Thursday, December 4

A Poem For Thursday

I have gone over to the dark side during the last few months.....the dark side?.....you know Face Book, Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr Pinterest, Flickr et al .....oh how deeply have I fallen!
Seduced by the instant, by the quick sell, by the new......how sweet can seem the instantaneous reaction!
But blogger calls me and I recognise the empty gap can only be filled by the writing from the heart and the poetry of life.
Yeah...yeah I hear you say....lets just call a spade a spade.....unfaithful!
Part of the problem is the fact that most of the above goes on from my iPad and I've just today discovered how to upload a post on it to blogger! I'm excited. Now that winter is finally in full flow I resent sitting in the colder room by the french windows with the PC. The fire is a far far better heat to sit in front of.
But from now on......hopefully...I shall pass this post of happenings on to blogger......as well as you know all those other gratifying social sites.

The Southern Town
When I walk into this southern town
I know I'm old
This town is young
New life is everywhere.
Young business people inhabit new cafes
And prop iPads up on Italian coffee tables.
They talk with easy confidence
And silver laughter.
Accents polished
Into general comprehension.
Whether Northern or southern
European or Brit
They move south or west
To join that melange of ideas.
While I move to the left or the right
To let them pass.
They know their place and are secure in the knowing.
I know my place.
I once walked and talked as they do.
I kept a middle line on the pavement
And the old and the very young
The out-of-work and the stranger let me pass.
Those days go and go for all
They should enjoy them while they can.
They don't know that inside old heads
Live young women
Young men.
Who team with new thoughts
And new ideas
But have little time left to perfect them.
We were taught not to demand when we were young.
Now we find the demands hard to endure.
Now we walk with other grey heads
To playgrounds for the young.
Standing back from the bustling parents
We grandmen and women who watch and wait
We know the power of waiting.
Know that it's strength is greater than impatience.
Time to leave the playground behind.

Sunday, August 31

A Poem for Thursday...."After the Rain"


Maghera Falls




After the rain
The creamy waters
         Mist 
and bounce noisily
Over slimed black rocks. 

Escaping streams find new paths
To explore uncharted ways
           Down.

Past hanging gardens
of green moss.
         Down
To peat-coloured pools.
Where summer sedge springs up
By granite slabs.

And  frothy cappuccino bubbles
Race past each other
To fill the sparkling paths of blue.
Down to a western ocean.






Wednesday, July 9

A Poem For Thursday



The Blue and White Ikea Sofa

It's seen better days
The old Ikea blue and white striped sofa bed.
But there I sit
Opposite the sky blue french windows
And look out on to the garden.
It has the best view
of all the seats
In the wood framed building
We call the summer house.

Once it housed single mums
Held the pain easing smoke
Of skinny roll-ups
That was before we came to a more mature understanding
Of teenage girls and their babies.
Before councils asked what colour they would like
The kitchen to be.
As if a different colour on the cupboard doors
Could ease the the terror of listening alone
To a baby cry and cry.


But the garden is looking good this year.

Tuesday, May 13

Human



At twentyone I left the land
And travelled on the Irish Sea.
I reached a southern port
And taught the children
On the chalky hills.
They thought I was a foreigner

French perhaps.

At twentysix I travelled north
And settled in a smokey town,
Where words were old and beer
Was drunk on Friday nights
In crowded bars.
They thought I was a foreigner.

Scotch perhaps.

In troubled times I went back west
To where the planted people lived.
And dodged the bombs and
Feared the fires where city folk
Still walked and worked.
I felt I was a foreigner.

English perhaps.

Now forty years have come and gone.
And wars are fought and lives are lost,
And fights are won or
So they say though where
Or when I do not know.
And none of us are foreigners.

Human perhaps.

...this is my response to the prompt put up by Marina on DeVerse Poets Pub today.
I have posted this one before but the time seems right in so many ways world wide for it to  be part of DeVerse  this time.....thankyou Marina.

Saturday, April 26

Blue-booted Camels



...these fine ladies came out of the kiln this morning and into the sun ...
...all-singing...
...all-dancing...
...blue-booted...
...what more could we ask of them!!
...a swing to the left.... 
...curtsey to the right...
...and altogether now with a good ending!!!

