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.

New Ceramics in closeup...

The classes and groups of ceramic students have finished...

...covid put an end to all that.

But life goes on in the studio with an exhibition of artists' work , including Alan's, due to be curated in January at Technically Brilliant Art Gallery in The Golden Square Mall in Warrington.

I've taken these shots with the macro lens on my Canon EOS 5D.

They are on three large ceramic sculptural works based on the coast that we both love in Suffolk.

Southwold, Aldeburgh and Walberswick.

Alan also exhibits at Buckenham House, High Street, Southwold .  

 

Beach Huts and Boats. Southwold.

Harbour on the Blythe River Southwold.

I probably won't have time to blog next week.

So I wish any and all who may read my stories here....

A very happy peaceful and blessed Christmas time.

It's Advent December 2021

 ....and the old driftwood tree comes out of the tool shed...is dusted down and the spiders webs cleared away before it's once again in pride of place in the big gallery window at The Potters House Penketh.

On go the twinkling lights...a job for the potter...aka Alan Snape.

...the box of beloved baubles is dragged down the stairs from under a bed in the guest room..

...year by year I scour the christmas shops for another one to add to the collection...but it has to be that little bit different from the hundreds that are the choices available now...

...and every year I buy each of the grandgirls one to start their own collection.

Aunt Helen was my partner in "crime " each Christmas at 43 St. Johns in Belfast...I would crawl into the cubbyhole under the stairs to find the box with the treasure in it....in those days mainly paper decorations.

...ooops!...why is it always the fragile ones that slip out of your hands!...still beautiful in it's shards of fine glass...

After our visit this year to the autumn Chelsea...inspired by the work in the main tent... I started collecting the autumn leaves as they fell from the gingko tree in the garden...pressing them in old art books...always heavy!...and stringing them in chains for the gallery windows.

...some japanese acer leaves found their way into the strings too...

..a choir of angels echo the message of hope

...nothing to make you ashamed...

In the window....ceramic camel £150 : ceramic angels £20 : Large penguin with gold crown £170 : small penguin with gold crown £110 : ceramic polar bear £180 : individual ceramic letters £150 : HOPE £450  Icon.."Christ Pantocrator" £150 : ceramic hare £180 : Box assemblage ceramic hand £150 : ceramic stars £20 : Globed angel £150 : small driftwood christmas trees £20 : chain of pressed leaves £10 ..and so much more inside.

More work can also be seen at Technically Brilliant Art in The Golden Square Mall, Warrington.

and

The Buckenham Gallery Southwold, Suffolk.

Today the sun is shining...although these are often called "the dark days"...but there is always hope and so that is my wish for all of us this Christmas.....

"And hope doesn't put us to shame..." Rom 5:5

Much love

Geraldine

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"

September Garden at the Potters House Penketh

 It's such a lovely mild sunny day today.

Possibly one of the last before the colder weather comes and the autumn rains.

So I took some pics of the herb garden before it has to be tidied up for the year.

I'm listening to BBC podcasts in the summerhouse almost every day at the moment.

Today it was on solitude...another post yet to hear  .....

but I think that this year has made me think more and more about solitude...

...not lonliness...just having more time alone and with my thoughts.

Anyway here are the pics for those of you who still look now and again at my blog.

...what's not to love about a September pumpkin swelling gently in the warm moist air...

...box and bay and the overloaded pear tree...

...and the last of the little red roses still bloom...

Stay safe all my fellow bloggers.

Thankyou for all your blogs and sharing your lives.

Easter Bread...Bank Holiday Monday

This wonderful loaf was left on the front door knob of The Potters House Penketh yesterday by Krisztian Talmachi...

(he's just become a dad to Eric...)

and also lots of Hungarian goodies from his wife Elvira...

We attended their wedding last summer in Hungary..such a very special time.

Well we had finished all the croissant in the freezer...

so we sliced the bread, toasted it and loaded it with butter...

ladled on the lemon curd

and ate with some strong breakfast coffee this morning

kosonom...kosonom...kosonom

Good Friday

Here we are at Good Friday...

though I've just read that the word good was not the original word

rather..holy Friday.

Some of us have put crosses up in the front gardens as we can't meet as usual in the local square at 12 noon.

It's a good time as the whole community gathers by a local butchers and we have a time of silence.

If ever there was a need for us to be silent and do a lot of thinking...it's now.

The sun is shining and so I've been down at the bottom of the field on a deckchair just dreaming.

Posted this in the little front garden of the gallery this morning.

The crown of thorns was given to me by a Romanian artist many years ago when in another time of sadness and distress, we went to Romania with some provisions for hospitals and children's homes.

Let's pray that this time will make us all wake up to kindness and caring...maybe.

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!

Lost.....and found.

I have a green cardboard folder full of my writing from the Thursday morning group at The Gateway in Warrington.

Until Friday evening when I suddenly realised I had no idea where it was...it was just my Thursday folder...albeit packed full of years of flash fiction, short stories and quick poetry.

Then yesterday it dawned on me that I must have left it on the bus I took to get home from town.

The potter's mobile wasn't picking up so no lift.......then get on a bus.

