Once upon a March day

 

Fifteen orchestras she said

Fifteen orchestras she said 

Fifteen orchestras, she said 

in hell

the testament of a cellist, saved by her art

still, eighty years on, surviving 

the beauty of a Christmas rose, white hellebore 

in rocky winter bed

or convolvulus on a bombsite 

truth and beauty intertwined, prevailing 

life saved in the evil, the squalor 

in hell. 

27th January 2025 Hounoux . In honour of Anita Lasker. 

As the season flames

As the season flames 

The world outside, a picture in the window 

shines glorious golds, show-casing smears 

unpolished 

for nothing’s perfect. 

Spiders for example are moving in for autumn 

colonising on tip-toes 

then crafting daily webs 

now hung about with diamonds. 

And field mice too are everywhere in numbers 

dashing and darting 

tiny deceivers glimpsed then gone 

our home now theirs, apparently 

winter quarters chosen. 

October’s first cool nights 

and russets orange reds 

send signals loud as Morse 

It’s time to hunker 

as the season flames in dying fall 

unleaving 

loveliest imperfection. 

20th October 2024, Hounoux 

The Twelve

The twelve 

A whole week we had

so long anticipated, golden glowing 

on all our horizons, and now afterwards 

shining like a dream 

Hot sun, sea September warmed 

the shush and swoosh as shore breakers broke 

and curled and pulled away. 

We sat in the ten euro shade of our well-positioned parasol 

and gossiped endlessly, astonished by thongs laughing 

wriggled into swimsuits, braved the sea’s strong undertow 

for the loveliness of clear blue green. 

Alas for a silent jelly fish, and Michael sudden stung. 

Long days begun with a rendez-vous at 8, the early morning dip 

daily croissant shop, cycle rides and cliff side walks 

of tapas at Blau in the heat of midday ( padron peppers! Chipirones! ) 

Plus two greyer  days of Bridge and indoor games 

amongst the group always someone for a chat 

two Shirley curries, a Tucker quiz, who knew about  ditloids, 

brains well-teased, a trophy for Woznicas. 

As always memorable meals as the sun went down, fire on the water 

no golfers this year to pay our bill! 

And yet in spite of Covid unwelcome uninvited 

headache, sore throat and endless cough cough coughing 

Llafranc 2024, one whole week, stretches out in memory, laughter and thongs

Catalonia and tapas, the blessed company of friends, the twelve 

so long  anticipated. 

Blessings counted, blissful, this year’s magic on the Med. 

October 2nd 2024 Hounoux, for dear friends 

The Magic Box

The magic box 

 I will put in the box 

hot solstice night, full moon, fête de la musique

swifts wheeling and squealing 

Woznica’s dancing in the street 

2016, all of us hoping, surely, surely we’d remain 

I will put in the box

Alan in his DJ raising his baton and his eye-brows

Ros with accordion, Moulin Rouge 

the blessed cool of the church 

our voices echoing

So many summer garden gatherings 

Eileen’s pavlova, salads, tarts 

sunsets over châteaux 

Is that Penny on the phone? 

Hugo and Alan, the American Songbook 

tears and laughter 

Art and pottery, exhibitions, poetry and plays 

Cheryl behind a curtain helpless - as Clive and I got lost 

or ditto Jo and Alan, improving on our scripts 

the too-much drunken audience hysterical at le Stop 

living the dream in the sun and the south. 

I will put in my box a memory of lockdown 

how we helped each other through

the Friday quizzes, friends in London, Canada

Leo’s Aussie authors, quite unknown 

and always Andy, reluctant, dragged in by his wife

I will put in the box the annual excitement 

trip to the Costa for sun and sea, sangria 

Marek diving to search for a ring

the warmth of the water, the tapas in Calau 

the Japanese meal and the tab our new friends paid! 

My box has the scent of a parasol pine 

It’s decorated with Zinnias and purple sprouting, gifted by Mike 

inset with the silver songs of several shades of grey

for it is carved of love and friendships 

true friends who care and call when things go wrong 

found here in Léran and beyond 

a miracle of magic in our triple-locked carte vitale rose-golden years. 

19th August 2024, Hounoux 

Dancing raisins

 

Dancing raisins 

Sid sits with his grandad 

(Sid’s surely a fan) 

who’s patiently rebuilding his Rubik cube 

despite his disability ( he’s colour-blind) 

and we two septuagenarians smile 

for Sid is special, has a quirky way with words. 

He tells us of a classroom experiment entitled Dancing Raisins 

( something to do with gases we assume, though Sid’s not clear) 

but beautiful image, twenty seven children rapt, as the raisins after a brief pause 

rise, rise and begin their dance 

a rumba I’d like to think. 

Later Sid tells us that yesterday, when the fog was in the valley

in our house on the edge of a French hill

the clouds came into his room. 

I think of marshmallows floating and opportunities for bouncing 

or maybe dancing like raisins. 

Small moments , two grandparents listening 

Sid’s world of enchantment. 

29th July 2024 Hounoux, for the visiting Headeys 

The blue, the blue

 

The blue, the blue

What with the mauve-blue rosemary and lilac

bee-loud as Innisfree, wisteria in festoons 

all the hot sun day, blue day,

 sharp scented, sweet

you’d want to take a brush or pen

canvas, paper, paint 

squeezed tubes of blue in several shades, and gold

to gild and shine, 

to hug and hold the cloudless hour

the birdsong, dancing bees

art’s fixative

this perfect April day 

16th April 2024 Hounoux