Beyond

A poem written tonight whilst waiting to go to the bramley firework display...



Beyond

Bursts of colour dancing across night sky,
Flicks of paint
A smoky canvas, studded with lights
That burn defiantly through the years.
Young and old they gaze with joy
At the gunpowder kaleidoscope web
Seared in the mind
Long after it fades.
Some look up and question
What lies beyond
This world we know
Of tangible things, and intangible dreams
Home and fears and spinning hoops
Bitter lemons, candy floss
Joy and pain, love and loss
The endless ticking of the clock.
My eyes look only forward
Seeing not the sparks and whirls
But your pale face, illuminated,
Frozen with wonder,
Your warm breath traced
On the autumn air.
Mittens and hat and that
Old ragged bear
Clasped securely under your arm
And I wish I could live this night
through your eyes
To look and see beyond
the stars, past today
For certain, and for sure
Through a less battle scarred lens
To know, to feel
The possibility of something more.

NOVIOMAGUS REGINORUM

The most recent Leeds Savages writing session had the rather improbable topic of 'Chichester Fortescue'...!  Wikipedia informed me that the Right Honorable Mr Fortescue was actually a 19th century politician, but this didn't exact inspire me, so I instead wrote a short poem which is arguably 50% on topic given that it's based on growing up in Chichester.

Unfortunately tonsil troubles meant that I didn't get to hear any of my fellow Savages efforts to tackle the topic, but am hoping that some might have found their way onto the forum at www.leedssavage.com  as it never fails to amaze me how such a broad range of works springs out of each topic. There are some truly talented people in the group (definitely not including myself in this category - would instead define myself as 'rusty!') so it's definitely worth checking out the website. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll add it to your favourites....

Now, on to the rhyming.....!

NOVIOMAGUS REGINORUM

 

We often felt this was no place to be young

A haven for the blue rinsed but no hotbed of fun

We didn’t care for the long dead Romans

Their renowned walls and their feted gates

All we longed for was a bit of excitement

To travel on roads which were far less straight.

 

Not a second glance as we danced past the Arundel tomb

Upon which Larkin mused about love

To the choir stalls where we’d gossip and scheme

With little thought for the big man above.

 

Outside we’d congregate around the Cross

Where for 500 years our forebears had been meeting

Little did we appreciate the yet unrevealed truth

That the freedom of youth would be fleeting.

 

We’d bemoan the fact that there was nowhere to go

Unless tearooms and charity shops were your style

The nearest nightclub was a tipsy bus ride away

The nearest multiplex many a mile.

 

Most of us never grew into the ill-fitting

blazers bought to serve 5 years of school

Hitched our skirts bum-cheek high in an attempt to project

The slightest semblance of cool.

 

And most of our days were idyllic

Though at the time we hadn’t a clue

How precious were happiness, health, the freedom to build

The very foundations of You.

 

Until dark times taught us that the cards we are dealt

Are not always the ones we’d choose

Reality sets in and childhood is cast

Away like yesterday’s news;

In that time, in that place, in the history we made

We learned that life is built from light and shade.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Being not at all cool at least a decade ago....

 

'Call my Bluff'

The theme of this week's writing group was 'Bluff'. Unfortunately I won't be attending the actual meeting due to the ravages of what seems to be the world's most persistent cold, however I did manage to put together a quick little poem on the topic...

CALL MY BLUFF

When I told you that I didn’t care
I was really just calling your bluff
You should know by now what we guys are like
When it comes to love and all that stuff
Sometimes it seems like a weakness
To admit to falling so hard
For once that truth has been laid bare
You’ve dealt your final card
Far better to act a bit nonchalant
Far wiser to play it cool
Follow your head instead of your heart
And you’ll never be anyone’s fool
So that’s why I pretended not to notice
When you flicked your hair in that way
Why I tried not to rise to the challenge of
Those seductive games you’d play
When you suggested we talk about ‘feelings’
I’d rather stick on Match of the Day
Preferred to focus on 22 men in short shorts
Than face up to what you might have to say
When you questioned where I thought we were going
My shrugs didn’t give the slightest clue
That inside I was screaming, you need not question at all
That I’d go to the ends of the earth for you
So it’s no surprise that you tired of the silent approach
Weren't won over by my master plan
But I’ll never forget those last words as you walked out the door
Be less of a bloke - and more of a man
Now I wait in the hope that one day I'll find
That you were really just pretending
Tell me two can play the bluffing game
And raise me a happy ending

An Argument / Waiting for Spring

For the most recent writing group meetings I've been turning my pen to poetry. Here's my contributions for the themes 'Argument' and 'Waiting for Spring'; as ever all feedback very welcome...

AN ARGUMENT

Sage advice given to us long ago

By one of those ostensibly perfect pairs

“Never go to bed on an argument;” they said
“And if you’ve problems, be sure to share.
Now we’re here and there’s been not a sole angry word
No voices raised, certainly no punches thrown
But laid back to back a deafening silence reigns
Mere inches apart, yet completely alone.

The gentle murmurs of semi sleep
Your heartbeat keeping time
Slow and steady its constant pace
Next to the anxious race of mine.
And I wish I knew where your thoughts go each night
When the whirring cogs of your dreamtime are turning
Could creep into your skull and know once and for sure
Whether the flame I once lit is still burning.

