So long awake on Christmas morn

So long awake on Christmas morn

So long awake on Christmas morn
Alone, the clock slow ticking
Till sweet relief, her joy
His happy chorus hearing
Hello Lily! Delighted in his cot
Now grandparents too
Ready to share the magic
Stockings lumpy bulging
Ditto pillow cases full
So many gifts so many
Loving them, blessed children
Family’s soul and heart
Now watch his wonder
Battery-powered (though not of course supplied)
The tiny train in figure eight
Or fire engine accessorised with sirens
And with lights
While Lily’s cool our tweenage girl
With gadgetry and games
And special gifts her father chose
The parents’ joy is rooted here
A happy Christmas created
Hand-me-down and honed
Through time and generations
Stir in The Snowman on the box
And candlelit from Kings, the carols
Too much drinking, wine in hamper
Delicious sent from family abroad, missing
Dan and Hayley, little Zach
Too many years not here
Toasting us far distant under summer skies
While Granny tearful, grieves for them
And ham on toast tradition
Brings to mind her dearest dad
So many gone or absent
But grateful, glad for what they have
A family together
Warmth and homes
Enough for all their needs
The lucky ones, the fortunate
This year’s Christmas morn

27th December 2009, Walburton nr Arundel, for Dan

Following that Star

Following that Star

One man takes a journey
On a plane, Christmas day
Bound for Detroit
Though looking back later
We will trace his path
From Nigeria to London
Picking up allegiance to Liverpool F.C
And three others like him
Young, return home to midwinter Wiltshire
In coffins, union flag draped
Slow processing through the silent crowd
Solemn in the grey rain
There are clues, Hansel’s breadcrumbs
On microchips and databases
Dropped across the globe
The journeys, life to death
Are traceable and plotted
Clear as day, black as night
As the pace -of -camel plod across the desert
The Christmas Magi made
Guided or misguided, following that star
How powerful the push and pull
The call to arms
Glad sacrifice of life and limb
And all love’s wondrous possibility
Reduced to but a single thought
Death carried in a cunning form
Cleverly on a plane
Oh we may track geography
With GPS and such
But how you get from God of love
(He’s clearly there in gospels and Koran)
To lust for mass destruction
Self seen in glorious vision
Bringing Armageddon home
Now that’s a harder route to plot
Not evidently straightforward
A to bloody B
So is the Devil in there
Tempting man to do his worst
Or is our planet godless
Guided/misguided/unguided
And this Christmas
What of love?

29th December 2009, Brighton

The Magic Box

I will put in my box
Your father’s voice, glad tidings!
Almond eyes blinking at the world
Carcassonne shimmering in high August heat
Lilies and roses your dad, so grateful, gave your mum
I will put in the box
Sweet angel baby, quiet star
At wedding celebration
Two families smiling, happy to meet you
Asleep peaceful, rocked by Grandy
Or by Texan Chuck
Your delighted ‘Gwanny-Gwandy!’
As you learned to walk and talk
To laugh and dance
In Hounoux southern sun

I will put in my box
The little girl, pigtails, si mignonne
Beloved in two languages
Your declaration of love
‘Same like the rabbit granny’
Up to the moon, bright star
I will put in my box
Bravery on Mirapoix pony,
Swimming in Montbel, wobbling on your bike,
And when mummy had to go
Both of you sad to be apart
I will put in my box
Story time, Grandy always your choice
(But I do love you Granny...)
Bath time, morning in bed time,
Let’s pretend, me the mummy
Bear, you the cub
Endless make believe in your head
With songs and facts historical
Geography of France

And the walls will be made of
Your Lily gift, to make friends
Keep friends, to calm and mediate
With in each corner the light
You brought into our world
And all of it wrapped in the dear
Love you inspired us all to feel

The Bubbles on the Tree

He’s two years old
And while he sleeps
Excitement-wearied, in the afternoon
Some magic is afoot
His parents dress the Christmas tree
To glow and sparkle
Glass baubles, white lights
In careful garlanding
Now see the wonder in his eyes
Reflections dancing there
His cry delighted -
Look that mummy- oh-
The bubbles on the tree!

We’ll hang the moment
Magical, with others just as bright
Like parents tearful
Both sides of the world
Seeing Santa with their child
Adults conspiring set on make–believe
Annual re-creation
Of remembered Christmas past
They shine and shimmer
Lit again, a million frosty stars

12th August 2009, on autoroute to Dieppe

The Better Angels

The Better Angels
Copenhagen

Bright baubles dancing on a thread
Translucent in suspense
Each one capturing a light
Floating fragile as soap bubbles
Bursting from the pipe
A child’s breath held within
Or glassy shimmering of frost flowers
Winter’s poignant art
Figurative

So Lincoln’s lovely words, summoning
The better angels of our nature
Strung in hope, Tibetan prayer flags
Across the world in newsprint
A wish, a plea
To those portentous gathered
In Copenhagen, two hundred
Suited, serious, saviours of the planet
And will they hear the poetry
And see the vision there
Floating fragile
This moment this time, just
Within our grasp?

December 8th 2009, Hounoux

Dad

Dad

Tomorrow Dad

The sixth birthday

Marked only by December flowers

Left to shiver

On your small plot, with tears

You the constant gardener

Who expected little

But gratefully received

One certain style of pipe

Gold Block tobacco

In pleasing golden tin

Slippers with an outdoor sole

A gardening tool

And music music music

Then- was it for your eightieth?-

New system and a headset

Where you could go to dream

I miss you still

My perfect model

How-to-be a dad

Memory not dimmed

But no more rosy than the truth

Just one more thing you've taught me

With physics self-belief and maths

For you and me there's Afterlife

Love still beyond the grave

1st December 2009, Flight Toulouse-Gatwick. I.M George Mc Donald 02/12/1914-22/08/2004

A net to catch the moonlight

A net to catch the moonlight

I'm boarding in a panic

Pen-less

How then store them

The words, pour them

Jostling restless

Infants in a line

Impatient for the freedom bell

Here's woe on woe, serious static

Interference in the air

Two languages, no sense

Babbled gabbled Gate 35

In France, no chance

The line the crocodile

The queuing orderly

So fly the words

The twilight starling sky

Hay seeds and dandelion clocks

A rain of parachutes

Minute

Sycamores in random reel

On helicopter blades

And some will fall

And some will float

Or vanish in the air

A net to catch the moonlight

A rainbow in a jar

Storm captured in a rainstick

A poem on a plane

December 1st 2009, flight Toulouse-Gatwick

The Truth of Beauty

Sometimes a thing sudden
Out of nowhere
Will knock you breathless
Stop you dead, shaken
The water pooling in your eyes
Ready to brim and spill
Say the moon in the window
Floating filling the frame
The lime white clean white
Reaching limbs
Of plane trees lined up
Against that gentian sky,
Terracotta stone with brick, creams and pink
Irregular in patches
Rubbed and weather-worn
Solid stood for centuries
Golden fish with gills translucent
Curving winding
Blowing bubbles
Matisse women ecstatic
Ever given to the dance
And oh! Hepworth's polished precious child!
Or that soprano soaring
Crystal sweet sublime
Smell of cinnamon/ vanilla
Taste of perfect William pear

Some things sudden
Out of nowhere
Grab you by your collar
Pick you up and shake you
Jolt
Out of the daily the passing of hours
The stock and the regular
Not even clocked
A burst of beauty
Stand-out extraordinary
Message and portent
The signal is strong
It’s truth and it’s other
Transcendent, transforming
It shines in the drabness
Hits on the heart
Bang
Do you wonder we cry?

29th November 2009, Hounoux

England's Glory

England’s Glory

Don’t ask me to
Puff out my chest
And wave the union flag
To paint my face
With red and white
To swell with pride
At monstrous words
In mawkish Hope and Glory
What then, forget Iraq?
Or strutting Blair o’erweening
Or all the way to colonies
To slaving ships
And white god, tinkling teacups
Genteel lawns and vicars
Iron fist revealed concealed
In velvet bloody gauntlet?
Patriotic Daily Mail
I spit on you
Despising
The most I’ll manage
If we must
Delight, albeit tempered
Disbelieving
When national team
Our boys in white
Fail to lose at cricket

But when we stamped
Across the globe
In name of God and monarch
One legacy we left behind
Our English tongue transplanted
And root it took
And shoot and branch
In tropic soil it ran amok
Interbreeding native stock
In hybrid glorious
Bastard forms
And though the French will try – in vain-
You can’t contain a language
Or water in a sieve
Convolvulus is obstinate
Its tendrils creep unseen
To thrive, survive and overrule
The wasteland’s Morning Glory

So glad I am
For native tongue
The accident of English
For euphony and harmony
For synonyms and antonyms
For accent dialect and burr
The richness, wealth and vigour
For false friends, puns
And slang and street
For imports exports world wide
Web communication
Poems, for specialist and general
For Queen’s, RP
And rapper’s binge
For daily neologism
Writ in letters, signed on hand
Cryptic in a crossword
Formed in the infant mouth
A mammana a boppata
We all adopt his terms
(And grieve for them, outgrown)
Fashion fad or ancient
Word, beloved of generations
Esoteric vocab
Exclusive to the few
Dog’s bollocks to the printer
Cat’s whiskers or pyjamas
Where does the bee locate his knees?
Or mother’s clapping hammer
A hundred phrases, idioms
A cornucopia and feast
Excessive manic splurge

So I will hymn
Eschewing pride
The language of my birth
The plethora and surplus
The joyous surfeit, glut
Extravagance exuberant
Mine by chance
Geography
Imbibed with mother’s milk
Democratic free for all
Beloved English tongue

22nd November 2009, autoroute to Narbonne

Wake-up call

Wake-up Call

This week two men came to stay
Plus one, of course, already here
Man’s work to be done
Involving shovels, mortar
Sand, breeze-block stacking
Loud voices and opinions
Mercifully not football
Spared Arsenal/ Man-U rows
And Chelsea, Liverpool and
All the inglorious rest
But need for stoking
Calories upon the plate
(Though I might call it tarte au chevre)
And constant brews
How fortunate there’s me indoors
To fly the female flag
My domain it seems
The kitchen, here I’m queen
Free to choose the menus
The hour for washing-up
Or other light domestic chores
And sometimes to essay
A contribution, verbal,
Of my own, or half at least
Before they interrupt
Snatch back the conch
Run the full pitch length
To touch it down
I’ve taken to flouncing
And sullenness, childish
Sad response
Just where would we be if
Germaine, the Pankhursts
The burners of bras
Hunger strikers, martyrs
Had burst into tears
Dissolving in petulant sulks?
Here where I am, seven days
Salutary
Thank god for the harridans
The strident the strong
Viragos and feminists
For solidarity with friends
For post-war birth date
The pill, women’s lib
Greenham, rights enshrined
Some attempts at least
At last at equality
Balance and redress
So easily tipped
Default position, masculine
Lesson learned this week
Wake up call

October 18th 2009, Hounoux

Sheherazade's Treasure

Scheherazade’s Treasure

Open your eyes, listen
It isn’t just me
The clamour is visible
Waving hello
Look there in the corner
Precious post-war toy,

One loving owner, careful

The butterfly stitched
By our son when a boy
The photos in albums, capturing the day
Child with a gap where her milk teeth had been
Chunk of her hair cropped
Remember, with scissors she found
The cushion embroidered
Tells of your mother, Derbyshire girl
Picking the wild flowers, here stitched with care
Or there, pride of place
The table’s a storyboard
Polished French oak
For gathering random, strangers and friends
And daily creating
Encounters and tales
Clicked in a photo
Painted in oils
Words in the guest book
See here, baby teeth
Stored in a box
Tooth fairy plunder
Twenty years old
Artefacts, relics, history’s clues
Tangible visible oral passed on
Scheherazade’s treasure
For thousands of nights
A subtext a chorus for backdrop for bliss
Everyday everywhere
Stories to tell

10th September 2009, Hounoux

Red

Red

I laughed out loud
In sheer delight
At turn of idle
Browsing page, listed under ‘red’
Exotic shock in desert dust
A pop-up flower show,
Carnation, poppy, fuchsia
Rose, cottage-garden pink
And then the paint box lifted lid
Inhale! Good enough to lick
Carmine crimson cramesy
Scarlet nacarat vermeil
All heady ruddy
Russet cherry
Apples berries fruits
The beaded bubbles
Claret Burgundy Bordeaux
Ruby on the lips, drips
Scarlet woman tempting Titian
Auburn henna hair
Or cinnabar and cardinal
Zinging in the south
Hot Tuscan earth the potter
Baked to terracotta clay
On burnt sienna hills
A happy chance, encountering
Pure serendipity
A catalogue proclaiming loud
The glory of the red

21st November 2009, Hounoux

So sings my soul

So sings my soul

Pan’s shadow trailing
Clouds or rustling winter leaves
Inner flame
Ineffable black hole
Or hard and shining shell
Caramel at core
Or tortoise carapace
Behind the eyes
Between the heartbeats
At touch of fingertips
Or lips, beneath the tongue
There where the atom splits
Or cells collide and fuse
In crystal drop from tearful duct
Or muscle creased to smile
Where synapse clicks, connects and fires
A diamond chain, bright linking
Thoughts to words, ideas to deeds
How, when no trace
No scent or sound
No hint or clue is left
Can man, however grand he grows
Discern his soul immortal?

17th November 2009, Hounoux

Love not eroded

Love not eroded

Whenever I look up
There, she sighed
Relief at last
Shall ye be
And so it is for thee and me
Your solidness a given
Certain
Your foot on spade
Your hands in soil
Fingernails in mourning
Your bulk to be a windbreak
A winter warming cave
And shelter, shade
A man for all the seasons
Beloved constancy

18th November, 2009, Hounoux, for A, of course, in gratitude

And what of god?

And what of god?

And what of god
Your childhood friend
Long ago sent packing?

So once again the much-tried

Cure, the self-help guide
With careful steps
Or packet mix repellent
But weight-loss guaranteed
And fast
The serious exercise regime
Row for your life
Breathe in, stay calm
Repeat this mantra daily
Above all keep the faith
Another glass of red?
Or mindless televisual
Crap, always a store
Saved, to be replayed
Numbing, hypnotic
Charm of babble and of noise
Prattle, a tale told
Neatly, sweetly
Organised to soothe
Imbibe ingest the drug
Of fiction and escape
Marian Keyes I
Swallow you, devour you
Or is that in reverse
Me, lost gone obliterated
In the pages and the verse?

And what of god
Your childhood friend
Long ago sent packing?

When all and none
Of the above
Will do the trick
Still the rats who gnaw
And bite, not pretty sight
Gruesome, reeking havoc
Then do you yearn
For mum and dad
For black and white TV
Before the F word everywhere
For good behaviour sure
To be rewarded
And are you tempted to your knees
Arthritic now and painful
To call upon him
Childhood friend
Long ago sent packing?

18th November 2009, Hounoux

Luca's Moons

Luca’s Moons

The sickle moon
Crescent, cheese-knife paring
Slivered from the whole
He bids me draw
And draw again
His eyes in O
Of wonderment
Another moon he cries!
It is his passion
His delight
On paper or on high
A ghost at noon
Or lit by night
Vast lantern shiny hung
He counts them left and right
Not one, but multiple
In his small world
The magic of the moons

November 14th 2009, Hounoux

Love

Love

Just the one word
Umbrella
Insufficient
For all the world
Its depth and breadth
From love of life and country
To child and friend and wife
For family pet and favourite food
For football team or colour red
Designer shoes by Jimmy Choo
Scent of grass or wood smoke fire
Remains of passion
Worn with age
Or current surging
Brand new lust
Imperative and must
All senses filled incontinent
From searing heat of fireball
To tender mother’s bliss
Kiss of newborn
Just the one word
Omnipotent
Love

8th November 2009, Brighton

Clear as Stars

Clear as Stars

You write
So poignantly
Clear as stars
Bright message
From eternity
Of love, life blood
Pulsing, of
Fire in the veins
A perfect pairing
Two halves made whole
Dire separation’s purest pain
Your taste forbidden fruit fantastical
Of heaven and of hell

You paint a passion
Sharpened steel
Stiletto slicing skin
Bleeding crimson
Drop by drop
Each other’s drug and need
Completion
Clear as stars
Bright message
From eternity
Of love

6th November 2009, Brighton, for J with love

Thoughts on Fry and Forster

Thoughts on Fry and Forster

Only connect, imperative
The writer's stout command
And by god, by Google
Twitter tweets and blogspots
Online digitally doors
Ever open, portals posted
Facebook friends texts twitched
From modern thumbs, rapid fire
Touch pad touch base
Click here befriend/ un-friend
Comment console critique and cry
Pluck a rabbit from a hat
Blow bubbles in a pipe
Something out of nothing
Chimera dazzles on the screen
All sorcery and sleight of hand
Flummery and froth
Puffed up, drummed up
Trending blasting down the lines
Plastic celebrity
Virtual or real?
Fickle-fingered fame
Thoughtless thumbs
Respect, man, respect
Engage brain before blog
Tread softly
Daydreams trashed in trample
Fragile under foot
Only connect, reflect
Handle with care

3rd November 2009, St Michael's Place, Brighton

Survival Guide

Survival Guide

I bought a book a life ago

To keep the wisdom in

Words to cherish, comfort, cheer

Provoke or soothe, my own

Anthology and treasure trove

Battered now and cover worn

From thirty years companionship

Trips abroad, in rucksack

Pocket, bag

Ever there, in India

Chennai's dust and shoreside sand

Recording lines from Gandhi

Rabindranath Tagore

Confucius, ancient and anon

Some thoughts

Found in a Bondi book store

Or engraved in stone

In Arlington, redolent of grief

Regret

A poem posted on a tube train

London underground, haiku emailed

From a friend, or Sidney Carter

Lord of the Dance

Guardian obituary page

Another etched in a Sussex graveyard

Or read at mother's passing/

Son's wedding/ world's welcome

For a sweet grandchild

I thank her now in retrospect

Elderly Quaker, name now gone

Who passed me her suggestion

Her emergency collection

A precious tome to rescue in event of fire

A book of wisdom, constant consolation

As faithful as a husband

Ever by my side

October 16th 2009, Hounoux

Friends' Meeting, November 1st

Friends' Meeting, November 1st

Wet Sunday

November skies weeping

For all the saints

Who from their labours rest

Day of the Dead,

All Hallows' Eve now done

Small fanged and ghostly

Creatures, sugar-rushed

Nauseous to bed

Tricks and treats dispensed

Pagan diary closed

Pending solstice hibernal

Lord of Misrule etc

December's bright enlighteners

Wet Sunday

Taxi and hobble

(Smack of ankle bone

Crack, crippling)