Thankyou Ladies!

Tuesday, April 22

Pelicans...



...a new commission has brought these fellows into being....
...wearing boots and ready for action...
...they will soon leave so I'm making sure that I have a memory of them...








Monday, April 21

In the Garden...


...the frogs have spawned and turned into tadpoles...
...hooray...
...watch out you slugs and snails...


Wednesday, April 2

A Poem for Thursday


The prompt we were given at The Writer's Workshop on Thursday morning in The Gateway Warrington was a card. Mine had a pic of a baby polar bear and inside the word ...Christmas!!
So in a couple of hours I came up with this offering!

Baby Polar Bear

"Christmas comes but once a year
And when it comes it brings good cheer."
But if you're stuck upon a floe
And there is nowhere else to go
It's hard to keep a cheerful face
Accept what's happened with good grace.
I didn't mean to push my brother
He landed one way or another
Inside our mother's fishing hole.
He didn't like the freezing cold.
He screamed and called me such rude names
And mother said I was to blame
For all the things that made her mad
Broke her heart and left her sad.
I thought that rotten fishy heads
I left beside her on the bed
Would pacify and calm her down.
Would make her smile, but when she found
Them sticking to her tummy fur
That ..was the very end for her.
I sit upon this icy floe
And wonder which way it will go.
If north, I'm sure to find my way
If south to melt? well who can say....
If Christmas on some warmer shore
Will find me laid out on the floor.
A present for some mother's child
My eyes still sad ..my whiskers wired.
I'm going to promise to be good
To be the joy I know I could
If only to be sure that they
Are MY presents on Christmas day!

I'm linking this one into DeVerse...Poetics....hope it finds some laughter!!!

Thursday, March 13

A Poem For Thursday




Revelation Day

This morning
In particular.
This morning…
After the afternoon
Even before the evening
And this morning…
My feelings
Are too powerful to ignore.
Stirred up are feelings
Long time hidden
Under plastic washable
Keep it clean-ness.
Today they are revealed.

I remember soldiers
In blue cotton suits
Limping
Up the hill...
Up to the red brick hospital.
To the building that dare not speak it’s name
Too much to think of

Too much to answer to.
I remember soldiers
White-faced
Empty-eyed.
Gazing out of steamed up bus windows
Making their way
Back
To some safety.
Back up the hill.
Making me nervous.
Watching me
The child watching.
The child feeling
Fear that oozed from every glance.
Fear that hit me
As it had hit them…
That tried to envelope me
That caused me to run
To avoid that
Which I would never know.
Strong emotions
In a culture
Hidden 
Under
Beneath
Inside and away.
Away  away.
Revelation can take a life time.
Today is revelation day.

We went to the Royal Exchange Theatre in Manchester yesterday to see an adaptation of Virginia Woolf's book "Orlando". I find that theatre often releases long gone memories in me...and so it was with this. 
The poem has really nothing at all to do with the story of Orlando but somehow this is what came tumbling out today.

I'm linking in with DeVerse today....I think that the poem fits the bill......thankyou Brian for the prompt!

Thursday, February 13

A Poem for Thursday...."The End of the Line"



With so much relayed over the media and the papers full of the sad stories of flooded homes and broken journeys...I'm putting up this post as a memory of another sea...another train journey...another ending...though for how long none of us can be sure any longer.

The End Of The Line

Let's go live at the end of the line
Where breakers fall over rolling stones.
We'll ride the train that we rode when young,
Watch how the steam mists our view of the sea
As it hisses and cools on the iron, on the brass.
And the cry of the gulls as they dive, as they soar
Will welcome us back
Will welcome us back.

Let's board the train that we rode long ago.
Where the end of the line will have water and sand.
We'll be welcomed again by the mewing of gulls
By the smell of spun sugar and hot lardy chips.
And there, will be space enough for our thoughts
With salt winds to blow away stale urban fog.
To welcome us back
To welcome us back.

