The chime of the clock And I’m back: The elegant hall,Portraits in ranked position,Hopscotch over the shapesIn the worn Persian rug(It was ancient even then);The smoke from the drawing room,Jovial military voices,Academic conversationThe silver, polished and ready, The sound of the gong;Seated promptly at tableStrict instruction given:The correct cutlery,Straight back,Arms off tableRoutine.Artefacts endure(Even the rug)TheContinue reading “The Chime of the Clock”
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They say animals have wisdom
The cat She has learnt:Take each day as it comes; Silently she sits and looks out From the sill, Serene and calmIn thought; Still the weather does not change She asks for the door She surveys, The wind on her fur,The dampness on a paw,Daintily she shakes it offAnd draws back inside, A repeated ritualContinue reading “They say animals have wisdom”
Tanka: Pack Cells with Joy
Pack your cells with joy Strip off all of winter’s slothEmbrace the new day Celebrate the patch of blue Breathe deep and embrace the light. Posted for Frank Tasonne’s Haika challenge
Interlude
Squall and bludgeoning relentBlackened end to winter’s clawNaked trees claim dignity Somber skies,some respite bring Birds loud, in haste,intensify As clouds reform on western fringeUnite a social call.
The lane in the roar of the Gale
Filigreed tips of naked branches StrainAgainst the roar of the gale;A solitary crow- in futile flight-Relinquishes its path Carried by the currentOn a different plane;Carrying the ghostlyConversations of ancient miners Who trudged this route In twilight hoursAs darkness and grey mist DescendDeep into the sunken laneWhere carpets of spongy moss creepOver sodden branches and roots;AndContinue reading “The lane in the roar of the Gale”
Who Really Knows Me?
Thoughts and entanglements from the limits of my mind Within in the cerebral cortex; Fissured and deepThe folded contoursThe map of my lifeIn laminar flow acrossHemispheres;Woven, those gossamer threads,Tangled wires of emotion,Beads Of thoughtWhich link us to placesLong buried;When awakened, theyResurface, fragmentedFrom the hidden depths.Each of us carriesThe map of our livesOn our skin InContinue reading “Who Really Knows Me?”
Estuary
I turned my face to the sweeping skyAnd the breeze drawn by the Eddying current;I traced the snaking curveOf the channel;I watched the light play onThe mirrored surfaces-Tiny rivulets spread like fingersIn the mud,As Sandpipers picked their way With bobbing heads;Their matchstick legs,Angular and straight;And beyond,a flock of avocets,Their curved beaksStabbing like needles;And wondered ifContinue reading “Estuary”
Saving the Slapton Line
The Slapton Line is a narrow stretch of the A379 road that connects Torcross to Dartmouth. It is unique in running beside the sea on one side ( Slapton Sands ) and Slapton Ley ( a large body of freshwater of important scientific interest) . Many of my poems are inspired from this beautiful beachContinue reading “Saving the Slapton Line”
Winter’s vice
An insurmountable deluge of rain,The dullest of days,The coldest windAs Earth,its struggle with winter In vice is held tight;Even the snowdrops theirHeads nod low,The ferns still resolutely furled, Fragile leaves languid curled Comatose from frozen state; All warmth squeezed out of These ancient stone wallsAnd dampness seeps.
Day to Night- from the Window
With stealth the darkness creepsAnd seals the dayWith hardly a difference of Day from night;Ink black rooksFrom their roost Take flight,Circle, then return to theSame bare branchesSilhouetted againstThe soot grey sky;Wintery sleetFalls;The cold seepsThrough every gap;Even the log fireStruggles in the grate; There is no wind Just empty blackness.
Ruth Partridge 