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Category Archives: poetry

Valentine’s Day and A Poem

Happy Valentine’s Day, Galentine’s or Palentine’s – whatever floats your boat!

I have a couple of favourite love poems. Today I give you Carol Ann Duffy’s Valentine, one the teenagers in my English classes really took to.

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring,
if you like.
Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

We have been out this evening to Home Ground’s Pizza night, a delicious meal, all handmade from fresh ingredients, in lovely cosy surroundings and a really lovely ambience.

 

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Daffodils and Empathy

The daffodils that our. lovely neighbour brought round to mark the day we moved in seventeen years ago have all opened up. She has done this every year from the very first day we rolled up to an empty house awaiting the arrival of the removal lorry the next day. The two tall ones at the back are ones that I brought in from the garden after the winds brought them down. .

Let us all practise empathy. Thanks to Morgan Harper Nichols for these words.

 

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A Poem For Our Times and A Postcard

And, if you’d like to send a postcard to this brave and wonderful woman, here is her address.

 
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Posted by on January 23, 2025 in community, poetry, Postaday2025

 

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My Dad, Angels and A Poem

Yesterday marked the 20th anniversary of my Dad’s dying after 17 days in a most wonderful hospice.  I thought about him yesterday, of course, and today feel his not being here more than usual.  There’ve been so many times over the years when I’ve wanted to tell him something and a split second later, remember that I can’t.
This poem by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer just fits for today.

For the Heartbroken

I don’t know if there are angels,
but if there are, do they weep for us?
With all the beauty they know could be,
do they weep for all the pain we sow,
weep each time we hurt the world?
I don’t know if there are angels,
but sometimes when my own tears come,
I imagine the angels gather me
in their great and tireless arms,
and their tears mix with mine as they whisper,
That’s right, dear, feel everything.
We feel it all, too. That is why we sing.

Here’s one of my glass angels, for Dad.

 
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Posted by on December 18, 2024 in art, glass, poetry, Postaday 2024

 

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Tree, Angel and Life

I love our tree of lights that the lovely Mr S has put up today, our first Christmas decoration.
I bought this delightful little angel at last Saturday’s market loving that she is made from a local shell, sports the colours of the Suffragettes (purple, white and green) and also the colours of the Suffragists (white, red and green) who believed in non violent action.
A friend sent me today’s poem by Ellen Bass and it moved me to tears. Here it is for you:
To love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
~Ellen Bass
(Book: Mules of Love)
 

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Song for Autumn

 
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Posted by on October 25, 2024 in poetry, Postaday 2024, Uncategorized

 

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Two Treasures and A Poem

Walking back from town after coffee with a dear friend, I came up Church Lane and spotted a couple of treasures among the gorgeous autumn leaves.

Pink hydrangea

Little feather

I have posted a poem by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer before and at that time, one of my readers told me that the poet publishes a poem a day and that people can subscribe to get these in their inbox every day. So I did and this is today’s poem which really touched a chord in me. I have been given permission to share it with you.

 

It’s the Forgettable Moments I Miss

I want to be in the garden
with you again,
hands in the dirt,
maybe listening
to cottonwood leaves
spreading rumors
of fall, but maybe
not even listening.
I want a moment
so mundane, just
pulling bindweed,
nodding and humming absently
as you talk about race cars,
a moment so unmemorable
I forget how damn precious
every single moment is;
I want a moment I take
for granted, want to
be bored or even fussy
standing beside you,
the beets too small
to harvest, your voice
rambling on about pole positions
and pit stop strategies,
and me utterly clueless
I would ever look back
and long to hear you
wax on about balancing fuel loads,
worn tires, soft compounds,
anything, anything at all.

—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

You, too, can get her poems in your inbox and follow her blog. She blogs here on WordPress at A Hundred Falling Veils

 

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A Tree, A Cardigan and A Jacket

In town today, the trees in Fore Street are turning golden as Autumn takes them.

In Make A Mends today were two items that I covet! The cardigan I have to go back and try on. I just love the poem on the back!

I love the embroidery on the jacket but the sleeves were too short for me. I did try this one on but reluctantly left it behind for someone else to buy and love.

 

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Sunlight, A Bloom and A Poem

Before I went into singing today, I stood by the Penryn River for a while and watched the water and the sunlight upon it.

The wind and rain have beaten down the dahlias but this one was saveable and here it is in all its glory.

It’s National Poetry Day today and I have a poem for you. The theme of the day is Counting.

 

What counts?

Well, I do, almost every night between two and three

counting backwards from one hundred and 

imagining each number in a different material

Rope numbers are thick and twisted,

embroidery silks are fine and gloriously coloured,

wool gets tangled and spider silk is almost too fine to see.

But what really counts

is love

and friendship

and care

and singing

and hugs 

and freshly laid eggs.

 

A Poem For You

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2024 in poetry

 

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