A Poem for Thursday..."Here a Button is Missing"...

This is my safe place.

Looking out of the old blue french windows with which we honoured the wooden hut. 

 We call it

"The summerhouse".

I miss it so much in the cold winter months.

This winter especially...with so many situations to worry about in the news...on the streets...in the world.

It takes so little to tip the balance of peace.

In families...in countries...in the soul, the heart, the spirit.

So when I read Gunter Grass's poem.."Open Wardrobe", and the little line about a lost button...

....it caught on a hook in my brain....and I thought how little it takes to tip the scales 

and unbalance our lives.

A button is missing and

I’m missing the button.

My coat can’t be shut.

The air is chilly

And I want to close my coat.

I chose a coat today

And a button is missing.

“So search the floor”, they said.

I search the floor under the coat stand.

Such a small inconvenience

And really insignificant at such a time.

But a button would close the coat

And a closed coat is protection.

The dark floor hides what it finds

Squirrels away secrets

Like magpies.

How little we need if we lose a button.

.

Geraldine Snape

March 2022

Good news...the plum tree has excelled itself with it's sweet white blossom.

Other news...the weather has changed and I can only pray that the blossom is not destroyed...

It takes so little.

Stay well.

x

…"here a button is missing"...prompt from...

"Open Wardrobe" by Gunter Grass.

.

a Poem for Thursday...The Noise of Heavy Traffic.

Margaret U. brought the prompt today. 

She offered us an envelope with strips of paper and each had a noise written on it.

So... waterfall, drip drip, laughter and mine....the noise of heavy traffic.

There's always a panic moment when you know that you have no more than an hour to put down your best thoughts and make some creativity with words!

We have just come back from another motorway trip...this time to see the southern family down the M6 and M1 and traffic, traffic, traffic...so I had something to work with.

It's "brumm brumm" and "beep beep"

As the child on the back seat sang.

And the young woman in the driver's seat

Does her best to avoid a prang.

While out on the road in the busy traffic

Screaming accelerators shout.

And the tired commuters in the early morning

Play chicken, without a doubt.

Brumm brumms the sound of the traffic

And the beeps are heard all around.

While the child strapped into his seat at the back

Turns his toy wheel around and around.

The H.G.V. in the line in front

Is revving it's engine again.

The driver frustrated, is paid by the hour

And the number of trips he has made.

A middle aged business man lost in  reverie

Sighs as the lights turn to red.

That's another ten minutes of idling in neutral

He may as well stay in his bed.

Then a smart-ass young woman gesticulates

Wildly and raises her B.P. again.

She lifts up two fingers and points them at someone

With a blankety blank blank refrain.

The light blinks on green and they're off on the road

Well at least they can make second gear.

And the child in the back seat smiles

At the woman and 

Raises his fingers as well.

God's name is called upon there in the traffic,

Well, called may not be the right term.

But for folk who declare they are atheist/agnostics

They regularly mention him there.

Then the traffic starts moving and hope springs eternal

They may yet make the school run,the meeting,

The shopping, the doctor's, the dentist's the job

And get home again sometime this evening.

Now the child on the back seat is singing again

And the smart-ass young woman calms down.

While the heavy goods driver thinks maybe he'll make it

And the business man ceases to frown.

For they'll drive down the roads

Where the traffic is heaving

And tomorrow they'll do it again.

...there are more!!

A Poem for Thursday

This poem has had a spring clean....some editing!

It amazing what a month or two of lying low can do for words.

The arrogance of birds...
or ...
The jealousy of ground dwellers.

Here's what you get for having a tree in your garden.

You get magpies and crows, wood pigeons and robins,

 Who perch on the very top branch in an April morning

When the mellowness of Spring mists are rising.

And they look down at the world around them

 Feeling superior to us below at ground level.

And that's what you get for allowing a tree

To reach its ultimate height...... apart from the oxygen.

...you can see more of my pics at instagram geraldinesnape

A Poem for Thursday..."Just Desserts"

The prompt on Thursday morning was...."Desserts"...but with out fail everyone of us thought of "Just desserts". So the stories were rich with comeuppances!!
I decided to go for lists. We had been encouraged at the last workshop at Aldeburgh to think along this line...so this is what arrived.

...it applies to whatever you do....

We made our now annual expedition to The Aldeburgh Poetry Festival this weekend just gone. It's held mainly in the village of Snape at The Snape Maltings...very apt for the potter and wife!
Our association with this part of Suffolk goes back to the years of the teenage children. But the festival..only the last three years. The potter has some ceramics in the Gallery there and also in The Buckenham Gallery in Southwold ...so there's a double reason to take the six hour trip from here in the north west to East Anglia. And a further reason as the oldest grandgirl is now at UEA  in her second year and getting more political by the moment!!
But the festival was just great this year. I love the different approaches. The "academic"...the "comedic"...the "ex-punk"...the "rock-star"...the "rap poet"....and the madness of the open-mike late night session!!
Each year I've made the effort to get to as many sessions as I have energy....and these poets are a sample of those I heard speak this time.
Attila The Stockbroker, Gerry Loose, Kei Miller, Helen Mort, Jeremy Reed, Valerie Rouzeau, Pedro Serrano, Susan Wicks, Jane Duran, Peter Sansom and Jeni Smith.
From the workshops to the Q&A sessions the talks and the readings, it's a feast of words and emotions.
  Now I will have to have a go at putting it all into practice....
I plucked up enough courage to have a go at the open mike session in The Plough and Sail at Snape on the Saturday evening.....this was my contribution!

...hands shaking by the time I had finished!!...

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.

A Poem for Thursday...Poison.

After a gap of at least a year ...the fly agaric fungi are back...and in more numbers than ever.

Now I'm not unaware of the danger of these....deathly!!

...but they do hold a facination for me and a reluctance to throw them in the bin!!

...these exotic plants are succoured...if innocently ...by the Birch Grove in the field...each tree representing one member of the family...

...so the thoughts are there I'm sure you will realise of the many ways that relationships prosper or fail...within the family unit. 

...so the poem to go with it ......

Poison

Poison grows and spreads

in the garden.

Under the shivering birches

it grows.

Fiery and red 

it attracts my attention.

Birds and squirrels 

Sample it's wares.

But I am afraid

To touch it

Now.

So I leave it there

To prosper/ fester.

Just as Blake left the poison tree.

A Dark Facination remains

In me.

I've popped it on to you tube...but as it's my first foray into this medium...I've not yet discovered exactly how to put it with this post....

...so you will find it on the one before!!!!

I will succeed!!!

oh nearly forgot to link up with dVerse at the pub....

too much new stuff going on in my head!!

A Poem for Thursday...Red Lipstick

Red Lipstick

Every day  Putting on  bright red lipstick

Smiling a scarlet smile Blood

Red As red

As blood

Seeping through

The broken heart  Smile that

Covers Heart

Break

That covers fear

That  Fools  the face That

Smiles back

Smile

Signifying

“All  is  well”

Covering  the  unsaid.

This was written in response to the micro-essays by Jan Hudfield in Poetry Review Spring 2013.

And today is dVerse open link night 95 so I'm hoping to catch it in the pub before the doors close!! 
and the mag is up as well and looks good this week

  ( The pic has been edited by me but I'm not sure who it was taken by...if I did I would give them credit.....!)

A Poem for Thursday.

We have a broadcaster who can be heard regularly on BBC radio 4...Melvyn Bragg...

... an academic and an intellectual...but very interesting and often not so difficult that I don't  get the gist of the meaning of his subject!...well almost anyway!

Recently we listened to a discussion about Aristotle....this great word was used...

...Aristotilian Theology...!

I think that the joy was just the sound of this intellectual term!

It inspired me to write this little bit of verse.

Aristotilian Theology

I 

had not thought

 of you 

as a theologian.

But 

I was assured

by Melvyn

on radio 4 of course.

That even

Arabian writers

would credit you

with that.

So,

numbers

maths

mount Olympia

and theology.

What 

do we have 

to boast about?

I'm linking as usual with dVerse Open Link Night ~ Week 55 thankyou once again for the opportunity to put some verse out there!http://dversepoets.com/2012/07/31/open-link-night-week-55/

A Poem for Thursday

He digs
as if
all
of his future
depends on it.
Scathing
of his older sister.
Dismissive
of her attempts
 to find
depth.

She creates
 pretty sandcastles.
Decorates them
with shells.
And makes
a beach garden
around them.

He
 has no time
for that.
For life is
too short.

And men must work.

This is linked to dVerse open link night anniversary week. A great site for poets!

A Poem for Thursday

The Sea and Life

You have to learn

   to time the waves.

Then jump

   at just the right moments

     to avoid being dragged under.

I found it difficult

   at first.

Then a rhythm emerged

   was it every seventh wave?

In between

   went swimmingly.

It has taken me

   a lifetime

      to time life's waves.

They say

   it comes in threes.

Why is there always

   a number?

Did someone

  work out the world

     in a maths lesson?

I'm hoping that this one will be acceptable to The Mag: Mag124...it definitely to do with water and the hope that I don't drown! Oh and a great prompt in the redon..I've always loved his dreamy work. Thankyou.

A Poem for Thursday

The Business Deal

Business on the beach.
"Buy !
 Sell !
Just a minute 'til I walk somewhere quiet.
The noise ?
Waves falling with the tide.
Carry on.
I'm back next week.
Sounds good.
Yes...
the weather is good."

He was broad , like a bull,
And his rotund stomach
Had taken many years
Of serious business lunches
...to achieve.
Of that he was proud.

I'm linking up with dVerse today on the open link night week 50.
Just back from the annual time in southern Spain, on the beach!!

poem

Pure silver

Links

A chain

Now broken

Then reformed

Ever closer

Built up

By hinterlinks

Fed

By multitudes of diamonds

Noiselessly creeping

Imperceptibly

Moving

Over dryness

Over sand

Till

We are surrounded

Taken by surprise

Taken by water.

I'm linking up to dVerse open link night week 47 with this poem.

A Poem for Thursday

Vincent van Gogh

Graeme Roberts sat in his usual chair

And I sat nearby in mine.

And behind his head it was always there

The van Gogh in the frame of pine.

 He lulled my brain with his smokey words

And the passion in all that he said.

But the thing I remembered was Vincent's art

On the wall - behind his head.

It was only a print of course , I knew

As I sat in the Georgian room.

But I longed to see more of the painter’s skill

Of the joy, in the clouds and the moon.

And I did one day in the Amsterdam

In the gallery given his name.

And the shock of the real as I stood in front

Of the scene in it’s golden frame...

Left me weeping and moved, though I couldn’t say why.

Did it take me back to that room?

To the girl and the man and the frame of pine

And the trees and the clouds and the moon.

This poem is for Poetry Jam...they wanted a poem about an artist...well Vincent is always my darling!..even if I wander away to other poets ..I eventually come back to all that he was and is! so thankyou Poetry Jam for inspiring me to go back to that place and remember my feelings!

Woody Guthrie...The Man in the Sand.

Go down to the water where the oil floats by

And drop your head down and cry

And write with your finger in the sand

And mail it out with the tide

Mail it out with the high and the low

And watch the marks on the sand

And listen to the fog on the homeless waves

And feel the salt sea in your hand.

Smell the sea wind - taste on your lips

That foam that rolls over my lost ships

And write your letter once more in the sand

Where the breaker dips and the undertow slips

And when nobody's looking - kiss your hand

And touch to the nose of your man in the sand

And then lay down with your head on his chest

And be nice to your man in the sand.

I'm just a sucker for the sea and poetry... and it's got them together in bundles here..

A Poem for Thursday.

...well actually a limerick!

In Penketh there once lived a potter

Who knew a lot more than he oughta.

He knew about strife

'Cos he lived with his wife,

Some grandkids and a son and a daughter.

boom boom!

The potter, his wife and grand daughter all went off to The Trafford Centre as the rest of the family had gone travelling abroad. So we treated ourselves and ate a hearty meal at the Cafe Rouge and thought up this little Limerick after a glass of wine.....hic!

a bit of a daft one this week....but into each life a little madness must fall!
This is for dVerse OpenLinkNight week 45

A Poem for Thursday

Did Lewis walk these woods?

And with his brother, once

Play hide and seek

On  a warm summer afternoon?

And did he get the idea for Narnia

As he followed these paths...

And did he see 

The same light come?

Over the hill

Beyond the ferns

Was Aslan rejoicing 

Dancing with the trees?

I hope he smiled

I smiled.

Posted for Poetry Jam
and Free Write Friday 
dVerse have a challenge as well...sprung rhythm...4 or 5 feet per line with the beat at the first ...so maybe this will make it!

This wood is in the County of Down and is just behind the town where C.S.Lewis was born. it's an ancient wood and quite mystical.....Wonderful!

A Poem for Thursday.

Everybody knows 

that a pansy's not a rose.

cos a rose grows on a bush

 and can prick you very much

while a pansy's on the ground 

where the mud is all around

but the pansy has a face

full of sweetness full of grace

and it doesn't shout out loud

doesn't captivate a crowd

like the feted blooming rose

surely everybody knows!

This poem comes about because of the Poetry Matters prompt...."Everybody knows!" what a great prompt...because we all know something!!

A Poem for Thursday

The Two Sisters.

two sisters

stand

side by side

smiling at me

cherry blossom

falling

like pink snowflakes
they

coat the grey pavement

with colour

in the monotone world
of the fifties.

they
 reared me

hauled me up

wiped my nose

straitened my parting

told me

"stand up tall".


I've put this in a bit early as I don't want to miss the dVerse OpenLinkNight Week 42
Anyway the Thursday in the title is there, as I was born on a Thursday!

The End of The Line

I'm reposting this poem for dVerse Open link night week 41.

It's one that I like reading myself...if that's not too arrogant!

Also it takes me to a place that I love to go...the seaside!

I'm really only just getting into linking to all of these wonderful sites.

So a big thankyou to dVerse for the opportunity to get my stuff...out there!

The End of the Line

Let’s go and live at the end of the line.
Where breakers fall over rolling stones.
We’ll board 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 and 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 crying of gulls
The smell of spun sugar and hot lardy chips.
There, will be space enough for our thoughts
And salt winds that blow away stale urban fog.
To welcome us back,
To welcome us back.

They say that 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 of things, of all being well
Embraces me back
Embraces me back.