But my pensioner's card is out of date..I know I should get it renewed and I only had a £10 note...embarrassing.

I felt ashamed...but thought that the driver could probably see that I was no spring chicken...definitely over 60!

After Cafe at The Oaks Community today we went to the bus station fearing for the worst.....but lo and behold..as the angels said...there was the precious folder still in it's linen shopping bag.

I just hadn't realised how precious those written words were to me.

It was my prompt on Thursday and I took a handful of old snaps to inspire everyone to write a five minute "flash fiction" with each one.

Fun all the way.

Here is my very..Flash...fiction of a poem....

She loved them all

But which to choose?

They lingered near

She made no fuss.

He threw his arm 

around her shoulder

She liked him

As he was a wee bit older.

But Stan on the end

Had money and house

And Bert was strong

Tho' feart as a mouse.

She turned them down

And lived alone

With ten feral cats

And a dog with a bone.

The best I could do in five minutes.

Cabinetmaker's Tower Warrington

 This iconic tower in the skyline of Warrington town centre...cannot be saved...they say.

How sad...how could a town allow that to happen.

 This was once a Cabinet makers factory. 

As Ben our son studied as a cabinet maker..it has always been of interest to me.

 This building is part of the structure....now to be demolished..along with so much of the architectural history of ancient Warrington.

Those guardian angels on the golden gates in front of the Town Hall...must be weeping angels...just like the ones in Dr. Who. 

Eileen is Missing....Sunday's Short Stories

I love the Bold Street Writers group that I go to here in Warrington. We are a mixed lot of women writing out of life experiences, writing out of imagination….just writing because we have to!

Eileen is one of the oldest who write each week. But never let it be said that she writes anything boring…ah no. Her wonderful stories could have your toes curling one moment and your sides splitting with laughter another!

So when it was Eileen’s prompt on Thursday and she wasn’t there…we worried.

 So we took as our new prompt…”Eileen is missing”!

Eileen is missing. People are worried. Eileen is always there prompt at ten, ordering her coffee, chatting about her week,

No, Eileen is always here.

As sure as eggs are eggs we could set our watches on her appearance. Always know if we had the right day, the right place, prepared the right prompt. For if Eileen said she would be there, she was…and Eileen is missing.

Every week we look forward to hearing some gritty news that no one else has heard, because Eileen doesn’t waste a minute of her life moping around. No, she is out and about with a cheery hello to her neighbours. Out and about at her coffee and tea gatherings with old friends from her professional life. Meeting up at bus stations and train stations and catching transport to theatres and concert halls and taking in the history of some local grand house. And then passing on her nuggets of golden information to us all. And making us think that we needed to be there, go there, hear that, see that. Instead of moping around and moaning about. Well you know how it is!!!

So that’s how it is now. Eileen is missing and unless I’m very much mistaken or missing the point…someone is keeping something back from us all. And I at least intend to find out what, winkle the information from them, ply them with flattery and even seccumb to a bribe or a spot of alcohol as it’s so important to find out why Eileen is missing.

There’s a space in this that only Eileen can fill. That’s not to say she’s a big woman, no, not big in size.  But yes big.  Big in heart, big in enthusiasm, big in ideas. Yes now I come to think of it, Eileen is a big woman. Someone like Eileen can fill a room, let alone a chair. So when Eileen is missing the empty space is vast. The room may be full yet it seems strangely empty.

My, my!… I’m getting rather metaphysical here!

 But no, it’s a fact and anyone who knows her knows it’s a fact. No getting away from it. I’m putting it down here on the page and it gets plainer with every mark.

 Eileen is missing and so we are missing out.

But hang on, wait a minute, there must be someone who knows why Eileen is missing. Someone always knows. In my experience of life, though I acknowledge that’s not vast, not international, not particularly academic, yes in my experience there is always someone who knows. And very often the knowing person and their knowingness is right under your nose. Not like a bad smell under your nose. No ? I wouldn’t say that. More like a feather tickling or a bit of fluff that won’t go away until you sneeze and your eyes water and you reach for a tissue.

But I digress.

 Yes someone always knows something. Well just think of all the media stories appearing at the moment.  Someone knew.  Knew about the pay packets of those nice men on the radio, on the TV news, on the BBC. And what about those coloured roads that are due to appear locally, all over the banks of the Mersey…someone knew. Yes but did someone else have to winkle out the information and post it up for us to see….even if it was all a bit too late for us to do anything?

As for Eileen, she is still missing. Though I’ve heard that the electrician knows where she is….

But he’s not telling.

Art Challenge Day Three

Day Three of the potter's art challenge.

Most artists hate commissions...takes them away from what they want to do...it means they have to ask questions!!

But commissions are also bread and butter for an artist! 

This commission was however a pleasure for Alan.

This is a Baptismal Bowl commissioned by a newly renovated Liverpool Church. 

(pics by G)

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

The Midsummer Knight's Dream

This morning at the Thursday morning writers group the prompt was  from Margaret K.

" Brush up your Shakespeare"

.

But some of us were grieving for another writer of both comedy and tragedy ....

