[Image from Google images]
Here’s a short poem for my friend Joy who celebrated her birthday recently. She’s one of the most energetic people I know.
JOY
The sun descends and night-time falls,
As guests converge on Crooked Walls.
A wonderous beauty,
Full of mirth,
Celebrates her day of birth.
Hey nonny no,
And mirth a plenty,
She looks no more
Than one and twenty.
COLLAGE WITHOUT FEAR
No time to waste at the bus stop,
Young artists were busy as bees,
They painted their village so brightly,
The houses, the flowers, the trees.
They figured that all would admire it
as they stood in the winter freeze.
And they did.
Though they shuffled with hands in their pockets,
And longed for the bus to appear,
They were thankful they lived in the village
With their collage of life without fear.
©Copyright
MORRIS DANCE
So bleak
this winter’s day
in Stow…
but hear the fiddle…
off they go.
In feathered hats
and tattered gowns
with stately prance
and ups and downs
they high step through
the leaden air
while puzzled tourists
come to stare…
and wonder why
in sheets of rain
the mad old English
prance again.
SNOW HAS FALLEN
Snow has fallen,
Snow on snow,
Sometimes silent,
Soft and slow.
Snow has brushed
the withered leaves,
the stony path,
the stricken trees.
Snow has fallen,
time has passed.
Could this snow time
be my last?
I had a New Year’s Eve party and just after midnight there was a thunderous knock on the door. No, it wasn’t a tall dark stranger bearing a lump of coal, but the next best thing, a small fair stranger bearing a log. I’d written a poem for him to recite, about the village where we live. Here it is…..
A NEW CHANCE
Day has folded in to night,
Look out upon this starry night.
Gaze out beyond the shivering moon,
The driving rain, the endless gloom
And think of thrills to come so soon.
[Yes now I'll say my little list,
Remember it although you're pissed]
A chance to sing – the village choir,
The banjo club – a joyous hour.
The Coach and Horses – ancient Inn,
Where drinking’s good, and free from sin.
A chance to sew and knit and more -
Unless you find such stuff a bore.
A chance to join the walking club
To walk for miles in sodden mud.
The gardening club, a time to chat,
Debates on slugs and all of that.
A chance to stand, or helter skelter
In brightly painted new bus shelter.
The village fete, the Christmas stall
With gaudy gifts for one and all.
St Peter’s church, a time to pray,
And hope that God might lead the way.
But meanwhile friends
Enjoy this night.
The future beckons -
Joyous, bright.
AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO MY FOLLOWERS
This is the time of year when writers review their achievements, so here’s my short review:
I taught myself how to blog. I don’t yet understand all the intricacies, but I did it, and I didn’t find it easy. I think I’ve got something to build on….like incorporating photographs, for example.
This is my fortieth post since May so that amounts to 40 short verses so far. Yes, I kept going!
I started a TWITTER account, and wrote some very short verses. It’s a challenge to write something that make sense AND rhymes, in so few words, but a few of them are quite pithy..at least I think so!
I carried on writing short stories and spent quite a lot of time making notes for my novel. I wrote 30,000 words of that but will probably have to start again from scratch.
I only attended one writing workshop in Birmingham during the course of 2012, but from that I wrote a short story NO ONE WILL COME, which was accepted by two publications. [The first took so long to reply, that I resubmitted to a second.] I felt encouraged!
Thinking of 2013, I’d like to finish the novel and have estimated that I would need to spend at least 4 hours a day up in my attic working on it. That’s some committment of time with no guarantee of publishing success…but I tell myself that I HAVE done a lot of the groundwork….
I’d also like to produce a themed collection of my poetry…but I haven’t yet chosen a theme. I’m not working hard enough to produce really good verse, I’m just skimming over the surface, so I’m hoping to improve my technique….
OLD YEAR FADING
The old year is fading
in floods and drenching rain.
I’m glad to see the back of it.
It cannot come again.
Where did November go, I wonder? I never achieved my target of writing 30 poems, my output was even less than usual! I did continue to write some Twitter poetry, but none of that exceeds 160 characters. Still, writing such short verse does concentrate the mind.
So, continuing with the short and sweet theme, here are three short catch up poems.
INCINERATION
I burned your letters as you asked
now there’s only ash
and the odd remembered flash
of pain.
NOT SPEAKING
Green sloping lawn
with spiky edges
grey sky
two people hunched
squinting in to the distance
not speaking.
Impossible day.
LIGHTING A CANDLE
I light a candle for you
as dusk falls
and then these walls
recede
and here we are
not far from one another
looking up at
a star.
