
you think I’d lie to you,
St. Peter listen closely now
to what I propose to do –
so much for monogamy,
so much for being chaste,
I’ll show you what a miracle is
then you can open up those gates”!
Eyes are streaming
Nose so sore
Throat is painful
Yet the crowd calls out for more
The show must go on
How long is the sunbeam that splits the chesnut tree?
Who sends the whispered secrets to the wind?
Where does the dark hide when the yellow sun comes out to play?
How far is the answer to the the question?
His accommodation was basic but warm and dry;
an occasional photo detracting the eye from plain walls.
His neighbours were usually quiet and non-intrusive and visitors were few,
allowing him time to study.
Death Row had some advantages.
Well dear Readers,
It would appear that the enthusiasm with which I started this project was overtaken by other calls on my time. However, if nothing else I remain true to myself and am determined to do 30 poems within the month of April. So, quantity being the aim as opposed to quality (on this occasion) I am catching up this weekend.
I hope you find something to make you smile – or even cringe. All emotions catered for.
I’m sick and tired of sunshine and its cunning little ways
of luring idle children to go outside and play
then it creeps in through my windows,
and with its sunbeams highlights dust
which means I have to vacuum and polish, fit to bust.
And when I’ve earned a cuppa plus a biscuit, maybe two
I stroll in to the garden and lo, I still see you
drying up the flower beds, turning green grass brown
heating up the patio without making any sound.
So, you lure me in to daylight, dazzle me with light
then roast me like a turkey to thirty Fahrenheit.
Well I’ve had enough I tell you as I watch you leave your mark
I’ll languish like a hothouse flower – in my cellar until dark.
I like the idea of a sonnet
and the challenge of fourteen lines
but a throb in my head at the moment
and the absence of sensible rhymes
means that this day the prompts are useless
my brain cells refuse to obey
so I’ll just post this simple offering
try a sonnet another day.
I remember the brightest of days
the clearest of skies
friends linked by school dinners
and homework diaries.
Oaths sworn and sealed with scarlet finger tips;
Promises made for meetings in the future.
Where are we all now?
Meeting in a Lift (Vladimir Holan)
translated from the Czech by Ian and Jarmila Milner
We stepped into the lift. The two of us, alone.
We looked at each other and that was all.
Two lives, a moment, fullness, bliss.
At the fifth floor she got out and I went on up
knowing I would never see her again
that it was a meeting once and for all,
that if I followed her I would be like a dead man in her tracks
and that if she came back to me
it would only be from the other world.
We didn’t meet in a Lift (Maggie Doyle)
We stepped out of the lift. All of us, together.
We didn’t look at each other and that was everything.
So many lives, so long, emptiness, despair.
At the tenth floor everyone got out and I went down
Not knowing if I would ever see them again
but that if I didn’t it would be like ignoring them
and if they did not return this world would be gone.
The result of a poetry workshop in a beautiful place.
Achiever, focused as the Cyclops Eye,
racing onward, leaving all baggage behind,
burbling your story; punctuating with rocks and tree stumps.
No time for regrets as you spin and twirl
Sap green branches listen as they lean
towards your acned body, guiding you from land.
A cirrus streaked sky mocks its olive reflection.
Carelessly, mallards drink from your throat
showering drops of liquid rainbow onto their backs.
Rogue eddies nibble the edges of a fallen tree
as daredevil swans skate backwards enjoying
your momentary lack of concentration.
In the distance a mosaic of canoes dares to
ride on your back, digging into your dark depths
as you lift and circle them.
Onwards, ever onwards.
She was leggy and blonde with a St. Tropez tan
Girl on the loose, stalking her man
Traps being set to net her a catch
Money and brains – what a wonderful match
She visualised houses both here and abroad
Bought by a man she’d pretend she adored
So beware if you meet her, her heart is stone cold
Remember “all that glisters is not necessarily gold”
Tigers live in jungles
leeches favour bogs
meercats like the desert sand
and fleas love hairy dogs!
It was a gentle addiction,
a habit she couldn’t, wouldn’t break.
Chewing the lemon from her gin
she thought of Flynn.
Hadn’t he told her that poker was her raison d’etre?
We know he was wrong.
Hers was a gentle addiction.
Roll up, roll up get your health check here
We’ll listen to your heart, look down your ear
Hammer your knees ‘til arthritis sets on
Offer liposuction for your double chin.
We’ll test your cholesterol, take some blood
Advise on foods that you shouldn’t and you should … eat
Please provide a specimen
Which we’ll test for major ills
Diabetes and anaemia
Can be managed with our pills.
Blood counts, sugar levels
We can also measure
Just hold out your arm
And we’ll take your blood pressure.
Heart attacks, dizzy fits, we can sort them all
Even plaster up your legs if you tend to fall.
So, roll up, roll up join the lengthy queue
Sign along the dotted line and we’ll look after you.
Old fashioned paper on walls that are peeling
Memories of drunken nights, stains on the ceiling
A quote for re-furbishment sends you both reeling
Living together, no longer appealing
Warm apple strudle
topped with thick cream,
a fresh cup of coffeee to follow;
the waiter just smiled
as he drifted on past
unaware she was trying to
swallow the words which were trapped
twixt her teeth and her lips
a sentence torn from her heart
for his was the face she had loved
once then lost, ‘tho he’d promised they’d never part.
Grey is the colour of the darkening skies
Grey is the colour of his loveless eyes
Grey is the colour of a life built on lies
Grey is the colour of our last goodbye
She drifted through the bluebells
enjoying their subtle perfume;
her long denim skirt both hiding them
and refreshing their scent.
Trailing her slender fingers through
the damp, green stems she welcomed Spring.
Rain forecast today
Dark thunderclouds flood the sky
Birds hide in the trees