Spent Firework...Bold Street Writers

 Thursday morning and we're back upstairs in the Gateway building on Sankey Street Warrington for 

The Bold Street Writers and the prompt from Margaret Hargreaves is...." Spent Firework".

It's the morning after the American Elections..and results...

*

Next morning oh yes the air full

of the smell of burnt gun powder

the garden full of wooden rocket sticks

the early November mist spread across the grass

and after all the excitement

and the frantic preparation

a quiet still emptiness falls on the house

the cats retrieve their normal position

on favourite cushions as they crawl 

out from under a sofa

from under a feather duvet

in the unused darkened bedroom

and curl up knowing

that the time has come again

to do some gentle hibernating

and wait for the blessed spring.

*

And the earth spins as ever

and the morning becomes afternoon

and afternoon becomes evening

and night falls earlier everyday

until soon the world becomes dark.

*

How the seasons turn there is no stopping them

blink and you may miss the moment

when autumn becomes winter then

all the world declares they didn't see it coming

as if it never changed before as if

when taken unawares we feel the panic rise

to fill the mouth with dread though

it's been that way forever and

will be through it all again and

spent fireworks are collected and thrown

on the final bonfire.

*

And sometimes there might be a last trace

of the sparkle that promised so much 

last night that firework of promise that fizzled out

and then was no more.

Spent..Empty..No promise..

Forgotten.

forottern.

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 Turn of the Seasons"

The Turn of the Seasons 

My thoughts begin with water in the rill

Full-ferned and moss-muddlied. there sits

A crow on the topmost level of

A bowing birch. above it still the waning moon

Silver-sailing in a mourning sky.

*

The magi of mushrooms and

Pale greeness of lichen and I am

Mind-spinning at the turn of the seasons

There a gathering of starlings

Sitting slanted on an earthen roof and

*

Wood pigeons murmuring a pied -melody

Where trees scarlet and leaves bud

The turning prowls through my memories

Sometimes there are assembling hours

And heaven beckons. sometimes a glimpse

* 

Of seedful poppies in strawberry beds

Scattering feral banks on fecund land.

*

Here are the daffodils to give joy and bring hope.

We can but believe.

Hope remains.

Be kind.

A Poem for Thursday.

 I started blogging in 2010...I had no idea what I was doing!

But one of my weekly posts was..

"A Poem for Thursday"

Someone asked,  why?...well I was born on a Thursday...and Thursday's child has far to go.

I got as far from Belfast as Warrington...so not far!!

I thought I should start it again  now that lockdown is over, and I'm able to get to Bold Street Writers in Warrington,  and even Write on the Farm in Cumbria. 

The words are being set down in ink again.

This poem has been written after reading one by Gunter Grass..." Open Wardrobe"..suggested by Dr. Geraldine Green on Saturday's writing workshop.

 And I  took the line ..." a button is missing"..

a button is missing and

i'm missing the button

my coat can't be closed

the air is chilly and I want to close

 my coat. I chose a coat today

and a button is missing

search the floor, they said

i search the floor

under the coatstand

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 Feb 2022

An alley in Warrington town centre by Holy Trinity Church...and a pic photoshopped to honour the Ukrainians fighting for their homeland.

.Stay safe and be kind.

the sun stops...

 

Thoughts at the Turn of the Year… when the Sun Sits Still.

"Then Joshua said..."Sun, stand still".....Josh.10:22" 

15.58pm

 last walk down the old field path

My thoughts begin with water in the rill

Full-ferned and moss-muddlied. There sits

A crow on the topmost level of

A bowing birch. Above it still the gibbous moon

Silver-sailing in a pale mourning sky.

 

the ever watchful crows

The magi of mushrooms and

Pale greenness of lichen and I am

Mind-spinning at the turn of the tired old year.

There a gathering of shining starlings

Sitting slanted on an earthen roof and

 

...so this is how the nasturtiums finish...

Wood pigeons murmuring a pied-melody

Where trees scarlet and leaves tumble.

..tumbling leaves and scarlet berries...

The turning prowls through my memories.

