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Category Archives: poetry

Raindrops, Beuret and A Poem

I am always entranced by raindrops on leaves and flowers. This leaf is particularly beautiful. Do zoom in to see the best version.

Raindrops

My bEUret arrived today ready for Saturday’s March.

bEUret

Today is the International Day of Happiness and the Spring Equinox. Let’s all be happy that Spring is on her way. BBC Radio 4 have been playing readings of Spring poems all day and I particularly liked The Trees by Philip Larkin, read by Alex Jennings.

The Trees by Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

 

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Breakfast, Jays and Nothing

We love this special breakfast!

Eggy bread with fruit, maple syrup and creme fraiche

A pair of Jays visited us briefly this morning and I managed to just catch one through the window. What beautiful birds they are!

One of the pair

One of our Cornish pre-schools sent this poem home  and it resonated with me. How many times have our kids said,”Nothing!” when asked what they’ve been up to at school? This is the same school where the children will be painting their noses red for Red Nose Day next week rather than buying lots of plastic noses – well done to the staff leading the way. I love their attitude.

The Nothing Poem

 

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Daffodils for St David’s Day, News and A Poem

Happy St David’s Day to my friends and family.

Mini Daffodils for St David’s Day being blown about in the breeze

I am so excited! I have, this afternoon, taken eight of my glass pieces to The Craft Collective where they are now on display  and for sale!  I will show you a photo tomorrow when I visit the shop and try to be cool!

The Welshman, Dylan Thomas, is one of my favourite poets. Here is ‘Fern Hill’, a particular favourite.

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
     The night above the dingle starry,
          Time let me hail and climb
     Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
          Trail with daisies and barley
     Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
     In the sun that is young once only,
          Time let me play and be 
     Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
          And the sabbath rang slowly
     In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
     And playing, lovely and watery
          And fire green as grass.
     And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
     Flying with the ricks, and the horses
          Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
     Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
          The sky gathered again
     And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
     Out of the whinnying green stable
          On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
     In the sun born over and over,
          I ran my heedless ways,
     My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
     Before the children green and golden
          Follow him out of grace,

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
     In the moon that is always rising,
          Nor that riding to sleep
     I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
          Time held me green and dying
     Though I sang in my chains like the sea
 
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Posted by on March 1, 2019 in Photography, poetry, Postaday 2019

 

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Hellebore, Camellia and An Outside Broadcast

A very quiet day today so a couple of flowers from yesterday’s visit to the garden centre and a video from a poet whose work I have been sharing with you recently – Kim Ridgeon. I love his style.

Hellebore

Camellia

Do click on the link and enjoy Kim’s Outside Broadcast.

 
 

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A Letter, A Treasure and Honesty

This morning I received a message with an attachment –  “Found this tonight at my mum’s house” and there was a letter I had written to a pupil in 1992.  I used to write to each pupil at the end of our half-term Anthology project rather than ‘grading’ the creative writing into which pupils had poured their ideas and their energy.  He tells me that he still has the Anthology too and is going to scan it for me.

Letter to Steven

Yesterday the lovely Mr S dropped his wallet in town and though we retraced our steps there was no sign of it. However, the woman in the charity shop said a ‘genuine looking’ couple had been in to ask if she had just had a customer who may have lost his wallet. They said they would take it to the Police Station, only there isn’t one in Redruth. The wallet had been a present many years ago and had inside a David Hockney painting, ‘Arrival of Spring.’  It was much loved and had cash and cards in it.

Arrival of Spring by David Hockney

Inside the wallet

This morning we re-traced our steps again, looking in windblown corners, up alleyways but to no avail. (All the cards were cancelled yesterday.) Then, just after lunch, we had a phone call from the couple who had found the wallet. They had tracked Mr S down through the telephone directory and we went off across town to pick it up and to say the biggest Thank you!  It revives one’s faith in the honesty and goodness of our fellow humans.

Daffodils in P’s delightful pot

 

 

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Mural, New Recipe and A Poem

Each season the mural on one of my favourite shops, Just Delights, is changed. This winter one has been up for a while ……It shows the main street of Penryn.

by Elizabeth Perry

Our dear neighbour came in for dinner this evening, a late celebration of the lovely Mr S’s birthday. I invented a new cheesecake recipe which has gone down a treat!

Blueberry and Lime Cheesecake

And a poem for you, one that I like

The Weight of Sweetness – Li-Young Lee 

No easy thing to bear, the weight of sweetness.

Song, wisdom, sadness, joy: sweetness
equals three of any of these gravities.

See a peach bend
the branch and strain the stem until
it snaps.
Hold the peach, try the weight, sweetness
and death so round and snug
in your palm.
And, so, there is
the weight of memory:

Windblown, a rain-soaked
bough shakes, showering
the man and the boy.
They shiver in delight,
and the father lifts from his son’s cheek
one green leaf
fallen like a kiss.

The good boy hugs a bag of peaches
his father has entrusted
to him.
Now he follows
his father, who carries a bagful in each arm.
See the look on the boy’s face
as his father moves
faster and farther ahead, while his own steps
flag, and his arms grow weak, as he labors
under the weight
of peaches.

 

 

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Heartwood, Daffodil and Kalettes

I found this beautiful piece of work and thought I would share it with you. It made me think of the cutting down of so many of Sheffield’s trees last year.  The art work is as stunning as the poem, so full of detail and charm.

Heartwood by Robert Macfarlane, art by Nick Hayes

We don’t have swathes of daffodils, just one at a time for now and those are getting knocked down by the wind and rain. I brought the first one in.

Rain battered Daffodil in our indoor garden

Our Kalettes keep on giving! I cooked these in garlic butter and a splash of water. They grow like sprouts but are much more delicious!

Kalettes in garlic butter

 
 

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