poetry diary

Like a waterfall,
one day
I will step through this veil of romance
into the unknown.

When the sky reminds me of an abstract print
not seen for twenty years,
and brings back days of easy joys,
and grass and waters wetting blades,
and friends half-known,
or less, sometimes (as it turned out);
I know then, for sure I’m getting old,
and the pleasures of being young return,
like the first-opened buds of meadow flowers,
or lambs under the trees;
tall, dark green and sad,
with nothing left to say except to whisper,
gently to the breeze’s caress,
those memories that will endure and re-emerge, perhaps,
when faced by death.

You are distinct, and not so much of me now;
no longer caring what’s to come.
And no regrets as yet; like writing:
forever now, yet lost just as it leaves the pen.

Oh to be as flowers in the field once more;
forever young and beautiful and free with me;
forever fresh and growing, yet always doomed to die:
I love this world tonight.

—————-

Written on the train travelling through Warwickshire, summer evening – feeling reminiscent and reminded of a poster I had on my wall when a student. Relaxed, a little sad, and nothing to do except watch the world go by.
Submitted to Jingle poetry potluck, “nature and life.”

Words on paper do not feel, nor screens weep.
And you, the reader, share the blame in part
by choosing to review each pregnant page.
The paper and the words come in between:
I do not have to look you in the eye,
nor twist nor stare at bloody, dripping knife.
I am outside the morals of real life;
I can observe – you all are words to me.

And words do not feel, nor cold blue screens weep.

——————–

The news is full of the ethics of reporters and a 168 year-old newspaper has just been shut down here because its journalists and owners completely lost touch with the human impact of what they were doing or writing. I can’t help reflecting a little on writing in general, and how it removes the writer from the reader (compared to looking someone in the eye and saying the same things). This can be helpful, sometimes, for those of us who are a little shy – but it can also go too far I think, especially when it takes over an entire culture.

It’s a sunny morning,
except under that duvet,
where a little hair and warmth
signify twelve-year-old life
asleep, still, and dreaming.

By the time I returned from the bathroom, he was gone.

Noises in the garden.

Later I found a magnetic banana stuck to the dishwasher.

Why does it feel so different here?
Is it the equilibrium of cafés;
watching and welcoming, like your longed-for arms?
Or the cobbled streets under my feet,
shared with purposed, pretty people?
Or the language of love and romance,
calling from every wall and lip?
Or the sense that we’ve been here before,
and nothing matters in the end,
except good food, good company and you;
who could be with me but aren’t,
and let me pretend –
I am no longer English,
and suddenly everyone is friends.

————————

In Brussels for a two day meeting at the EU. Submitted to poetry potluck week 43.

Breathless;
wet, bubbles and mud.
Bodies;
slipping and kicking.
Dark;
no one to help.
Breathless.

Breathe –
not enough, more, dark
wet;
breathless,
lost,
breathless,
alone;
breathe –
I’ll never make this.
Breathless.

Too far.

Breathe,
tiredness,
heavy,
sinking,
lift;
breathe and look:
Almost – next time.
Look, yes:
the bank,
breathless,
BREATHE!
Hope
the bank
breathless
breathe
the bank
wet
hope
breathe
a hint of rhythm
the bank
breathe
wet
breathe
wet
breathe
bank
tired
breathless
breathe
hope
breathe
wet
breathe
bank
a hand!
surprise
(so nice)
walk
jog
hill
hard
so much air
run
hard
legs
tired
“Come on Dad!”
(joy – I’m loved)
faster
down
careful
slippy
turn
run
oh this is good
stop.

———-

Yesterday I swam 750m across Blenheim Palace Lake as part of the Blenheim Triathalon. We did the relay event (so I had two colleagues doing the cycling and running bits) but it was still quite challenging for three complete novices….. Our total time was 1 hr 36 minutes and we came 116 out of 300 teams. My swim bit took me 15 mins 1 sec (!) and I came 92nd on my leg (and 85th for running up the hill to the relay changeover at the end!). It was hard and didn’t feel as much fun as it would have been swimming across the lake without racing. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have swum at all without the race being organised. Now I want to do it again…..

(This is also a great use for a palace lake, I think.)