Sometimes there are assembling hours

And heaven beckons. Sometimes a glimpse

 

Of seedful poppies sinning in strawberry beds

Scattering feral banks on fecund land.

...the quiet strawberry beds...

So here's to the "Long Moon"to the "Cold Night Moon" to the coming again of "The Light"

Here's to the yuletide log...and the family feasting...here's to love and kindness.

To all.

April's best week.

 

This is the week where the leaves unfurl

where the blossom excels

where frog spawn becomes tadpoles

where the sun is warm at noon

but the evenings are cool and you throw on another woolly sweater. 

The Labyrinth
Above the grassy labyrinth

Wood browns flirt and flutter in pairs

Catching rays of gold

On mottled wings.

So new life emerges

Playful and coquettish

To fly and suck

On summer's nectars.

The struggle from

The winter's binding

Strengthening flight

And damp moss perfumes

Dappled sunlight.

While blackbirds claim

Old Territories and sing.

 

A spring haze that makes a watercolour painting of  trees
Bathes pink and soft green tops on sky stretched branches.
The land wakens with misty light and water gives growth
As hill and mountain overflow with bubbling springs.
Late afternoon still air glows rose on lazy strollers
And the chill sends them indoors to slump
Contentedly in front of smokey wood burning fires.

Looking for the Penketh Kingfisher....

 We go regularly to try and see a kingfisher on the brook nearby.

Never have.

But  often meet up with those who have...and feel a bit miffed that it's so elusive for us!

The brook is first seen at the bottom of the lane by The Potters House Penketh on Heath Road.

We stand at the bridge and gaze over...but though the view is lovely...no kingfisher.

We walk through the housing estate to the brook as it travels ever down to the Mersey...

No kingfisher...though this morning a post on social media rejoiced at the sight of it flying across the the water!

So the best I can do is post this poem written after another unsuccessful lockdown search.....

               

 Kingfisher

I went looking each day    for the kingfisher

where it had been    when it was seen

no sign   no joy   when I went looking

 

I saw the skinny long-legged fisherman

his steely presence   stately gaze

coiling his neck in a waiting game

but never the fisher-king

 

by park   canal   by river and brook

no splash of water   no flash of blue

nor was it seen on the brim of my ken

when I went looking

 

I saw swans glide and paddle   their full-wings

poised   posing for artists   cygnets behind

in a frothy wake   by some willow herb

but nowhere the Penketh bird

 

I am abandoned   covet the sight

long for his beauty   cut to the quick.

Geraldine Snape Jan 2021

 

November Sunshine...

 

It's not an easy thing coping with change in these days... 

Lines are drawn on winter grass

I stop and stand for a moment

whisper...don't go...don't go.

It's my soul song  my heart cry

Shell and stone   feather and bone.

Black oak stark against blueness

Drawing  restoring  slow breathing

sigh...don't leave...don't leave.

My soul song   my heart cry

Shell and bone   feather and stone.

For these we give thanks again

For copper rustling  mossed cushions

cry...stay awhile...stay awhile.

Sing my soul song   slow my heartbeat

Shell and stone   feather and bone.

Lines are drawn on winter grass

A low sun moves and shadows pass

now going...soon fading.

My heart cry   my soul song

Shell and stone   feather and bone.

Lockdown walks...

Here's a pic of some summer flowers in the herb garden.

"Fox and cubs"

Lockdown walks in Penketh

I'm enjoying the need to walk around the district again!!

Over the weekend two lovely walks towards the south of the parish...

Sankey Brook...

...making it's way down to the Mersey River...

...and this one very close to our home...

... the walk down to the Ferry Inn by the Mersey and the yacht haven in the Sankey Canal...

...golden light on the water..still...

...the boat yard by the canal... 

 

..and here's some lovely autumn colour from the garden at 

The Potters House Penketh.

..as they say on all the blog posts...

"Stay Safe"

🍂

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".

*

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.

*

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

*

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!

Song for Spring

Song for Spring

Praise be to the swallows

Who dared to venture north this week

Praise be to those fellows.

Praise be to the sun

All glorious in the shadows it throws

Praise be to the sharp sun.

