The enchantment of my days

The enchantment of my days 

I’ll raise a glass for poetry

shake a tambourine in praise

for the lift it gives my spirit

the enhancing of my days 

For the words arrayed so beautifully 

for euphony and sound 

for the rhythm and the rhyming 

that will make my pulses pound

I’ll rejoice in all the magic

conjured by the poet’s art 

in the verse that triggers laughter 

or knocks sadly at my heart 

In the memories of moments 

buried deep but only sleeping 

childhood hours in search of sticklebacks 

the shock of froglets leaping 

So if I wake despondent 

ravelled cares sleep failed to smooth

I’ll reach for bedside treasury 

and the laureate who soothes 

Or I’ll plunge into some Elliot 

Little Gidding, coffee spoons 

where I’m groping towards meaning 

diving deep and reading runes 

Yes I’ll sing a song for poetry

riff on saxophone in praise 

for the life-affirming loveliness 

the enchantment of my days 

2nd June 2020 Hounoux 

The tenderness of cuttings

The tenderness of cuttings 

There are days and days for wondering 
stretched ahead 
no end it seems in sight. 
Don’t try to specify 
the what or when or why
August perhaps? Or autumn, winter 
turning of the year? 
All dates and plans suspended, poised, un-diaried
peer though we might, not visible. 
And so it is the rose in bud
or last year’s geraniums pink as pink 
trailing in torrents abundant 
and yesterday’s treasure, lacy and cream
all over elderflower spread 
or ten minutes still and listening 
Is that the nightingale’s song?
The tenderness of cuttings, lavender and sage 
undrooped, 
and climbing beans, climbing 
tomatoes too up steely stakes
curling, installation art. 

And glad I am for poetry
for art in all its forms 
for somewhere to go when I’m wondering 
no end it seems in sight 
for a plan to place those pebbles 
round in a Fibonacci swirl
to dwell on the swoosh of the sea 
millenia, smoothing and soothing 
Beauty brimming  everywhere, priceless
and everywhere offered free. 

25th May 2020 Hounoux 

Summer in May

Summer in May 

After days of grey, white skies 

colourless, rain on the panes

dispiriting 

what joy instead for the orange and red 

poppies in splashes, grow where they will

for the blue in pots in troughs in tubs 

and all of the sky, the distant hills

for pinks and purples, peaches

roses in riot, sun after rain

birdsong and bees

west wind in the trees. 

There’s colour and movement and song in the dance 

kaléidoscope tumbles, patterns by chance 

and after the colourless rainy grey 

hurrah for the miracle come today 

for the joy and the hope now there’s summer in May.

May 21sr 2020 Hounoux 

Slowed to a walking pace.

Slowed to a walking pace

Had I chanced upon this film, or Netflix series 
grazing, and for want of other 
I would have jeered, the very premise 
preposterous, for heaven’s sake, whatever next
some fevered mind unleashed 
alien and unlikely as bug-eyed monsters 
green, with tentacles. 
Yet somehow now, not entirely sudden, but tiptoeing in at first 
- you had perhaps to be alert 
not dreaming of Brexit Day, nor flaunting cleverness 
not spouting lumps of Latin, when a COBRA meeting called 
yes, you had to be alert- 
for something big was coming 
silent as snow overnight, transforming 
smothering the Life Before, a blanket on the fire 
a giant’s hand to halt the traffic, hushing streets and squares 
behind closed doors, cribbed and confined 
corona rules applied, all human life locked down. 

In days the world reformed, stilled on its axis
slowed to a walking pace 
and hard it is to take this in 
to break old habits, stop the spin 
but here we are, astonished, premise preposterous 
no choice, no voice, a new world ordering
new rules new customs everywhere applied 
and some will fret for what is gone 
and some for what’s to come 
but nowhere there are answers 
mighty Google’s speechless, dumb.
So we sit in isolation
hold our breath collectively 
we reflect on what’s important 
and we pray it will survive 
in a world of transformation
stilled upon its axis
slowed to a walking pace. 

May 1st 2020 Hounoux 

Red letter day

Red letter day 

Lockdown days are groundhog
repetitious 
over again over again 
Monday to Sunday monotony
hard to distinguish, one from another 
no red letter days remain 
no change of scene, routine 
over again over again 
all colour leached, washed out
bleached
life become monochrome 

How precious then a call from a friend 
a virtual date for a coffee, high tea, apéros  
a birthday party by Zoom 
or WhatsApp chat 
baking together, biscuits or buns 
quizzes for fun, haikus and limericks 
artistic endeavours, challenges, cheer 
a call from a friend, lifting the gloom
via Zoom 
relieving the monochrome 
electric connections, sparkle and shine 
rainbows in a prism
sent down the line 
full spectrum flooding the monochrome the grey 
from out of the paintbox 
hurrah for the highlight
the floodlight 
red letter day 

April 21st 2020 Hounoux 

The merciful lee

The merciful lee

Three weeks now since I walked this way 
though it’s permitted, new world order 
from the front door, in the merciful lee
the house a bulwark, windbreak 
while the Marin howls and buffets 
damp from the east, persistent 
even the tallest, pine, acacia, 
bent to its caprice, ill-will. 
But here in the calm the sun is warming 
bright on the flags, Iris, goddess of the rainbow, 
her tall white stems tumbled in disarray 
with tulips too, yellow streaked red
Catalonia’s colours 
and an edge of heather, seriously pink presence 
after all these years, the once small twig 
confidently grown. 

And so the sun, the wind not battering 
light and bright, warm as summer 
focus on flowers in splashes. 
Inhale exhale smile in the moment
the merciful, lovely, lee.

April 7th 2020 Hounoux

The lockdown days

The lockdown days 

These are the days the lockdown days
Monday to Sunday muddled, unclear 
even the months conjoined
all dates significant and signposts, blending and blurred
timetables mostly suspended. 
And now instead there’s green or red 
doctors differentiating
graph upon graph, not flattening 
numbers that make us gasp
fearful progression, monstrous 
NHS staff, esteemed at last
doing their duty, brave 
and scientists experts enlisted, implored 
what must we do to be saved? 
Plus the numberless workers, suddenly key
as now we see
‘tis they keep the world’s wheels turning. 
Oh what can we do in Corona time
the contactless separate lockdown days
all of us waiting, suspended? 

Go with Joe Wicks, strive to stay fit
deep breaths and yoga, keep calm 
take up a challenge, paintbrush or dance 
clear out the loft or cellar? 
Garden for Britain battle those weeds 
in hope for the future, plant seeds? 

For these are the days, the lockdown days
does this virus come with a warning? 
When all of the world is turned on its head
and systems of value, shattered, dead
maybe time for a rethink, shake-up, wake-up
time to review, re-evaluate
reflect on what’s precious, held dear
what’s prized beyond rubies and gold. 
As we long for the touch and the comfort of love 
and in hope for the future, plant seeds. 

3rd April, locked down in Hounoux.