RSS

Category Archives: poetry

Stained Glass, James Fenton and A Gift of Flowers

We have a pretty little panel of stained glass that hangs in the kitchen window. This morning, before the blind was lifted, the early sun was shining through and lighting up the engine house.

There’s food for thought in this poem, The Ideal by James Fenton and I like it.

This is where I came from.
I passed this way.
This should not be shameful
or hard to say.

A self is a self.
It is not a screen.
A person should respect
what he has been.

This is my past
which I shall not discard.
This is the ideal.
This is hard.

Our lovely neighbour Sue came in for supper tonight and shared a photo of some remarkably beautiful flowers sent to her from Heligan in condolence and in the memory of her very special husband, Bill,  who died recently and for whom I posted on 14th April.

Sue’s flowers from the staff at The Lost Gardens of Heligan

 

Tags: , ,

A Poem, A Dog and Wisteria

Regular readers will know how I appreciate a good poem, one that speaks to me. A one time pupil who became a student in our Training School, then a colleague and latterly a friend has written a delightful poem telling of the sudden temperature change that has been seen all over the UK today though without any hail or snow here in Cornwall. Natalie has given me permission to use her poem in tonight’s blog. Thank you, Natalie, I love the picture conjured up by your words.  The alliteration in

Sending the dog doollally
Dancing a dervish
Round the living room

is perfect!

Bella, photo taken by Natalie Doig

 

The temperature slumped
The light was sucked from
Us by cumulus nimbus,
Glooming black shroud,
Cracked open with a jolt
Of pink lightening,
And spitting balls of ice,
Which bounced on the lawn
Sending the dog doollally
Dancing a dervish
Round the living room
Spilling tea in scampering happiness,
At least someone was astonished
By April’s apocalyptic weather
Wagging her tail
Until the sun reemerged.

By Natalie Doig

I did take a photo of some gorgeous Wisteria but my camera didn’t have its memory card in – sorry!

 

 

Tags:

St Euny, Ribbons and Linda Pastan

Another trip to St Euny to measure up four graves which are to be marked by ribbons and then a trip to the ribbon shop! I love The Sewing Studio in Redruth!

I came across this poem for the first time recently and it caught my fancy. Let’s live every day as if it were our first and it fills us with astonishment at the beauty all around us.

Imaginary Conversation – Linda Pastan

You tell me to live each day
as if it were my last. This is in the kitchen
where before coffee I complain
of the day ahead—that obstacle race
of minutes and hours,
grocery stores and doctors.

But why the last? I ask. Why not
live each day as if it were the first—
all raw astonishment, Eve rubbing
her eyes awake that first morning,
the sun coming up
like an ingénue in the east?

You grind the coffee
with the small roar of a mind
trying to clear itself. I set
the table, glance out the window
where dew has baptized every
living surface.

 

Tags: , , ,

Stream, Dandelion Clock and Dick Davis

Once again, so tired last night that I forgot to press Publish – so here is yesterday’s post, a little late!

On one of our routes into town we pass a little stream.

Coming home there were lots of delicate Dandelion clocks. I loved this one especially, in the midst of wild Forget-me-nots.

The following poem by Dick Davis, has a metaphor which recalls for me the days when our four children woke up early – now, joy of joys, when the Grandchildren come to stay, it is they who crawl into bed with us and it isn’t a matter of ‘giving up’ but of relishing the moment! Here, I feel Davis’  simile has become those awful thoughts that intrude the moment one wakes to consciousness when the ‘mess’ of reality hits with a wallop.

6 A.M. Thoughts

As soon as you wake they come blundering in
Like puppies or importunate children;
What was a landscape emerging from mist
Becomes at once a disordered garden.

And the mess they trail with them! Embarrassments,
Anger, lust, fear–in fact the whole pig-pen;
And who’ll clean it up? No hope for sleep now–
Just heave yourself out, make the tea, and give in.

 

Tags: ,

So Many Different Lengths Of Time – Poem by Brian Patten

So Many Different Lengths Of Time – Poem by Brian Patten

How long does a man live after all?
A thousand days or only one?
One week or a few centuries?
How long does a man spend living or dying
and what do we mean when we say gone forever?

Adrift in such preoccupations, we seek clarification.
We can go to the philosophers
but they will weary of our questions.
We can go to the priests and rabbis
but they might be busy with administrations.

So, how long does a man live after all?
And how much does he live while he lives?
We fret and ask so many questions –
then when it comes to us
the answer is so simple after all.

A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us,
for as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams,
for as long as we ourselves live,
holding memories in common, a man lives.

His lover will carry his man’s scent, his touch:
his children will carry the weight of his love.
One friend will carry his arguments,
another will hum his favourite tunes,
another will still share his terrors.

And the days will pass with baffled faces,
then the weeks, then the months,
then there will be a day when no question is asked,
and the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach
and the puffed faces will calm.
And on that day he will not have ceased
but will have ceased to be separated by death.

How long does a man live after all?
A man lives so many different lengths of time.

For Bill Mitchell whom we all love.
We heard later in the evening that Bill had died peacefully with his beloved beside him. Go well, dear Bill, go well.
 
 

Bullfinch, Blossom and Seamus Heaney

While I was out this morning, the lovely Mr S caught a photo of Bullfinches at our feeders. He refilled the feeders just after taking the photo. It is emptied in a day!

Coming back from Chacewater, we spotted a beautiful tree full of blossom. I took the photo from the moving car.

Seamus Heaney was born on this day in 1939. What a lovely piece of writing, dedicated to Marie Heaney and called Sunlight. It conjures up a beautiful domestic scene, full of warmth and humanity.

Mossbawn: Two Poems In Dedication

1. Sunlight 

There was a sunlit absence.
The helmeted pump in the yard
heated its iron,
water honeyed

in the slung bucket
and the sun stood
like a griddle cooling
against the wall

of each long afternoon.
So, her hands scuffled
over the bakeboard,
the reddening stove

sent its plaque of heat
against her where she stood
in a floury apron
by the window.

Now she dusts the board
with a goose’s wing,
now sits, broad-lapped,
with whitened nails

and measling shins:
here is a space
again, the scone rising
to the tick of two clocks.

And here is love
like a tinsmith’s scoop
sunk past its gleam
in the meal-bin.

 

Tags: ,

Last Night’s Full Moon, Ribbons and A Poem

The full moon last night was glorious. I went out at 10pm and caught a few shots.

To identify each group of audience as they move through the story walks in St Euny Churchyard  for our production of ‘Until the Day Break’, we decided to make ribbon flashes. Redruth Sewing Studio were wonderful, ordering the ribbon rolls and pins for me and giving us a generous discount as we are a community group. I collected the materials this afternoon and this evening eight volunteers turned up to make the flashes and in just over an hour they were all done! Thank you so much, everyone.

One of my special blogging friends, Saymber, sent me a perfect poem this morning. I hope you like it as much as she and I do. I love poetry and this poem says that so clearly.Thank you, Saymber.

A Poem that Heals Fish by Mary Popova


A poem
is when you have the sky in your mouth.
It is hot like fresh bread,
when you eat it,
a little is always left over.
A poem
is when you hear
the heartbeat of a stone,
when words beat their wings.
It is a song sung in a cage.
A poem
is words turned upside down
and suddenly!
the world is new.

 

Tags: , , ,

 
%d bloggers like this: