Running in the slow lane
When we place our feet upon the shore
We hardly know what’s there
From recent falls and lowest tides
Devonian fossils shared.
Actually this fossil I now believe to be a bit earlier than Triassic – a Devonian brachiopod 409 million years ! So changed one word to fit in the poem !
The rides thinned and lightened;
The majesty of trees revealed
Arched in height and statuesque form
Devoid of weight from summer’s clothing;
Below, the forest floor
Carpeted with native daffodils and wood anemones bestowed
A reverential cathedral
A hallowed place
Punctuated by choral notes
Of the river as it tumbles
From the moor to the sea.
Twenty four hours
Four-seasoned elements
Wrestle with
Banks of heavy cloud
Traction a different rhythm
Of snow flurries that sweep across
Bent rows of daffodils;
A north wind pummels
The naked branches of the ash;
Winter defies with its iron claw
And blossom falls from plum and thorn;
The buzzard swoops low over the fields in a whitish haze
And disappears from view;
And the clouds- their anvil edge of farrier’s steel- glinting
Through spring warmth
A fleeting sun
And wind abating
Before song birds retreat to the hedge
And hail is released with orchestral precision,
Beating a syncopated rhythm
That dances on the stars of the celandines.
Celestial light
Cast on surging seas
From heaven sent.
Drawn am I to childhood haunts,
Memories of country dance on the lawns,
Long afternoons on the sand.
Nets and shrimps and boiling them in someone’s holiday kitchen by the sea;
We went with people we hardly knew back then;
Days were long and carefree;
How many times have I walked that smart promenade and ,tired and hot, climbed the steep steps to the cliff path?
Just that the grassy path has gone-
Fallen to the sea
And the gardens we walked behind- which always smelt of fermenting grass clippings-
Now tumble over the edge
Of the Jurassic coast-
The compost heaps long gone;
The coast has a fancy name
Fossils drop when the gardens slide.
Now we turn left at the top
And Granny and Grandad’s cottage (one row back) are now on the official route- the path goes up their lane;
The breathless walk by Grandad out to his favourite view has shortened-
He’d like that!
We always wished they had one of the houses opposite with the sea view,
But now those have shrinking gardens
And will one day be condemned;
Yet Marley Cottage
Is just the same-
Black paintwork and wonky tiles,
And Granny’s kitchen garden built into the bank at the back
By the wooden gate,still there;
The lawn is still square but
Without Grandad’s stripes;
How I loved to watch him roll the hand mower back and forth
And bounce on the red space- hopper
Up and down like a horse in the Grand National
Did they ever dream like I do?
Memories that take me back
Like yesterday
And pull me
To the little town by the sea
With emotion so strong that it scares me- a sense that I belong
Even though I never lived there
Just holidays till I was 8.
Tonight maybe two stars will shine
More brightly than before
Singing will be heard on the threads
Of the heavens
Fifty nine years together
and now an anniversary sealed for the first time
In twenty five
Two lives who touched so many
On their earthly journey
Forever remembered
Together for eternity.
Joy just thinking
Of celestial celebration
Of angelic chorus
Where time and space is perfect
Unrestricted and free.
Rivulets of light
Snaked lines
Like a delta fan
Shimmer on the surface
Of golden sand
Like pockets of elvers
In constant motion
Changing pattens
Playing in the morning light.
It began with a journey to start with. A cold wind blows from the moors,signals The approach of rain. A season which stops and starts- I travel;but to nowhere really. After a death there’s not much left- We’re spent.Locked down,there’s more disquiet there. Still,the season tries to turn, Held back:I’m holding back. Someone once spoke,’It’s ordained,there is one entrance to life,but many exits.’I’ve seen a few. Many stories;my story. Other lives and mine entwined as We journey together. Pilgrimage sharpens the mind.The focus is inward,a self assessment of Who I am,procurement of what I really need, not what I think I do. When stripped of all we have,there’s almost Nothing left. We’re rather visible, translucent with a paper-thin exterior -God knows. Whichever route we choose- The Camino de Santiago or staycation at home,change comes. Renewal builds energy and strengthens relationships,defining Who we are to be. Have I seen saints along the way? Do you see them?The coffee seller yesterday spoke of lamentations and moving on.A doorstop interchange. Snatched conversations with people are more open-a simpler life, Purer somehow and less tied up, hindered by stereotype or lack of Expectation. Clocks spring forward. I move forward with the Ressurection journey too. Awakened and fresh, renewed with poignancy and vigour- immediacey.It needs to be; we have one life,and to Live it to the full is what draws us home.
A ribbon
Soft ambient glows
Lighting the cloud
Diffused spectre of white
Nonchalant this early morning
Purple the sky
With a sudden radiance shines forth
In regal magnificence and fullnes
This golden orb
A stately entrance makes
Transforming from pale cream
To burnished bronze
A wisp of cloud forming a smile across
The perfect face
Taking the stage
A jewel in the sky
But she cannot stay
Her time has come
She descends in silence
Fading
All energy gone
A shadow of her former self
And slips from view
Over the moorland ridge.
Pleased that this poem was selected by the Ekphrastic Review for Sophie Tuaeber ARP.
Life’s juxtaposition,
A lack of alignment
Sometimes we move in concentric circles
Following circadian rhythm,
Or randomly staking position;
Do we strive to find common ground
Security in similarity
Or defined by individuality?
Free radicles are we who find our way
Through choice;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
The drops which slip with random lines
Down the glass.
I move through rooms
Like chess in play
I compose a thought
And find a path.
Ruth Partridge