Nostalgia is a warm soft bed downy, drowsy, a burrow well insulated by last year’s leaf-fall the earth turned and fragrant welcoming a snug hollow where memory can dwell
what slept all year awakens now brought forth by the changing light, the yawning season stretches and emerges bedhead crazy wild with prolonged hibernation, stuck with twigs and leaves like an old nest
the kitchen fills with smiling anecdotes taken down carefully one by one from their storage places at the back of high cabinets
the table is laid, the feast waits for preparation
a gathering is called and so the flock assembles drawn by a scent of recollection drifting with woodsmoke through the air, descending with its own soft reassurance
window light beacons reminders reach out from the padded soil, stone markers etched with names and house numbers map out the path for each synapse to follow
each passing moment carries the breath of belonging long forgotten but transported forward and held dear again for a time for the present’s gift
All this week I have been sharing this poem in pieces on my Instagram, along with instant photographsmade on one lovely November afternoon when I let myself have a day of rest and creativity. Thank you for reading!
Standing in the cold lifeless air of Westminster Abbey, surrounded by marble morbidity, the good and great and privileged interred at every turn, monarchs at the head of the table and poets consigned to a dim corner, and there, amid the flag stones of the nave lie the mortal remains of Charles Darwin, a three lined epitaph for the founder of the theory of modern evolution, we need little explanation of who he is or what he contributed, your attention soon wanders, you glance at the neighbouring grave, so close they could be related, the Latin inscription reveals little and you could be forgiven for wandering off in search of dead poets and princesses.
The obscure tomb suspiciously close to that of Darwin’s is that of Sir John Herschel, astronomer, biologist, chemist, and mathematician. He was a mentor and source of inspiration for Darwin. Herschel came from good stock, his…
breaking the silence brooding over the laptops: a loud group of friends socializing is daring participating in life
When I was young I remember coffee shops / coffee houses as lively places I would frequent to hear live music and hang out with my friends. We would talk and laugh, people watch and play games. Nowadays it seems like they are remote offices and study halls for everyone with a laptop, so it pleases me when I see a group of people daring to enjoy themselves instead of just staring at a screen. What can I say, I was born in the 70s. . . . . Thanks for reading!
Lacking gills, I am of the air Lacking wings, I do my breathing with my feet on solid ground
I breathe easier when I am carrying less weight; the extra weight I shift to the airy ether of the Everlasting Arms, when I can
Always I live in an embrace sometimes it is four walls concrete and exhaust visited by bursts of wings and water, where I pretend but am not much braver than the sandpipers dashing quickly away from the danger of the rising tide
Sometimes I shift to leaves and bark stone and earth high as those with wings or low as the murk where gills first formed
but always I am not alone the hug is part of me as integral as the air in my lungs as inseparable as my winged soul from the myriad walls of my body, for now
Today is National Poetry Day in the UK, and while I no longer live in that place, I left part of my heart there, plus I also really enjoy being part of The Poetry Society. The theme for today is “the environment” but of course I took that in my own direction, writing what arrived in my head this morning. Thank you for reading!
For the past few years, I’ve written poems for the Inktober prompts, because I can’t resist a ready-made list and I love the randomness of it, plus the challenge! I have completed all 31 a couple of times, but last year I pooped out partway through. My dream is to find an artist to partner with, since I am not one for drawing (not successfully, anyway), but I have yet to really try and make that happen. I like the idea of a little zine that incorporates the art and words.
I’ve attempted to rope my artist daughter into partnering with me, but teenagers have an awful lot to do with school alone. Also I’m pretty sure it would need to be 100% her idea for it to actually happen.
With everything else I have on my plate at the moment, I had decided to forgo this annual tradition. . . . . until last night, when I started thinking about it, looked at the official list, and ended up cranking out haikus for the first 11. Haikus are short, and therefore less of a burden on my brain, and I guess the moon and stars were aligned just right plus the wind was blowing in the correct direction and my guardian angel was in just the right mood.
So, I am sharing these on my instagram! I’ve tried unsuccessfully for a while now this morning I get the posts to show up on my blog; I’m throwing in the towel. Here’s the link:
Autumn began and I sat and listened to the cars rushing somewhere along some busy road beyond the fences and yards of the neighborhood and to the birds peeping intermittently checking in on one another like like bellhops at the tree motel
There were sirens, also, and there was some hammering
Autumn began and I sat and watched while the sky faded and the light drained away like bath water a whispering shush of the hint of a cool breeze breathing off the sprinkled lawn I watched purple become grey-blue then grey then something darker the color of soot and everything green followed suit until the solar sensor caught up and the patio bulbs clicked on with a flicker so a warm yellow glow wrapped around me and punctuated the shadows
Autumn began and I pretended that the traffic noise was a river in such a hurry that it had smoothed out all rocky and vegetable obstacles, so it could flow speedily and unobstructed with one swift continuous sound all babbling drawn tightly to a hush I made believe that the land that I claim is mine stretched beyond the wooden fence encompassing lakes and mountains hidden from view
Autumn began and I fooled myself for a pleasant little while that the tick of minutes from 8:02 to 8:03 marked a sudden change, and that it hasn’t been creeping on with a knowing smile for weeks, all year, just waiting in the background as it always does for its slow implacable turn