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Category Archives: poetry

Garden Bouquet, Bluebell and Kaja

I collected some prettiness from our garden to make a small bouquet to take to our Dear friend, Ti. In it there was a branch of Crinodendron Hookerarium, some Clematis Montana, two kinds of Pittosporum, some beautifully scented Choisya Ternata Apple Blossom and a few Spanish Bluebells.

In their developing woodland a few English Bluebells have arrived. What a joy!

Kaja loved walking there with us, almost disappearing in the long grass.

Kaja

As I am just finishing writing this evening, Radio 4 has just told me that it is International Dylan Thomas Day. I love the works of this amazing poet who died far too young. If you put his name into my search bar you will find many posts with his poems. His book, “Deaths and Entrances” was my first introduction to his poems, bought for me when I was about 11 years old.

‘A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London’  touched me then and still does.  It is not as harsh as it sounds. He seems to be asking why one death should be mourned more than another. We are all of equal value.

Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking 
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness

And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn

The majesty and burning of the child’s death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further 
Elegy of innocence and youth.

Deep with the first dead lies London’s daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.
 

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Owl Wisdom, Philip Larkin and Green

Philip Larkin ‘May’

Green everywhere

 

Sowing Seeds, Baking and Sea Glass

We’ve been busy in the garden today, planting small plants and sowing seeds.

Nasturtium seeds

I baked some Fruity Flapjacks for the lovely Mr S and Daughter No 1 who will be working on the boat for the next few days and will need lots of refuelling.

Fruity Flapjack

Regular readers will know that I like to incorporate sea glass into my glass pieces (Thank you, Judith!) I came across this poem which amused me – a lovely way to age.

On a fitting room door on Sanibel Island #SeaGlass

 

 

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A Card, Some Beads and A Poem

Happy Days to you all! All the letters here are glass.

Mother’s Day in the UK was a couple of weeks ago

I love scouring the charity shops, the thrift shops, for jewellery to up-cycle in my glass work. today I found this colourful beady necklace.

Long beaded necklace

There is a lesson for us all in the following poem by Brian Patten.

Inessential Things – Brian Patten

What do cats remember of days?
They remember the ways in from the cold,
The warmest spot, the place of food.
They remember the places of pain, their enemies,
the irritation of birds, the warm fumes of the soil,
the usefulness of dust.
They remember the creak of a bed, the sound
of their owner´s footsteps,
the taste of fish, the loveliness of cream.
Cats remember what is essential of days.
Letting all other memories go as of no worth
they sleep sounder than we,
whose hearts break remembering so many
inessential things.

 
 

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Watering Cans, Beach and A Poem

I was in Hayle this morning and managed this time to find a parking spot to get the photo I’ve been trying to take for ever! There are half a dozen of these along the way.

I love these! Lovely old stone bridge to the mid left

I drove to Godrevy after my appointment in Hayle. It was a grey day but the beach still looked amazing.

Gwithian

What a lovely chirpy poem this is!

Spring (Again) – Michael Ryan

The birds were louder this morning,
raucous, oblivious, tweeting their teensy bird-brains out.
It scared me, until I remembered it’s Spring.
How do they know it? A stupid question.
Thank you, birdies. I had forgotten how promise feels.

 

 

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A Gift, Supper and A Poem

Our lovely neighbour came home from an Artists’ Residence in Sri Lanka yesterday and brought me a gorgeous silk scarf in my favourite bright colours and covered in elephants which I love. The work she produced while away is both beautiful and moving. You can read about it here in her blog. Scroll down to the first one, Sura Medura,  to read in sequence.

Beautiful!

I bought a new cookery book last week, The Roasting Tin by Rukmini Iyer and we have already enjoyed two of the recipes. Tonight was both simple and tasty.

Rice with Roasted Brussels Sprouts, Pancetta, Feta and Sunflower Seeds

Tonight on Radio 4’s 5pm programme  there was an article about how stressed people are becoming over Brexit. The whole thing has been a horror movie in our heads since the vote was for leave and it just gets worse as each day goes by.   Finding three beautiful things every day is part of my coping strategy, walking by the sea, being creative with my glass and singing with friends are others and this poem by Mary Oliver offers a walk among the trees “to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.” It is a very lovely poem.

When I am among trees

 

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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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