No union is impenetrable
It’s not rare to grow apart
Yet how can we already have reached our end
When we’ve barely passed the start?
You just go through your routines; flannel, teeth, bed
Then slip taciturn under the sheet
Telling me all that I need to know
Through the distance of your heat.

We lived by the advice passed on years ago

By a seemingly perfect pair
But I wish we’d gone to bed on an argument
For at least there’d be some passion there.

WAITING FOR SPRING

One by one russet leaves fall

Cast away on autumns chill
Night consumes day; memories slip
Further and further from reach
And the sun barely tries - she knows her place
When arrogant winter cracks its whip
And I am still, anaesthetized
As frost dances over my skin
Numb is my natural state, these days
So long since I felt anything at all
That I revelled in the simple touch
Of a comfortingly familiar other
So long it seems since I lived a life led
By trusting heart not fearing head
Bathing in the light of those eyes
That used to bathe on me.

The certainty of the seasons has gone
Green shoots seem an impossible dream
How could anything possibly grow
When frost permeates so deep?
Yet through it all; the longest nights,
The challenge of the cruellest days
You are there, not even caring
If your promises fall on deaf ears
Fertile friendship grows stronger yet
In the darkest, most bleak of times    
Telling me there’s no point in dwelling
On that taken, but embracing the given
Whole world spread out, an infinite road
A new life to begin living
A once creative mind begins to stir
To awake from hibernation

And suddenly the clouds disperse
And I look to your smiles and it’s clear
I’ve spent so long waiting for spring
Yet summer’s already here.

Her Revolution

This week's Leeds Savages writing group task was to write something based around the topic 'Revolution'. This resulted in a wide variety of contributions from members covering everything from aeroplanes to plate spinning via spooky mirrors and slavery - certainly a broad spectrum of interpretations of the the subject!
This is my poetic contribution....


HER REVOLUTION


Her revolution began quietly
Small changes to the daily routine
Skimmed milk instead of cream
One sugar instead of two
Tiny acts of defiance, subtle
But he knew, oh yes he knew
The look on his face when he sipped his brew
The accusative tut as it swilled round the sink
Brow furrowed at the effort of making his own drink
He knew, oh yes he knew.

That accidental red sock
Those white shirts now pink
Oh what would the lads think?
After a hard day’s dallying he gratefully fell
Between fresh cotton sheets
For a night of pure hell
What caused the itching he never could tell
Bundling bedding into the alien washing machine
Bemoaning the effort to get the stuff clean
He knew, oh yes he knew.

Head pounding he awoke to
The thing he liked most
The smell of her best Sunday roast
From bed to table stumbled down where
He found no place was set
One fewer plate, one fewer chair
She did not need to look at him to picture
The frown as he reluctantly spread
Cheap jam on three day old bread
She knew, oh yes she knew.

She hadn’t needed to say a single word
But was sure that her job was done
After years as his slave she could finally see
A man in her thirty year old son
He knew, oh yes he knew
Had always known but
Not wished to believe true
The lesson she’d finally imparted by stealth
If a job’s worth doing, then do it yourself.
He knew, oh yes he knew.

Writing.....

I didn't get the chance to write a Fridayflash short story last week but have just put the finishing touches to next week's contribution - watch out for the dreadful pun in the title!

In the meantime, here's a somewhat daft poem that I wrote for the most recent Leeds Writers Group meeting. The brief was to write a piece with a theme of Resurrection / Second Life. I think that this poem probably works best read out loud - imagine the narrator as a world weary woman of a certain age entering a new chapter in her life....



Resurrection

“It’s been a while”, she said, and sighed
“Since I walked down the aisle, a virgin bride
Full of hopes, and dreams, and wishes
Far more exotic than ironing and washing the dishes;
Darning his socks and cooking his tea
The original goddess of domesticity.
Dreams of adventure quickly faded with three mouths to feed
And yet, I was happy, he gave me all I could need
I felt like I’d found my vocation in life
I was born to be a mother, born to be a wife
He would always protect me, of that I had no fear
Until that day - that fateful day! - when he gave me gonorrhoea...

I’d been blind within my romantic bubble
Ignored the signs that the man was trouble
Those late nights at work, those anonymous calls
I never questioned his life beyond our four walls
My friends asked with disbelief ‘Did you not suspect a thing?
When he’d ‘accidentally’ leave the house without his wedding ring?
When he started dressing smartly, when he bought a new cologne
When you found a blonde hair in the wash you knew was not your own?’
In the bedroom there were no clues, I saw no changes in his habits
Although after several decades of marriage we weren’t at it like rabbits
The end, when it came, was swift as could be,
Infidelity I may have forgiven, but not that STD...

I climbed into the attic and retrieved from a case
That once loved confection of satin and lace
Ripped apart each and every yellowing thread
A sacrificial ritual for that marriage now dead
Oh, if I could turn the clock back twenty odd years
I could save that virgin bride a tsunami of tears
Yet I would not choose to have lived without this pain
For the greatest benefit of death is the chance to be born again
Yes, my husband’s blatant disregard for protection
Has led to this red-blooded woman’s resurrection
Out of the darkness shines a fierce burning light
And thanks to him, if I’m lucky, I’ll be on fire tonight....