They're saying the crust is beginning to crack.
That the cold winds of change are blowing our way.
Yet, when I take  the journey again to the end
Of the line, where the seagulls are soaring above,
To the edge of the tide, to the line in the sand...
The memory of all things, of all being well
Embraces me back
Embraces me back.


Monday, February 10

geraldinesnape's photostream

...the abandoned bike... #pottershousepenkethCreated with Photo Editor- Putting the wood together in the yard to get an idea of the layout. # pottershousepenketh # ceramicCreated with Photo Editor- Distressing the oak in the fire for the installation at The Oaks Centre @pottershousepenkethCreated with Photo Editor- Burning the oak for the installation.imageimage
Created with Photo Editor-Created with Photo Editor-imagedark sky over the promboats on the bay 2boats on the bay 1
The Red Road Donegal"The Leaving"two figures rodinlife drawing three minute sketches collagethe goliath bowl collageBlue stone...Fran Crowe
assemblage... gull and seadonegal girl denisedonaghadeebridge at kilcarbottom of rosies garden donegalpath over the shingle

Some photos of work by
The Potters House Artists.

Thursday, February 6

A Poem for Thursday....Two Sisters.




 
Two Sisters

They reared me.
Those two sisters
Who stand there
Side by side,
Smiling out at me from the  photo frame.
Cherry blossom falling around them
Like snowflakes
Tinged with cochineal …
Pink… used for the icing
They spread
Thickly…victoriously
 Into the middle of their sponge cakes.

They hauled me up
Those Scottish sisters.
With their german biscuits
Almond slices and
Scones…no raisins... thankyou!
Brought colour into my monochrome world.
Into grey years... brought laughter…
In a grey decade
Where the pavements were always wet with rain.

Those canny women
Wiped my nose.
Told me to stand up tall
And straitened the parting in my unruly hair.
Criticised my big feet...
"Big as shipyards
Big enough to float the Titanic",
They said.
Drew me into their strong arms
And called me
“Wee pet”.
Those sisters.


...this is linked to DeVerse...Meeting the Bar  this week it's Songwriting and the link to Poetry.
 I was published as a songwriter in the late 60s early 70s and find that most of my poetry now has to have some rhythm and rhyme..at the least an underlying rhythm to move it along...so I read the work  quite a few times until a sense of pace comes into it naturally........
...why so long ago??
 well family ...children and The Potters House Penketh took precedence until I started writing again a few years ago.

Wednesday, January 29

A Poem for Thursday...."The Flood"





"Noah survives the Flood"...ceramic by Alan Snape


The Flood
Two four six is a children’s rhyme.
Two, four and six is the sleepy time.
Don’t frighten the kids just give them a smile.
Can’t go swimming for the waves are too high.
It’s only the earth dear when all’s said and done.
It’s just the blue planet, see… we orbit the sun.
There’s no need for temperate people to fear.
They’re far, far away from the garden my dear.
Go fly a kite while the winds are so high.
But don’t frighten the children,
Just give them a smile.

I wrote this quite a while ago after the Japanese tsunami.....
...since then edited it...
but I should think ...the people of Somerset are wondering about Noah and whether they should start building those boats.

Thursday, January 16

A Poem for Thursday..."The loss".

We thought
That maybe we had lost her
On the day
They blew up the BBC building
In the middle of the city.
Her office
With it's ancient glass roof
Abutted the back wall.
Saving the Company
A need
To make her office more substantial.
Safer.
She never complained.
She was a lady who lunches.
And so it was on that day.
Though no thanks to the army
Who didn't like to make their way
Down the darkened alley
Into her lonely room.
Only the jolly aunt called
Before the detonator blew it all up
And gave her the..."Let's go Mary".

We thought
That maybe we had lost him
On the day
They targeted children
Near MacDonalds on Bridge Street.
He was selling his cheery mugs
announcing
"Mum"
And
"Nana"
And all those other titles in between,
Hawking his wares
In the shopping mall.
But the second bomb was at Boots
Where the children had run for safety.
So it missed him.
And he
Jolly as ever,
Found solace in the Town Hall
Where his son discovered him later.
And with northern canniness
Shrugged and said
"Glad you're safe dad".