Bread and Roses

Bread and Roses

In the grey and smudge of charcoal sunless sky

landscape sodden

though the wheat is green as spring amidst the dun

and standing water winks and shines

at such a time, and never  mind the worse than grey

the blackest black and red, the dread and horror

in spurts and spewing, 

so all our lives defiled, contamination's spread

still, if pen is put to paper

paint to canvas, palette knife with boldness, could it be

that something good survives,

in such a soil inimical, could thrive

become a poppy, field of poppies, Owen's Anthem

Guernica?

When the world is mired in winter, out of kilter, gone to hell

time to fight for bread and roses

put the pen to poetry

fill our hearts as well as bodies

all together stitch the banner, craft pink hats in sisterhood

light one candle, light a million

hold them high and let them shine.

March 24th, Hounoux and Wells, for my Arty-Farty sisters with love

Perfection replicated

Perfection replicated 

We set off walking cold and clear, all muffled, 
scarves as masks
mid afternoon but little doubt the sun was dropping 
inch by inch and lighting in its path the crests,
the snaggled  teeth of giants turning peach to coral
then beaten copper glow- and lo! 
The  gorgeous spectacle, crepuscular 
twilight's alpine glow. 

And where the lake is curved we stopped to wonder
as it doubled, symmetry 
for pinks were in the water, and aqua, navy blue
all along the rocky range, a panorama left to right
perfection, replicated. 

January 2nd 2017, Hounoux 

Autumn's an artist

Autumn's an artist

All along the verges grasses glow
tufts unruly, blazing
in orange and yellow golden gilt 
on such a day the world's caught fire
as Autumn with her palette strides
scarlet, amber, gold
and splash and spray and daub and drip
the colours flung
till trees and bushes, vines in fields
and all the landscape zings.

Autumn's an artist, red-haired, ripe
drunk on the day's bright beauty
lovely and lush
drip of the brush
now all of the world's on fire. 

24th November 2016, Hounoux  

An egg, a seed, a pearl

An egg, a seed, a pearl

Like an egg waiting, secret in its nest
or a seed un-sprung, a pearl
glowing between the oyster shells
so the posted poems
hidden treasure in the Moleskines
pocket size, within the box, after box
all over Exmoor as walkers passed
paused and looked and thought
chewing the pencil's end
some to rhyme with simple schemes
some to fly more free
then left behind their verse, a memory of cloud and sky 
of rock and moor, that day
stoppered in a bottle, the perfume of that day
perfectly in miniature
an egg, a seed, a pearl

 7th November 2016, Hounoux

(ref the Poetry Box project, when over a three year period many boxes were placed all over Exmoor containing notebooks in which passers by might draw or write a poem.)

Clare's vision

Clare's vision

Look! you said, look there
pointing, where in a line curved east to west across the sky
with steady beating wings, you counted four, then nine, now twelve
east to west across the sky, a flight of eagles
shadow show against the light, the bright and luminous
numinous it somehow seemed,  to make the neck hairs rise
that glorious Autumn day

28th October, Hounoux, for Clare with love

 

Dawn after the night crossing

Dawn after the night crossing 

The moon in the west's still high

exceptionally bright, two days past full

and in the east long clouds are washed in pink and peach

as creeping through the spectrum, orange, gold

the sun now rising, summons 

this new day. 

24th July 2016, passing through Normandy. 

Hoping we'd remain

Hoping we'd remain

The night was proper June at last, balmy

the sun still high, blue sky

swifts wheeled squealing.

I made a fan, creasing the paper place mat

for a small current of air. So still the night unbreathing,

the month's moon full for solstice, midsummer

and in France la fête de la musique

songs in the street

friends in English, German, French, Rumanian

hoping we'd  remain, part of the project

imperfect, but surely people of Britain, you of good heart

tolerant historically, and still, 

a vision to aspire to

ideals to make us proud? 

June 22nd 2016, Hounoux