Victoria Woods. 

Then on top of it being Shakespeare's birthday this week...a double whammy with The Queen's 90th. today. What a week! Now whether you are for or against the Monarchy...to celebrate a 90th birthday and be the longest reigning Queen ever, deserves at the very least a mention.

 But my thoughts were about Victoria...the Queen of Comedy since the 70s......and this one is for her...and for her beloved Morecambe...and in particular Lubin's...a place of inspiration. We were lucky enough to eat there  many times before it closed its doors for good. 

I have read that..." Is it on the trolley?"... maybe a quote from Lubin's !!!!!

Some artistic licence in this mad sonnet.

The Midsummer Knights Dream

We sat on the crimson red sofa,

The potter, the daughter and me.

We ordered a platter with cheeses

Some bread and a big pot of tea.

When who should come in through the doorway

With her children and husband in tow

Victoria and the Magician

In his best Sunday suit and his bow.

The sun caught the top of his bald pate,

She heaved up her boobs from below.

Her kids ordered meat pie at Lubin's

And icecream to have on the go.

But the dream was just Midsummer Madness

For she's gone, and we're left with our sadness.

Writer's Workshop and A Poem for Thursday..."I can't write like Stephen Berg".

 ...Thursday writer's workshop is always a joy...not because of what I write ...but to hear the amazing stories and poems that emerge from each of the writers' pens over less than two hours work....
The prompt this week was the word.."Red"...ohhh...red mist...red carpet...red flowers...red blood!!!

Mine was blood and DNA....
"A Phone Call"
The phone rang and I answered it. Just a phone call, like any other phone call. A call from the sister. I say THE sister as I only had one sister. She was the little pet of the family. Seven years between us meant that I was the big sister. I was the "can you look after your sister love?" person designated to take her to whatever I was going to myself. Friend's house...shopping in town...rugby match at the sports ground down the Ravenhill....Can you imagine a seven year old standing in the crowd when it swayed left and right as the ball alternated up and down the pitch? Mum had no idea what a rugby crowd was like. So I'm yelling part time for the school team and the rest of the time for the sister to "watch out!"..."stop standing on my toes!"..."leave go of my legs!"
Anyway, back to the phone call. Well we're great friends now. Although we've gone in very different directions, we're closer than ever. And it's a bad week if we don't chat and catch up on family news, and find something to have a belly laugh about. All the years of memories good and bad, happy and sad with the three major adults in the family gone now. So we cling to our relationship and recognize the stabilizing effect it has on our everyday existance.
Everyone has things that happen to "upset the apple cart". The unexpected, round the corner things. You know..illness, separation, divorce, finance, redundancy....need I go on! So it's always good to have absolutes to keep your feet firmly on the ground of life. We find normalising situations as quickly as possible a good premise to go on. After all everything is normal when you add up your experiences and divide by the number you first thought of!
And phone calls are such a great normaliser in our modern world. Especially now that we all have our mobiles....mobile phones that is...not mobile homes! Too normal I think when I see the young gazing into screens or business people in cafes or on trains instructing and pontificating in loud important voices...bah!
The sun was shining in through the french windows as the phone rang. I pulled the curtain across to stop me squinting in the bright sunlight. Apart from that I often pulled it across just to see the cicadas in the pattern of the cloth. I bought it at a flea market in Provence many years ago. I find it good to have happy memories around..oh and also good if the phone call should get a bit boring or one-sided. 
But that's not normally the way with the sister can I say...too much to gossip about. Family goings-on to relate. We trip over ourselves wordily getting so much into the call.Outdoing each other in funny anecdotes and dissing those others whose antics make us shake our heads. It's the same in every family. There are those you are glad are members and then there are others who although not on your wavelength actually make for an interesting conversation..you know what I mean...sometimes we call it a rant...it eases the tensions of life!
"Hi!" I said. "How's things?". There was silence. "Are you still there?". "Yes". The sister sighed. "Something up?"...I anticipated a bit of a rant. Nothing. "Speak to me...."
 She spoke."It's true....we have another sister!". 

Then this afternoon I read Antony Wilson's wonderful poetry blog..."Lifesaving Poems"..blogs like this...so full of information and poets that I've yet to explore, have been a veritable godsend in the blogger world...and so I said...I can't write like Stephen Berg...and then promptly wrote ...like Geraldine Snape!!!


I can't write like Stephen Berg
But Margaret says,"I like your asides."
Those are the funny bits I put in the writing
At the Thursday workshop.
I think women are good at asides
It takes the sting out of the parts of life
We want to normalise.
Normalise...what's that all about?
I learnt that from Doreen years ago
She needed it.
And the"professionals" said
"That how you'll cope with everything."
They were dead right there.
We took it on as a mantra.
You know those words the Buddists talk about?
But we didn't think George Harrison's
Hari, Hari, suited our situation.
So we took on,"normalise",
That's all we needed to say to one another.
George put the shelves up in the off license
When he was just seventeen we heard.
That's an aside, things were getting too serious,
So I put that in.
But I like the story anyway.
The potter took them down as soon as we bought the shop.