To Ship St Meeting

Friends in silence

Calm and quiet, balm dropping

Dew soothing soul

Like rain on desert

Dunes, the lilies shoot and bloom

Within this room

What where who?

Me, you, the promise

Quakers hold for truth

Attend to that of god

In everyone and everywhere

In stillness

Life's brief oasis

Seeker after peace

I do

November 1st 2009, Bagelman cafe, Ship St, Brighton, for Jude

O Tempora O Mores

O Tempora O Mores

Somewhere between the words
Never uttered
Entirely, so it seemed, taboo
For mother, born after
Cataclysm , men shot, shell-shocked
For cowardice,
Before uncovering, discovering
Of trauma, ego, stress
Before we were all worth it
And seeking of satisfaction
Valid as a lifetime pursuit
Self esteem to be nurtured
Not crushed and curbed
Children shushed
Out of sight
Between the stiffened,
Buttoned proud to be British
Upper lip
And the let go let loose
Confessional cathartic
Drop of a hat
Tell-all no holds barred
Love you the new telephone farewell
Kiss kiss the new hello
Just at that moment
Grey time, black and white time
Watershed children, we were born
Then firmly raised
Taught to be strong, show respect
Avoid bringing shame
But the times certainly – harmonica plaintive-
A-changing, see us now
Anachronisms all
Relics, curiosities
From a world this long time gone

28th September 2009 Hounoux

A Life

A Life

Looked at one way
It’s a game, throw the dice
How will they fall, befall
Random, no reason nor rhyme
But not all, for element of choice
Free will, have to admit
Here, there, crucially
Sometimes does have a part
To play
See it in review, backwards
Pattern emerging
There where this path
Person, partner, career
Fatherland, motherhood
Is chosen/ rejected, opting this way
Not that, road consequently
Not travelled
At the crossroads, full facts
Consequences unavailable to know
Just out of sight
Perhaps there’s a quagmire
Not oasis at all,
Land on a ladder or straight
Down the snake.
Throw the dice. How will they fall?
Perhaps they’ve been loaded
The odds stacked against you
Or fate’s on your side?
Call it a story, a sport, gambled chance
Sing in a poem, a song or a dance
Depict as a journey, high opera
Low budget froth,
In it to win it, or game for a laugh
Useless to wonder
Answers withheld
So whistle for comfort
Smack on a smile
One step, one day at a time, and
Right on down the road

13th September 2009, Grenoble

Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis

Day by day the world is shifting, turning
Tilt, sun now angled in the Autumn sky,
The annual miracle is under way
Earth begins its glorious transformation
First scarlet berries, ochre leaves
Claret and orange, burnt sienna vines
Thick the textures umber on the fields
Ploughed and furrowed, line by line
And all beneath a cornflower sky

Luminescent
As if the season’s artists
Commissioned perhaps
Had drunk too deep of the gathered grape
Heady, bibulous, tumbled in the harvest trucks
And swaggered, staggered, bold brush in hand
Brash, clashing, brazen palette mixed
To dress the landscape, Summer parched
Bleached pale, in richest velvet
Royal sumptuous robes
All subtlety eschewed
To sing full-throated song
Season exuberant
Over-indulged
Filling the senses
Sating and drowsing the land
Paean of praise for perfection
Loud and proud, October hymn

October 16th 2009, Hounoux

Life and Death

Life and Death

Still life
Quiet white
Curved and cupped
The rise of breasts
Lilting upward rounded
Mounds
Shadowed shades on woman’s form

Pale in death
La nature morte
Chinese robe for funeral wear
Shades of meaning
Casting shadows
Lopped the still and lifeless limbs
Frozen moment
Cold as cold
White on white the painting grows

Dip the brush
The telling line
Make the mark
Lay bare the tale
Silent wordless
Speaking volumes
Bloody blooms the scarlet blossom
White on white the painting grows

8th October 2009, Hounoux

Dot to Dot

Dot to Dot

Back then, times got hard,
Inner city, life not without its challenges
Dot to dot and colouring in
We said, half at least in jest
Morning break, desperate
Last cigarette or brown and tannin tea
Rubbed out, eradicated
Whiteboard clean
Naturally, before the clipboards came
With lists, humourless, to tick
Or not, lacking all sense
Of fun, or what it takes
Times get hard, to survive
Like crossword grids
And poetry
Dot to dot the joining up
Give me order, logic neat
Ah ha moment, penny
Dropped, ducks so soothing in a row
Puzzled solved
Chaos for a moment quelled
Sweet illusion, bring it on
Wipe the worktops
Shine the floor
Solve the mystery poet hid
Though anarchy in patience wait
Join the dots and colour in

October 11th 2009, Hounoux

Poet's footsteps

Poet’s footsteps

The poet’s art do I detect
To follow clues and then connect
Nose out scents, say madeleine
And smell the memory come again
To read the runes like vapour trails
Hear the secret song of whales
Watch the babe and see the man
Mine the future if you can
Search for breadcrumbs, pebbles mark
A hidden route through world gone dark
Or thread the pebbles on a chain
Spider’s web bejewelled with rain
In glass suspended rainbows dance
Weave with words the mystic trance
Love the language, make it sing
Create a necklace on a string
Pearls or teardrops let it shine
Leave it for a travellers’ sign
The poet’s footsteps careful fall
Lost world explorer for us all

October 3rd 2009, Hounoux

Slow Gardening

Slow Gardening

The gardener at Cormatin
One of three, his work among the formal beds
Smiled and spoke of what he loved
Described himself as slow
No speed was in his day
I heard the beauty in that word
Where some perhaps would frown
Tut in censure, bustle by
At least a hundred synonyms
Are listed here, like lazy
Dumb and dull, lagging, slack
Or plodding, dilatory, dense
Stagnant, tiresome, just plain late
The list is sluggish, snail-like, thick
A heavy-footed catalogue
Lumpen trails across the page
But speedy world, all rushing on
Some treasure may be missed
The loveliness in largo
Lingering andante lentissimo
The gift of time unhurried
The beauty of the slow

4th October 2009, Hounoux

Cormatin

Cormatin

A walk in the garden with friends
Formal French geometry
Clipped in hedges box and yew
Dug in diamonds curbed clean kempt
Ancient treasure here restored
And careful modern in the midst, permitted wildness
Grasses blow

At every turn a new delight
Autumn colours shimmer bright

Sun on water, ripples, geese
Crimson deckchair on the lawn
Look, secret wonder through the arch
A potager that brims and bursts
Sings and laughs and calls us in
An artist’s palette here deployed
To feast the senses, soothe the soul
Every shade and colour splashed
To clash and contrast, blend and match

At every turn in mellow light
A walk with friends for sheer delight

30th September 2009, Lys, Burgundy, for Sue and Di

Passing Nimes

Passing Nimes

The sun astonishing
Crimson filled the sky
Floating, hung on the horizon
Moment of suspense
As we sped by

A last lantern show
Shadow shapes of clouds crossing
Two in silhouette, fishermen
Slow punting on reddest lake
As we sped by

Then to right the west for miles
Suffused with tangerine and peach
Glowing, stark the hills in black
And left, the moon in splendour rose
As we sped by

1st October 2009, passing Nimes on the autoroute, en route home, for Jude who loves sunsets

Preserved

Preserved

There’s more to Autumn than melancholy
Mists, golden grove un-leaving
Grieving, chrysanthemums
Acrid, banked in the churchyard
The dying of the light
Swallows mustering for flight
Keats had it hymned to perfection
Mellow fruitfulness
His ode is humming
Turning, perfect burnished orb
Glowing, as I chop and stir
Preserving in the pan
Purples, deep reds, aubergine
Provender, jewels from the hedgerows
Tomato, elderberry, black fig
Bursting, bubbling
Vinegar, balsamic, soft brown sugar
Cardamom, all spice, ginger
Yes there’s more to Autumn than melancholy
Conserved, held fast in chutney, compote, jam
Jars stacked, stored against the coming cold
Magic gift and souvenir
Of Summer’s blessed and ripening sun

27th September, 2009, Hounoux

September Returning

September Returning

First thoughts, uneasy
Waking to the cloud
The mist of the morning
Enveloping the land
Probe if you must
But gently
For still it lies there
Where? Midriff high
I’d guess, beneath the low lintel
Of my human heart
Beating, old faithful
But muffled drums
Pressing, oppressing
No sudden movements
Sidle slowly, with care
Take first cup of tea
And cradle for warmth
Season for grieving, leaving
September returning
My Autumn is here

September 24th 2009, Hounoux, for my Encouragers and friends, with love

Memory-keeper

Memory-keeper

A memory-keeper I made
In blues and red and white
Embellished with shot-silk gold
For the moon like a sovereign,
Writing in stitches winding
Upwards, declaring my love
For the boy, his name on the train
On the tracks at the hem
Who one day will grope
Tiptoes, curious to see
The hidden in the pockets,
First dummy, shoe, white rabbit,
Poem, the book cousin wrote, full of love
A memory-keeper I made
His own museum piece
Recording his history, his small
As yet, life-line, his connection
To past, three generations back
For jogging of memories, remember
Do you, remember, when
The century was young
And love came to call
Knocked, entered, and stayed to grow
To laugh by the fireside
To settle, don’t go
For holding it down, bird under glass
Butterfly moments, pinned on the page
Fleeting, ephemeral
A kiss, infant hug
Enjoy all we can, for tomorrow
He’s fled, flown
Grown, leaving home,
Not sad, glad rejoicing at birth
New life ahead, I chose
Colours and cottons and shot-silk for moon
And I stitched
And embroidered a work full of love
In blues and red and white
A Memory-keeper I made

September 9th, 2009, en route for Grenoble, for Luca

A Summer Place

A Summer Place

This house has been full
Filled all summer long
In every room by night
The soft sounds of sleep
The need to creep
Hush do not disturb
In this room and that
The snuffle of babies
Who murmur in dreams
By day the kettle, the toaster
Popping and humming, the drum
Drum of the dryer, dishwasher
Clatter and chatter as meals are
Prepared, wine for the cook
For her helpers, all of us busy
Every chair brought to use
Crowded the table
The sofas and stools
Groupings on terraces
Under parasol shades
Baked in the sunshine
Cool in the pool
Or picking the produce
To chop for the plate
This house on the hill
Has spread out a welcome
To old friends and new
A party unending, evolving
In comings and goings, airport collections
Serendipity and chance
A movie, a story, a poem, a dance
The tale of a house
Brimming and blessed
With love and with laughter
All summer long

Hounoux, 22nd September 2009, well past midnight, for the 26 visitors

Had I the Gift

Had I the gift

Had I the gift
Of a wand or a wish
From the rub of a lamp
I’d wave and I’d wish
Oh how I would
With all of my will
And the might of the love
Of a lifetime for you
And for yours
That all would be well
And you would be well
Walking free, no more the cage
The illness and pain
No more the struggle
Defeated and worn
Leaden, despairing
Dragging your shackles
I’d wish you new life
In the uplands and sun
Had I the gift
The magic and power
For healing and mending
For making it right
Then all of my love
For all of your life
For ever and ever set free

