Poem...Gathering Bones

ipad drawing of bones at Largy

I’m gathering bones together

On the studio floor.

Crouching down and

Staring at an  assemblage.

Here a nest of bones as

Pale as shadows

On the polished wood.

There a craze of broken glass with

Distorted reflections.

I’m Alice.

Walking through a splintered world

Bridging the actual and

The probable.

 I’m pacing the room and

Glancing back at a vanitas. I 

hear the sound of my own wretched bones

And weep at coming death.

... after reading Gregory Orr’s poem…."Gathering the bones together".

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I'm involved with an email post called

LITERARY COMFORT FOODS

It's such a good link with people who inspire me in so many different ways and with the lockin holding fast the internet is such a blessing.

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This poem was sent and received and a grand kind critique along with it also.

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I've plucked up enough techie courage to send it to 20 others.

Poets, artists, musicians.

My only mistake...as dad used to say...was not reading the instructions carefully.

20 women.

I put 3 men it there!!

Ooops

I think they deserve to be there!

A Poem for Thursday.

Once again we met at The Gateway Centre opposite the beautiful Golden Gates of Warrington's Town Hall.

The Bold Street Writers.

And the prompt...very apt for the moment... came from Pat who had introduced me to this wonderful group a few years before.

"The Unexpected"

Well there is so much unexpected at this moment in history...though maybe there may have been more before the days of media coverage of each and every tiny change of mood and tone but we will never know and that could have been a blessed bonus!

This is my offering.

Unexpected

Twice I looked  to find it true.

Not daring to believe my eyes.

The screen  flickered, night was old.

From my companion came sighs,

Disbelief. Fear tugged. Anxiously 

We watched. Numbers rose and fell.

The outcome boards were black

The names above were bold.

The list grew longer, stronger

Were the thoughts we shared.

Mouths tightened, eyes narrowed,

Or eyes wide, mouths agape.

You think you've seen it all

By the time your pension's drawn.

We made another coffee, sleep

Would have to wait 'til  results

Crashed the top line, powered

Through, above, over, beyond.

Whose dreams would crash? And

Whose would soar?

The band played on while the

Dancers danced. What should we do

At a time like this? Should we 

Laugh or weep? Some will rejoice.

Losers lose and winners win.

As it is in life, so in death.

And midnight makes you morbid.

So we crack open the brandy.

We plump up feather cushions

For the necessary comfort in

The long haul.In the small hours

As we wait for light to filter

Through net curtains, and brocade. Then 

When spirits are at lowest and

Souls dried of emotion comes

The long-awaited verdict after

Lonely days, and years

Have passed in the waiting full

Of hope, despair and longing?

A faithful partner at his side.

A shining spotlight  on him. he

Holds his head up high and ...Waits . 

But the Master of Ceremonies in

Red velvet jacket speaks. 

And we hold our breath in

Expectation. At last a result.

The mirrored ball is lifted high and

And Anton  claims his prize.

Now those of the distant shore.... Amerikay!... may not know how long and hard Anton du Beck has fought for the "Glitter Ball...the prize of Strictly come Dancing"...but at a time like this here and across the pond...we need some light relief in our lives.

Vive Le Anton!

A Poem for Thursday.

A Poem for Thursday

Today at the writers' workshop the prompt was from Shauna. She gave each of us some pages with interesting lists, to make us think about our lives and the people associated with us at various stages of it.

Time Line..............I choose 10 - 15. ...it was the 50s, it was Co Down, and all was well in my world.

Before the Fall

Time was endless, friends were many.

Vicky and Sandy, and I was Gerry.

We laughed a lot, linked arms and talked

About boys we fancied and those we stalked.

A caravan was where we gathered 

Under the stars at Ballyferris

Our bare feet kicking the silver sand.

Where time was endless, nothing planned.

"There's  Cassiopeia and there's the Plough".

"Oh your luck's in, there's a shooting star!"

We raced down maran covered dunes

And harmonised on Western tunes.

And miles away on the far horizon

Were ships bound for ports in the land of England.

We seldom thought of our futures then,

But time and tide don't wait for man.

They pass unseen and never waver

Then gather up all in their net without favour.

And I daren't go back to that holy place

Where time stood still. A time when space

And mercy was real, before the fall

That enveloped and overwhelmed us all.

A Poem for Thursday.

The Outing to Dungeness

Prospect Cottage

Basically it was just a hut
A fisherman’s hut
Along with all the other huts
Now I love a hut
I would like a hut by the sea
Not too much to keep tidy
And the sound and smell of it all…


Basically it was not really a garden
Just the way you collect bits of plants along the beach
And hope that they might take root
And help you to remember that day
By the sea on the beach
In the shingle…

Really it was not sculpture
Not what those earnest artists
Like Andy or the Welsh man would think of as sculpture
More like me when I walked the sands at Ballyferris
And picked up the rubbish that the others had dropped
Well I say the rubbish
I never actually thought of it that way…


Really I wasn’t too sure about the yellow windows
And the writing on the end wall
All about the sun
Though the mist obscured it that day
And the words were a bit small
Now that my eyesight is not what it was…


So what made me cry?
For it was only a fisherman’s hut
It was only the shingle all around it by the road
It was only railway sleepers upended
Standing like a modern Stonehenge
And the perfume of the gorse
And the yellow horned poppies…

No really …there was not much there you know.


[This was the day that we went looking for Derek Jarman's house on the shingle in that magic spot called Dungeness. The brochure say the largest area of shingle in Europe. Full of wild sea flowers, protected by the local authorities....mysteriously beautiful.]