Trains and Boats and Planes. Prompt. Bold Street Writers.

Today at the Bold Street writers the prompt was 

Trains and Boats and Planes

They come from China

Where storage sheds fill acres of land

And high rise homes house workers

Who sleep the sleep of the exhausted

Before rising early to catch the next

Shift. They come from South America

Colourful and handmade. Combed alpaca

Mexican laced and Frida Kahloed

On cushions and fridge magnets

For teenage girls to plump up

Their bedrooms as they string

The Chinese LED lanterns around

The windows. They come from

India smelling of spices. Turmeric

Myrrh, frankincense and the East

Silks and satins and toiled over

Hand woven rugs to warm the

Feet of the teenagers’ mothers

Slumped in the rattan armchair

Exclusive to Habitat or Ikea or

Harrods. They come, they come.

And the warehouses fill with boxes

And crates and wooden carts and the

Strong arms of the Polish, Czech, Hungarian

Workers, lift and lay , lift and lay.

And the distribution points keep busy

Every moment of every day to satisfy

The people. And the roads fill up

With Stobart trucks and their wives

Names gaily painted on the bonnets

Keeping bonnets on the wives.

And in a room high in a glass castle

Grey costumed people with

Grey faces and grey hair, rub their

Hands and smile with satisfaction

At yet another Black Friday

G.Snape 28^th Nov. 2019

An Port...Abandoned village in Donegal

Every year we go with my sister @Rosiemcclellandart to An Port... the abandoned village on the far west coast of Donegal...to sketch...to paint..take photographs and for me to write about this elemental place in Ireland.

A Poem for Thursday...Dougie's Garden.

Dougie’s Garden

Gladiola dahlia, helenium and phlox

Apple tree and lilac with sweet pea grown in blocks

Roses were his favourite flowers, ramblers white and pink

And a tea rose that’s an odd name

For a flower don’t you think?

Primrose, lupin ,daffodil, pansies pink and blue

Flowering currant, hydrangea, peony, fuschia too

But no cabbages, no beans, no carrots, no potatoes

No turnips, peas or scallions, he grew not one of these

The farmer’s son from Keady left behind the rural scene

Turned his gaze towards the city,and fulfilled a childhood dream

...in the garden..at The Potters House Penketh

A Poem for Thursday.

 morning dew

 heavy on the grass

 like diamonds in the sun

 and the last apples

 fallen beneath the last tree

 bruised skin

 wasp-guzzled

 smelling of warm cider

 as we gaze out over glorious autumn.

A Poem for Thursday

I take my pen   make marks   form lines   curves   strokes together   words appear      as if by magic      word to word      mark by mark   line and line

.

a line lengthens    words    make sense    make sense of my thoughts

.    

reason      mark the moment      the moment recorded       lines   underlines   thoughts made real     recordings     hopes     in words  on lines       by marks

.

recorded time      the pen moves      the marks build       build up   time and again       a history      a story       adding flesh to words   descriptions  

.   

bringing colour     with marks     with lines     strokes   curves   light   shade

.

themes evolve   evolution   time   marked by words   connections   hand strokes       stroked lines       appearances       matter is fluid   .   

my pen moves on   reason restored   problems revealed   solved   maybe

.

how mighty is the pen.