Praise be to the green grass

Softening the verges with the red bilberry

Praise be for the petrichor.

Praise be to the coal black ravens

Nesting high in the tallest beech trees

Praise be for cawing birds.

Praise be for the seasons

Catching us unawares each year

Praise be for the northern spring.

...there is time to enjoy and time to reflect...

Algorithms?....A Poem for Thursday

I googled the word.....algorithms...I was fed up with being told by the younger set, that my life is now set because of all my choices on the internet going into some vast drum.....stirred around and then emerging on the iPad screen as something that I have always wanted.

Well guess what ...old Euclid knew about algorithms... and I don't think he had bought his iPad by the time he wrote it down.

Anyway...Algorithms...was my prompt today for The Bold Street Writers in Warrington. And the results were as usual amazing. From a carefully worded account of the inner doings of Amazon ...if you want to sell your detective novel....to a run down of the latest news and gardening programmes. Don't ask...just believe they were great.

Mine?....well all about why I now have two kittens living with me and the potter. It's a bit long but then it takes a while often for an algorithm to work out.

Algorithms

The sun shining

August in the garden

Dirty dishes in the sink

Soapy water on my hands

[ jobs to do, places to go]

Just August in the garden.

Dirty dishes in soapy water

Gazing mindlessly  window watching

Garden birds

Greedy squirrels

[ jobs to do. places to be]

Dirty dishes now piled up.

Gazing mindlessly at garden birds

A sudden movement

By the hedge   prickly hedge

[ jobs to do  places to be]

My eyes deceive me I'm 

Just gazing mindlessly at kittens.

A sudden movement 

Makes it real

In the garden by the hedge

An ice grey mother cat

With two small kittens

[I've jobs to do and places to be]

She dashes from our sudden movement.

So it's true and we're astonished 

One small tabby kitten lingers

Snapped a shot on

A mobile phone

Posted up on face books news

[what about my jobs and places?]

Makes it real.

One small tabby eyes wide open

Frozen in a garden snap

Put up on face book  local news

[forget the jobs forget the places]

Then a clamour

From the punters

Out on face book

"We can catch the one small tabby".

Frozen on the mobile phone

A tabby's image   tiny image

Next a plethora of messages

Demanding that they be consulted

"We will come and take the cats"

[thinking of my jobs and places]

Close down local face book page

Delete it from the mobile phone.

Tabby's image small and frightened

Enter Kat from  animal  rescue

Brings her cages

Traps the kittens two, now three

And the pretty mother cat

Takes them off to safer havens

[I'll get on with jobs and places]

Tabby's  image lingers on.

Message sent to animal rescue

Kept the contact

How's the family?

But I really want a greyhound

Want a whippet, or just a mongrel

[do the daily jobs as needed] still

Can't ignore the tabby's image

Message Kat from local rescue.

Glad now that I kept the contact

Can I have the kittens back?

[did some jobs of sorting rooms

Did some buying for the two]

September comes October goes

November's bleak, and Christmas shines.

Cats are coming early January

Glad I kept the rescue contact.

Now we have the kittens back

I forget about the whippet

Pretty female, dancing tomcat

And the potter is besotted

Who'd have thought it

He's the daddy, playmate, teaser

[I get on with jobs, go places]

Happy that the cats are back.

A Poem for Thursday...The Fall

The Fall

Watched rusty leaves turn brown

bend over in the autumn winds

hang on a little longer then fall

and lie in all their glorious

shades now safe from any

sudden squall that might

blow unexpectedly and hit

the birch trees. Old trees 

in the grove. Too tall for

this small garden.

Watched chestnut and oak trees
 against the end wall where 
conkers fall and squirrels

scurry to hide them all in

shallow holes for springtime feasts.

And acorns where striped wasps 

once flirted, laid eggs and changed

the cupped balls to magic creatures

we foolishly name galls. 

All this

from a saggy chair, through blue

painted doors, an autumn shawl flung

lightly round old shoulders. Recalling

the shout of children in the field

once young, now tall with lives

uninterrupted by the thwack of ball 

on bat or cry of yield.

Ahead of the game...it's only Tuesday.