Thursday, April 30, 2015

Poems from an ordinary life

On a recent Poetry School course called Defining a Style, run by Tim Dooley, we had to write our poetry manifesto for the final seminar. I chose to give my contribution the title  Ordinary Poetry    - maybe I'll post it here one day. 

Before then here's two poems that show why that title was a good choice. The first was inspired by something my very talented son said yesterday as he was moving pipes to fit the framework that will hold our new kitchen - it all looked very smart and polished and, yes, will soon not be seen. 

And the second was inspired by being out and about at home ... and by the way the flies keep arriving.


A toast to the hidden 
            for Paul

Before we ate this meal, the cook
sliced potatoes, parsnips and carrots,
filleted fish with knives from the drawer,
mixed salad in a bowl kept in the cupboard

- well cooked, we say, raising our glasses

and before the carpenter chose the oak,
measured, cut, mitered plinths and doors,  
before the electrician wired the oven,
the spots that light up their work

- wow, we say, who made the units

behind the scenes the plumber angled
drains so our waste will run away,
cut copper, cleaned and soldered joints
in pipes that carry water from well to tap  

- great taste, we say, raising our glasses.


Minor domestics

I sweep last night's dead flies
onto yesterday's front page,
their resting place awaits
under a lavender bush.

At the touch of the hand brush
mrs spider smalls to a ball,
she escapes from the glass
with expanding ease.

From stones, logs, buckets
working orders of ants make
column and row journeys
across concrete, plank and grass.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

The hole in the wall in pictures ..

The kitchen progresses with more behind the scenes work, or it will be after the weekend!  Paul has tailored the plumbing to the cabinet frames ... very smart work and as he says, no-one will see it!

And this afternoon a hole for the gas pipes ... all the way through the stone wall.



First cut, then again and again for 40 cm  ... plus a break for a cup of tea


about halfway

not the easiest of place to reach, you did a brilliant job Paul












but Lucky felt very left out of all the fun behind the barriers  ... what me, run away with more steel wool, never!!!!



finally, from the outside, its a great looking hole.



three more poems from spring clean your poetry stash day

Well, some may say there are 5 poems here but never mind, please enjoy. 

Anemone

you left the brash red and purple crowd
for uncut peace under the olive tree
to grow alone, pale and strong

Iris

up the road, blue and blowsy, they shout
look, look at us while in this shady spot
fat buds tease with slow beginnings

Lilac

on stage this week, pink tutus smother
your branches, your fragrant halo unfolds
into the garden's deepest borders



Perfect Tenses

I've packed the last hour in a box
to open on a quiet morning
when I’ve done nothing much
apart from getting out of bed.
I'll remove the dead mouse
trapped near the nibbled plums  
and let the one eating it's way
through the chicken feed out again
before I take the flower pot from off
one puppy, brush her and her sister
free of compost and decide if half
chewed roots are worth saving,
I'll follow each suspicious silence
with mop and disinfectant,
and when their snores are steady
I'll tip toe to the henhouse where
mrs big and mrs little black
will refuse to leave their nests
and let me collect the eggs,
I'll return to see that when
the door opened the wind blew
down a sticky fly paper and now
its wrapped around puppy two 
 - quick pull, always best -
lots of cuddles and a treat
before I replace the lid and return
the box to the shelf of years ahead. 



Let us say Grace

Sunday: roast lamb or beef or pork,
occasionally boiled ham,
canned peaches, Nestle's cream.

Left overs through the mincer
for Monday's shepherds pie,
rice pudding with skin.

Tuesday: liver and bacon,
gravy, tinned carrots and peas,
jam roly poly and custard.

Wednesday: Wall's sausages, 
baked beans and mash,
semolina with jam.

Thursday: Steak and kidney,
in a pie or suet pudding,
mandarin oranges, evap milk.

Fish and chips on Friday,
salted, vinig’d, wrapped.
in yesterday's Express.

Saturday:  stew and dumplings,
a wafer of ice cream
soft from its cardboard box.





Tuesday, April 28, 2015

My poetry spreadsheet has had a makeover!!

or perhaps more correctly, a spring clean! Hope you enjoy these ... comment welcome 


Only some of our journeys are planned

He was going the coming way
the driver explains and I’m sure
my grumped-up face shows  
that this is no reason for two vans
to be parked on my drive.

He who was going the coming way
arrived as the website to report
my lost bus pass crashes
which is why I’m at the window
during the swapping of parcels,

feeling as if I’m coming and going  
having tried to transfer credit
from my also-lost Oyster card
to a new one which now tells me
I must wait twenty-four hours

and nominate a station where
I can prove I am who I am,
and touch in on the card reader
but I can’t because tomorrow
I shall be going the coming way.



More than one degree

January
pull on hat
wrap around scarf
think about a fleece
button up waterproof
find welly socks,
clean tissues, gloves,
throw logs on fire
cajole dog from fire
knock mud from boots
squeeze feet into boots
clip on lead
walk


July
slip on flip-flops
clip on lead
walk



Poem in which I reach the last page

The conclusion of a good book
finds me in need of a map
of how to travel once
the diversion of its plot
reaches the last full stop.

I don’t have this trouble with
a no though road, I turn around,
head for its  openness, or the end
of a film, where the gap
between me and the screen

takes the measure of my footsteps,
and I can part very easily from
the final picture in a gallery
but after that good book has
held my hand, say, in the waiting room,

middle seated over Europe, or between
three and four in the morning,
after I’ve stowed the characters in my pocket,
worn the story as an extra layer when
I need to shop, swim, clean my teeth,

when, after all of that, I turn
the last page, close the back cover,
put away my bookmark,  I want
to give that good book a slap
for leaving to cast its spell on someone new.