Poem in an anthology

One of my poems has been published this month in an anthology created by Fife Bookfest.  The book is called Lunardi but, to be honest, I'm not sure where (if anywhere) it's on sale.  So, this is my poem if you'd like to read it:

Wise Wirds

Nane sae blind as wilnae see

Nane sae dumb as wilnae lee

Nane sae shair as wilnae speir

Bide wi me hen, I ken them a’

Nane will tell the tale sae bonnie

Nane will cry yer name sae weel

Nane will staun sae braw aside ye

Bide wi me hen, I ken them a’

Tak yir cast an wish for siller

Tak yir bairn an teach him richt

Tak yir life, flee laich and langer

Bide wi me hen, I ken it a’

Tak advisement gin ye want it

Tak the pad ye’ve cut yersel

Tak ma haun, I’m feart o naeb’dy

Bide wi me hen, I ken it a’

Ye’ve a heid abuin yir shudders

Ye’ve got een that ken the truth

Ye’ve the will tae mak things happen

Bide wi me, or gang awa’

poem no. 2 from my assessment

This one is based on a sketch by Leonardo Da Vinci

The Mind’s Eye

Flimsy as the ochre smear

on the page, wrestled from the earth

to give shape to the imagined.

Sturdy as the wooden frame

wrenched from the tree,

to hold the idea for a perfect, tense moment

Light as the inky sketch

of a man, perched like an anxious bird

on an unhinged swing.

Swept along on the canvas sail

of a mind that sees realities,

and dreams through other eyes.  

Poems from my latest assessment

This poem is inspired by a photo of Barbara Hepworth in her studio (no implication that she is any kind of a witch in person!)

The Secrets of Sculpture

‘Come in,’ she said, ‘or go out, all the same to me.’

Gnarled, witchy fingers grasping the frame,

she pursed her lips and smiled.

‘The stone was hewn from such as you,

Join me and live, or die.’

Tiny, like a red-capped finch,

furred as a brown bear,

she was the organic centre of the room.

Gouged from the softest chalk

and weathering all too soon.

I hovered, uncertain at the threshold,

eyes drawn to the door with no handle.

‘Where do we go from here?’ I asked.

Her wrinkled eyes darted to the stone,

‘Back where we came from.’  

Beware of the cat

I used to have a cat with a large personality and mildly homicidal tendencies.  This one's for Spike.

Beware of the cat
First, purge yourself of free will.
There is no rule book
but, seeing one, he would ignore it.
Don't attempt to take control, 
he will stare you down.

His hiss dictates
when meals are served.
when sleep can happen,
when doors will open.

And then, 
When you have lost all pride,
all sense of yourself,
and you are wholly subjugated,
he will crouch on the stairs,
in the fetid darkness,
and, stretching suddenly,
will catch your feet.

Grab the bannister
If you still hope to survive.

A poem about fireworks

I was working on this poem for my OU module but decided not to use it in the end.  It's inspired by a display on Lake Como.

The Trace of Fireworks

The sharp, percussive bark,

then the fading pitter-patter

retorts from the mountainside.

Lights spray the night

in coloured fountains,

shooting through the darkness.

In your worn, lacklustre face

I see the child at her first bonfire;

Shivering with expectation,

jaw hanging, eyes alight.

The flares reveal the path

as I take your hand and lead the way.  

Looking for inspiration

I think poetry is starting to get the better of me.  I've been reading lots and thinking in images but struggling to find the right kind of inspiration.  The next assignment for OU is a forty line poem on a theme of our choice.  I have been racking my brains for the right theme... sometimes it helps if they are a bit more prescriptive.  A free choice can trigger a lack of inspiration and a lot of thinking in circles.  The best thought I have so far is based on fireworks and frankly it's not looking too promising.  The picture is from our holiday last year on Lake Como.  We had a lovely apartment in Varenna and the night we arrived there was a festival of fireworks on the lake exactly opposite our balcony.   Just for background, every other holiday we have ever been on, we have been told by the locals, 'Oh you should have been here last week/next week for the festival/wine tasting/free food.'  or 'What a pity you're leaving just before the festival, etc.' (you get the picture).  On this occasion we not only arrived at the climax of the celebrations, but the fireworks were accompanied by a food festival at the lakeside where we jostled with the locals for freshly cooked food prepared by the women of the village.  A great night all round.  To be honest the photo doesn't even come close to doing the fireworks justice but it shows the barge from which they were launched.  It was anchored about 100 yards from shore.  We sat there for nearly half an hour with our jaws literally hanging open as we watched the display. It might not make the best poem but it truly was a beautiful night.

A stab at poetry

I'm experimenting with poetry at the moment for the Creative Writing course.  Not really my comfort zone so I've decided just to be brave and make a start.

Elemental

Fire

In stinging smoke the laughter drifts

and voices, lowered, take on riffs,

of evenings passed and shared,

by some.

Of friendships forged in heat of passion,

while lovers spurned,with faces ashen,

stumble sparkless through a life,

uncomfortably numb.

Air

Bass notes thrum beneath the surface,

beating rhythm rich with purpose.

The medium for music,

and drum.

Wings and whispers beat together,

stretching delicately feathered,

away from grounding

to the sun.

Earth

Grains composed of life decayed,

slip through gentle fingers splayed.

To sift for meaning and intent,

a crumb.

What anchors you to shifting sands?

The dampness, cold beneath your hands,

betrays the fear

to come.

Water

Waves susurrate through tumbled stones,

in waters filled with such unknowns

and tides will turn, their regularity

unsung.

Darkness slashes silken silver,

breaking free perhaps for ever.

The fish exploring new horizons,
is undone.