I’ve often thought I’d have a go at found poetry, but it wasn’t until yesterday when I https://cherylandrews.wordpress.com/2017/03/30/fire/#comment-8474 saw Cheryl’s re-blog of a post by CB Wentworth that I was inspired enough to try.
Cheryl responded to my comment by asking me to post if I tried, so here it is.
I didn’t have an appropriate pen and have no idea where my paints are, so I used a whiteboard marker and a biro.
Do pop over to both Cheryl and CB, ‘Fire’ is absolutely beautiful. I’m going to try this again soon, it was good fun. Thanks again Cheryl, this could be addictive.
This Thursday instead of Lazy Poet, I’m re-posting a poem I wrote a few years ago, for International Women’s Day. Yes I know that was yesterday, but you know me by now, the other week that I got the day wrong for wordless Wednesday, and the syllable count wrong for LP!
Cast aside your veil
Turn your face to the sun
Gather round the hearth
Your work today is done
Your sisters draw near
Feet planted to earth
They no longer fear
The lone walk on the trail
Your children breathe free
The mountains clear air
Well nourished with plenty
And wind blown away care
Your abundance is here
Take love in your stride
Future perfect and clear
Go forward with pride
Cast aside your veil
And no longer hide
I’m tired tonight, too tired to even write a five minute haiku. So, I decided to look back at things I’ve posted before and choose a poem for this week.
I’ve spent ages looking and there’s still more. I’m totally amazed at how much poetry I’ve written, even if lots of it is of little consequence.
So with apologies in case you remember this from four years ago, and for the lack of image.
Waves of Foam
Foaming ocean laps the Jurassic shore
where molten lava once seared and pitted
into burnished pockets of chalk
that glow pale in the shallows
where volcanic flame no longer scorches
earth but in its place frozen fluid
turned to stone in the countless millennia
before mankind’s dawn
then lapis and bronze lay down its mineral
to adorn sweet womankind’s questing hands
and feet that step through warm golden sand
above the azure sky reflects light
from the firmament holding the source
of celestial waters in balance
Normal service will be resumed next Thursday with a haiku!
I went to the coast today, this is what I saw
They stand tense in the knowledge
that feet giving way
would trap twist betray
one distracting sound that might pierce
the rage of ocean on rock
to knock them like dominoes.
each yearn to go further
to be the brave stepper
cheering risk taking surfers
while surreptitiously wondering
would the sea turn red
if instead of a wave
a skull breaks on the strand
Yesterday I received a nomination for the Leibster Award, from my dear blogging sister Meg. It’s my first award for some time, and I remember in Lucid Gypsy’s early days, seeing awards flying back and forth and wondering if I’d ever receive one. One they began, they came thick and fast. Flattered, I accepted and shared the love, until I realised that I was spending way too much time on them and decided I wouldn’t take part anymore. Awards seemed to peter out a little anyway.
The Leibster was one of the first that I received, but when I saw Meg’s post I decided that I would take part, simply because it was Meg! Then, I remembered that I haven’t posted for three days, have lots of photos and things I want to share as it is, how on earth could I fit anything else in?
Time. My nemesis and many other peoples. Of the 168 hours in a week, I spend 43 walking to work, being there and walking home again. I spend 56 attempting to sleep (and usually achieving about 42). Probably 26 hours are taken up with cooking, housework, grocery shopping, and self-care. I might watch TV for 3 hours a week, 5 hours a week might be social times, 10 if I have a day out! That still seems to leave 4 hours a day
to be too exhausted to move uh, have fun, be creative, walk the dogs.
Write. That’s the one. That’s the reason I began blogging, at the end of a three-year period of study, that was undertaken to improve my creative writing skills. Twice a month I go to my writing group and sometimes share some work, but I actually write very little these days. I’m one of those people who is too interested in too many things. I want to learn everything, read everything, experience everything, from block printing to training ants, and talk to everyone I encounter.
My writing blog isn’t, it’s a photography blog. Lured in by the Weekly Photo Challenge and similar, I get to indulge another of my passions. Sharing photos is far quicker and easier than writing and I’m kind of cataloguing some of my life, that’s how I justify it to myself. But the reality is, like Meg, I’m addicted to blogging, both posting and visiting my blogging friends around the world. Some of you are very special, you know who you are and you’re the other half of what fuels my addiction.
I’d like to be able to say I’m going to change, that this will become a writing blog, but I’d be kidding myself. So dear Meg, thank you for choosing me for the award, but I’m declining. Instead I’m going to schedule my weekly events and of course I’m going to write, perhaps, maybe, sometime. Meanwhile, I went hunting for my Leibster Award and instead I found this poem from 2011, and thought I’d share again.
By Train Through Somerset
Country gulls flushed by the 10.53
arrow from fields with frosty periphery
like yuletide tinsel under threadbare trees
lamb filled ewes felted and jacketed
join blanketed ponies to nibble on nothing
awaiting a ride or a jar of mint sauce
depart the Levels undulating uphill
where railway huts stand derelict lonesome
the sizzle of pylons shoot towards ozone
old man’s beard helplessly clings to dense hide
of hedge where Roe stags lurk in dank
acres furrowed and ready for spring
spires crack the mist near burst banks
where Saturday shoals of angling young men
Who has lost this small pure heart? asks Tish. She has offered up this image for anyone who is inspired by it, to write whatever springs to mind.
Twisting, tumbling from a dense hedge
with a brief moment of gratitude for space.
It fell, it turned, raised a shocked face,
damp with the tears of morning mist,
when a thousand more dropped en masse,
to perish, impaled on blackthorn’s blades.
This Eglantine heart in gentlest Tyrian hue
will bear no royal crown, but a floral wreath
of Earth Chestnut will encircle its place of rest
and join with the detritus of seasons before.
This heart unbroken will nourish any tiny seed
and root that finds itself climbing skywards.
Thank you Tish.
All rights to this photo belong to Tish Farrell, Writer on the Edge.
Through a glass darkly.
This photo was taken on a sunny day, in a woodland glade, in a sculpture garden. It was actually a large frame with dark and distorting reflective glass, in blue shades.
So, can you conjure up the Jabberwocky? I can, cackle, cackle, but just in case, here’s the poem, perhaps it will help.
A few days ago, the lovely Isobel commented that I’m addicted to photo challenges. She’s right of course, I am, even my own weekly Thursday one. So this week, just for a change there’re no photo inspired haiku, just a little poem.
Twig legs, and wings collapsed like a fallen angel,
flown too early in this false spring of harsh, March winds.
Breast not red, but orange, flame extinguished now,
the once piercing eyes, blank
issue a question .
Have I the courage to answer?
could I have fed this hungry yearling?
Skeletal, with moulting feathers,
starved, desperate, chilled and lost
with a cracked, fairy porcelain beak
No grassy resting place,
in a well-tended suburban border.
No crow will dine on her bones,
on that flagstone path in need of repair.
Rather, old Mr Jones scooping her precious remains,
into a Waitrose bag and the black wheelie bin.
This, my totem bird will never renew,
but her spirit has found release, a regeneration,
as my raw heart has revealed,
a new compassion for self, rebirth.
On my walk to work a few days ago I saw a dead robin on the path, I did a double take – seeing a dead bird is quite unusual. It made me cry, and I still have the image in my mind, this poem is my response.
Jo isn’t lazy, but she has posted a joyful, spring haiku this Thursday, it definitely cheered me up, thanks honey!