21st September 2009, Hounoux, for my beloved H

Self-talk

Self-talk

Your challenge for today
( Should you choose, etcetera)
Is the raising of spirits
The lifting of hearts
Floating free blue skies
Unthinking, in search of
Pollyanna, still out there
Perhaps, seeing the positive
Chipper, with cheer
Come on, you can do it
The sun after all
Does have his hat on
It’s only a habit
Attending to dread
Probing at pain
Fearing the phone call
What if, suppose, you never know, give it a go
She was right, wise woman
With her all shall be, all
Manner of, all shall be well
( Bad-to-worse perhaps not inevitable?)
Still, old dogs,old habits
Inner prophet of doom
Refuses to lie down, quit,
Miserable hunched he sits
Heavy on the heart
Shortens the breath, leaden
Dread
Today’s blue skies, cloudless challenge
And tomorrow, should I choose

14th September, 2009, en route home from Grenoble

One Common Thread

One Common Thread

Another beautiful place
Another gathering arranged
French Alps this time, looming
How welcome the sun, the heat,
Swimming pool, balm after England’s
Summer, alas no show
Just six of us, glad to be met
Three who were girls
Once, long ago, together
Girls who had striven
Conscientious, best students
Frowning and fretting, with Molière
Racine, Latin translations
Set books, cramming quotations,
Scribbled the desperate hours
Clock-ticking in examination halls
Till moment in August dread envelope, then
Exultation- thank God!
Packed up, fussed over and finally
Farewell, tears shed, but hurrah
Could-not-wait, full of hope to be gone
All of us anxious yet cast-iron sure
That this was the hour, the place
Our time in the sun, new life beginning
What would it be ,for we three
Women of our time, Sixties
Beatles, the Pill, Women’s Lib
Sex just invented as Larkin would write

So first we found friends
Braver now, no more alone
Formative friendships
Founded then, forty years ago
And look at us now
Proof living of what happened next
Histories, lives shared
Of children, their children
Marriage and work
Countries and cultures, choices and fate
But one common thread
For six of us here, reunion
So glad to be met

10th September 2009, Grenoble, for Carol and Maureen, with love

Dialogue

Dialogue

Before you start let me make it clear
That of course I’ve grasped the basics
Even more, the details
Perhaps the full fat feminist
Issue, adipose tissue
That’s lurking underneath here
Lumpy globules subcutaneous lying
Adhering to bones, obscuring the line
Hanging in rolls, bursting free, breaking out
Inflating the form, the figure, swelling fingers and feet
Fatness, obesity, the naming of names
Truth out, let’s admit it, from plumpness of child
Never an asset, embraced as a friend
Only ever a stand-off, some years of ceasefire
Truce when the diets and fad foods were binned
But candidly staring
Glaring in the glass
The enemy’s within
The fight never done
Observe if you will the yo-yo, the see-saw effect
Call it curvy, voluptuous
Call it plain fat
Brace up, face up
Which will it be?
Time for a change, what do you say?
Long overdue, late in the day
But surely now, somehow, the hour
To be glad to be grateful, to decide
To be me

7th September, 2009, Hounoux

Be Brave My Friend

Be Brave My Friend

Courage, mon amie, my friend be brave
Though others may murmur
Grumble, berate
For what do they know?
Not one part or a fraction of all you have learned
A lifetime of service with people, with pain
Listening and loving, lightening their lives
Making a difference, gritting your teeth
Determined to help where others ignore
Fretting at problems, refusing defeat
For all whom you’ve touched
For children you’ve changed
Life chances enhanced, walking forward with hope
With all of their voices, voices now heard
I bid you remember
Be strong and stand firm
For you are their champion
Now let them be yours
Do not be beaten, keep your head high
Truth surely will out and be valued one day
We’re cheering you on, who love you the best
Wishing you courage, friend fearless and brave

8th September, 2009, Hounoux, for J B, with love

Luca, for Light

Luca, for Light

Two years ago this night
Three of us, your mother, your father
And I (chosen- what gift to be there!)
The clock having been watched
The careful minutes logged
Excitement mounting, yes, surely
This is it?
Rode in a taxi- five children he’d fathered
The driver, garrulous, an expert on our subject
Then up in the lift to a room with a view
As dusk began to creep
And sunset tinged the pier
Stark beauty in silhouette
Your father- soon to be/ impatient to be-
Took photographs for souvenirs
Not knowing yet that ever afterwards
At setting of sun on Brighton beach
He, like me, would live again
That moment, you coming,
Painfully on your way
All of us now intent in the room
Watching and listening
The struggle heroic, brutal
Your mother assailed, overwhelmed
Besieged on all sides
Tsunami of pain now flowing, crescendo,
Now ebbing, too soon again rising, ever again
Beyond what is reasonable, bearable, surely too much?
Could not, would not, should not be borne
Two of us helpless, willing you on
Till moment of climax (building to this)
The joy, the relief, and bliss of it all
Your sweet self delivered, and landed ashore
For three of us there, in shock and in awe
Lightning bolt smitten as love fell to earth
First of your subjects, yours to command
Lord of our hearts from moment of birth
I think we had dreamed you, Luca for light
Special delivery, two years ago, this night

4th September 2009, Hounoux and Brighton, for Luca

Life Drawing Class

Life Drawing Class

We gather in the garden
At Guilhounet, friends, artists
Too long dispersed, happily met

Life drawing class
Focus this morning, the female form
Backdrop, nature, fig leaves
( But all will be revealed )
So, boards clipped, 2B, 4B pointed and poised
Hold at arm’s length, concentrate
Squint, see the shape, proportion
Find the line, deep breath
Right brain, engage, take the plunge
Bravely we strive, draw what we see
The long the lean the angular frame
Neck curved, fine, strong line
The arch of a clichéd swan
Hip bone sharp as an elbow
Matisse figures, economy of mark, scarcely there, suggestion
Filling the page
She is still, firm, spare
Four babies carried but no trace left
No softness no roundness no blur
All clarity of line

And afterwards
Reviewing gaily, pale rosé poured
Eight of us, so long past youth’s first flush
Women of a certain age
Few sharp angles remaining
The plump and the curved most surely embraced
Our own celebration, exhibition, display
Henry Moore, Rubens, in flesh and in blood
Proud to be round to be slack to have lived
Focus this morning, the female form

Life drawing class

August 29th 2009, Hounoux, for the class mates

This is the table

This is the table

This is the table, palest oak
Crafted and polished in fairest art
That Simon made
This is the child with the golden glow
Carefree and bright in the summer sun
Who sets the table of palest oak
That Simon made
These are the garlands of passion flower
The lavender sprigs in simple show
Arranged by the woman so gentle and kind
To help the girl with the golden glow
Who sets the table of palest oak
That Simon made
This is the supper, special fare
Cooked by the man for all to share
Who loves the woman so gentle and kind
Who helps the girl with the golden glow
Who sets the table of palest oak
That Simon made
And this is the chair where usually sits
The baby who’s sleeping, giving some peace
For all of us gathered here tonight
Three generations, some from afar
With friends beloved, here for a while
Who once had a boy, inquisitive child
Dexterous always, eager to learn
A craftsman now, who loves the wood
The palest oak, all polished and fair
Designed and created, shipped to the sun
A work full of love, where love will be shared
By all of us here, gathered tonight
To talk and to eat, in the evening light
All of us seated, each in our place
Family, friends, at the polished board
Crafted, created, in fairest art

28th August 2009 Hounoux, for Simon Morris

Tree Frog

Tree Frog

Up the window pane it creeps
Sticky suction, tacky toes
The bright green frog who’d rather be
Other side, outside, leaping free
And who will see and who will care
And who will hear the silent grief
The flapping wing of frantic bird
Or butterfly indoors
A thousand moments of despair
No solace found and pain concealed
Between the lines, the words not said
The love forbidden, held in hush
In one bar rest, in stoic silence, comma, stop
In colon, dot and dash
Before the window’s opened wide
Emotions’ sweet release
An elegy, a symphony
A captive soaring free

August 26th 2009, Hounoux

Home Leave

Home Leave

And so dear friend
Silent, lost, these mournful months
No word, save only one
Informing not yet dead
Just captive currently
Caught between hell and
Love’s fierce firestorm blast
Alone, signal perilously weak
No space, no time, no will to speak
Beyond my call and stretch of fingertips
In exile self-imposed

Yet here you stand before me, miracle
Warm in the flesh and real
Embrace and tears
Home leave from the front line
An afternoon out of time
Connecting
Latest bulletin, headlines, best forecast
Not good
Talk of torment and torture
The worst yet to come
But still, for a moment in sunshine
With sipping of tea, the touching of fingertips
Be glad and rejoice, be consoled
In spite of it all- delight of it all!
Our friendship, sweet friendship endures

August 23rd 2009 Hounoux for J, with love

Lucy's Bible

Lucy’s Bible

Carefully she writes her name
Here in the printed space
Copperplate, pen dipping in inkwell
Tongue held between her teeth
And the date, 1906
For this is her Bible, precious
Willed to her, Morebath Parish girl
Three centuries before, with conditions:
Seven psalms to be learned
And does she ever, Lucy, take those psalms to heart
And, forward a decade tumultuous,
Does she rehearse them, recite them
For comfort in her darkest hour
World at war, nadir
Lifting her soul to the lord
Praying for safe return
For a life and love together
For three lives yet to come
Children, now unto the fourth generation
When the child of another time
Bequeathed a fraction, sweet dividing
Of Lucy’s lovely self
Opens the Bible and, reading, dreams
A dream of other times
And faces gone
Of life and love together
And dear lives yet to come

23rd August Hounoux, for Frances, the Dusk Swimmer, who gave me just enough time

A Story of Love

A story of love

It’s hot on our hill
Hot and humid as hell
On our hill
Hounoux, mid August
So daily we dip
Hourly we slip, grateful
For cool, splash of the pool
Even at night no breath no respite
All of us here, Brits in the sun
Baked dry as the land, parched, listless and limp
But these two are coping, feeling it chill
Taking it easy, better by far
Than Texan inferno, desert and drought
Glad to be here, taking the air
Breathing the landscape, the culture of France
A meeting of peoples
Colliding of lives, different lives
Sharing, respectful, across the divide
Old world and new, political clash, discord
Heated contention, right wing and left
But listen and watch
Expression and tone
Poetry reading, laughter and tears
Shared history and fears
Emotional, generous, opening of hearts
Two families meeting
Sharing, respectful, across the divide
A moment in time
Hot on the hill
Hounoux, mid August
A story of love

August 19th 2009, for Chuck and Kathryn with love

Serendipity

Serendipity

On the edge of the forest
In grandmother's picture-book garden
Cottage only lacking a thatch
Wild ponies enhancing the scene
The much-planned, fretted over, arranged, re-arranged
Wedding is taking place
His family not fractured flown across the globe
Lending a certain Aussie grit and wit and realism
To the production
Hers reunited after break-up
Breakdown, heart-break of her younger years
Reprising their roles from impossibly
Sunny and glamorous, now-fading
Photos in granny's frame
And so, although the sun, presence politely requested
Remains a determined no-show
And own home-grown best-beloved flower girl
Fails to learn to walk
Still, breathe out, smile, be glad on this day
For Lucy's plans and dreams are coming true
Played out, made real, this August day
So many here who wish them well
Who laugh and cry and hope the gods
The odds, this time, are on their side
That the moment miraculous
Youthful, call it sweet serendipity
L A bar, two girls stepping out
Tired after flight, three brothers mainly here for the beer
Cheap that night, that place
The others not chosen, the crossing of paths
Surely it's fate, a portent, a sign
Read backwards the story is clear
Has a plot and a plan, it's light
Summer reading, a feel-good romance
So let us hope, fingers crossed, say a prayer
Wish them luck and god-speed
As pristine page bright-white is turned
And forward as one they step
Onward in faith, ready to tell
Their brave and future tale

17th August 2009, Brighton, for Lucy and Craig

Affliction Addiction

Affliction Addiction

Just see how her head is fast stuck in a book
The shame of my childhood, reproach in a look
She's dreaming, absented, not with us at all
Not minding, not heeding her duty's loud call
Scar where, whilst reading, I walked into post
Wraith in my own life, a phantom, a ghost
I've come and I've gone as the years have ensued
Now present, now absent, my own solitude
The problem's compounding, becoming far worse
My head full of reading and writing of verse
Missing my train as I grope for a rhyme
Attending to metre and rhythm not time
Next I'll start muttering aloud in the street
Alarming small children and dogs whom I meet
St Joan heard her voices, they say she was mad
The clamour I hear is becoming so bad
Insistent the notions, the phrases, the words
That flap in my head like a swooping of birds
Demanding attention no matter what hour
Fireworks exploding in meteor shower
Perhaps it's a syndrome, an illness, I'm sick
A poem is forming, must seize it, be quick
Tomorrow's resolve: I'll return to my life
Be mother, grandmother, befriender and wife
I'll give it all up before matters get worse
Right after I set down this very last verse.....

14th August 2009 Brighton

So Farewell Harry Patch

So farewell Harry Patch

Where have the flowers, the flowers all gone
They sing at his passing, the Tommy now home
Passchendaele hell scorched deep in his brain
A century on, the squalor, the pain
The pals dead like cattle
The rapid guns' rattle
The bugles yet calling from sadness of shires
The shrill wailing shells, the mourning of choirs
No pity no mercy no purpose no gain
The millions of young men all slaughtered in vain
The fields gone to poppies
The poppies to wreaths
November skies weeping
Eternal flame keeping
His message persistent
The pity the shame
When will they ever, no never will learn
The flowers to young girls to young men all gone
Gone to the graveyards, the fathers the sons
So sing his farewell, let his long nightmare cease
Just one in a million, last Tommy at peace

August 13th 2009 Flight from Toulouse to Gatwick

The King of the Castle

King of the Castle

Hush now a baby’s asleep in our house
He’s captured the castle, we’re all in his thrall
His the agenda from cock crow ‘til dusk
The hour of reveille entirely his call
He’s brought his best books with him, sure we’ll provide
A lap for a story a cuddle a song
And bright from their pages, from childhood’s long gone
Come leaping the moments, the memories so strong
Lions in meadows, tigers at tea
Elephant with baby who never said please
The house built by Jack, with maiden forlorn
Caterpillar hungry for cup cake and cheese
The giant myopic who needed some specs
Remarkable diet, amazing Fat Cat
Cabin boy Tom and Nogbad the Bad
Burglar called Bill who cried ‘I will have THAT!’
I sing of the frogs who leapt in the pool
And monkeys excitable jumping on beds
Miss Polly with dolly so very sick sick
And brown paper wrapping for mending Jack’s head
Of Baby Beluga, white whale on the go
Beloved at bedtime for lulling to sleep
But singing of Chaplin and moon shining bright
I think of my mother, connections run deep
She sang as a child in the Devonshire lanes
Then passed to my children, who loved it the best
And now once again it’s heard in our house
Where a baby is sleeping. I smile, we are blessed

12th August 2009, Hounoux

Nurofen Nightmare

Nurofen Nightmare

The headache comes slowly
Shuffling in socks
Tiptoeing in, finger on lips
Furtively glancing
Then silently settles, brooding
To wait
Wait. Ah! Now is the moment
Time to expand, stretch limbs
Try a tentative tap
Now another, let’s make it a riff
Drag out the snare drum, the cymbal, high hat
Tappety tap, Fred Astaire with the shoes
Soft shoe shuffle hop step, syncopate
Accentuate, hip hop, raga and rap
Now lifting the tempo, Count Basie in swing
Chorus of trumpets in unison swing
Joyfully tapping in puddles and storm
Swing round the lampposts
In happy refrain, laughing and singing
Happy again
The thunderclouds building
Horizon pitch dark
Bring on the big guns
The cannons, why not
The climax is coming, the pulsing, the pounding
Carmina burana insistent drum thrumming

All the percussion in unison clashing, cymbals together merciless crashing
Napoleon’s armies in overture battle
1812 slaughter with bugles and cannon
Crescendo cacophony, enough now, enough!
Call ceasefire, surrender, raise the white flag
I’m routed, exhausted, head in my hands
Defeated, a prisoner, lock me in chains
Switch off the lights and muffle the drums
Whisper it softly, tiptoe as you go
Let there be mercy
Petition for peace

August 10th 2009 Hounoux

When I was a giant

When I was a giant

Once the whole of your sweet self
Wet from the bath
Would fit in the dip in the bowl of my lap
For a making-it-better or
Comfort of dreams
An Eskimo/ butterfly kiss
Sung in a lullaby
Swung from the stars
When I was a giant and you just a child
I wrestled with dragons and
Mended it all, the teddy’s burst stuffing
The tangles in hair
The friends who were vicious, neglectful, called names
I watched the horizon for trouble to come
With plasters and ointment
With warm winter coats
With warnings and counsel
With day-glo reflectors, inflated armbands

But now we are older
And you are the one
The tigress protecting her beautiful young
Fighting such battles
Heart brave but life-scarred
I weep when I hear you
And rail against fate
Now that you’re out in the jungle alone
Weep by the phone in impotent rage
Donning my giant boots, super-power cape
Sheathing my sword and preparing to stride
Swift over mountains, the thousands of leagues
To rescue my loved ones with flashing of blade
To scoop you up gently
And bring you back home
Fairy tale ending, a port in a storm
Where people are waiting who love you the best
With plasters and ointment, unlimited love
A wandful of wishes
The comfort of dreams

7th August 2009 Hounoux

La Nuit Blanche

La Nuit Blanche

The night was white and sleepless
Dreamless, though the lion
And his pride roared, growled, grumbled
In the thick black sky
Somewhere by now over Europe
Say Southern Grecian isles
A plane was on its way
Winking blinking on its way
Steadfast, freighted with the ones loved
Joining the dots, making the links
And in a winter Sydney office one man
Prayed his child was sleeping, wife was coping
(Though he knew that god was gone)
While a thousand miles apart, rain of England, heat of France
Two grandmothers held their breath and waited
Waited, for the dawn and love to come

6th August 2009, Hounoux