poetry diary

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.)

It’s when water drops from re-born leaves
frustrated petrol-grey clouds turn to pink
and the scents of sodden concrete mingle;
mixed now with earth, and grass, and life, and air;
senses sharpened and bright to fight the storm
are too awake for this – a world returned
to peace and light at last:

just like after making love
the sun breaks through,
and the world is new

again.

The storm and earth lie fulfilled.

———————–

This poem is for Jingle Poetry Potluck “Thunderstorms, floods and water fury”.

You stood out from the crowd only slightly,
and the fear of loneliness came to me
and said “you cannot go”.

You waved, and held your hand to me. I cried,
but said nothing, enveloped in my fear.
The seasons passed us by.

It was warm in the crowd at first, I felt,
and the superficial kindnesses built
some semblance of loving.

Until I discovered the way to love
must pass through loneliness first; that dull fear
destroyed by true lovers.

It’s a long time since you waved, and the space
where you were is lost now, in the cold crowd.
It’s my turn to stand out.

———————-

Submitted to Poets United.

Under this awning, feeling like van Gogh.
People of the city passing, watch me
with empty eyes, seeing only others.
Beer on the table, a scooter passes.
Noises, unlistened to, become stronger
And everyone seems alone, just like me;
lassoed momentarily by this light.
Under this awning, feeling like van Gogh.

———————

In London for a conference.