Running in the slow lane
If all around the sphere
We call home seems to be
About to fall from the sky
And through shielded palms
Watch
We who fearful are
The ever changing tide
Will seek to overwhelm
All thought and reason
Yet if we stop awhile
And look above
A strength of blue defines
The stratosphere
Whilst blue is day
And sun is warmth
Hope comes from light
That light is love.
So shy are the doves
Cloud- soft and gently watchful
With bright beaded eyes.
Like gravel and rock
Scars on the land
The year is
Etched and engrained
Colour drained
Leeched away
The world in
Monochrome folds
Inwardly
Unrecognisable in
twelve long months
Hardly recognising itself in
Its present form
But resolute it is and stoic
As one huge oiled
Machine it slowly burgeons forth
And cogs start to turn
And with them white
to colour
Splashed here and there
And slowly, very slowly
It turns from monochrome.
Unfurling by Elisa Ang
Written for Pure Haiku www.purehaiku.wordpress.com
Unfurling Beyond the fernery The window blurred and marbled Mottled fungal spores. Blurred edged and seamless The frond plays with dappled light Dust motes are dancing. Kaleidoscopic Jewels and beads thread easily Stitched on cotton cloth. Tie-dyed in pastel Colours mix in gentle hues Hung outside to dry. Spring sunshine floods in Caress of soft natural form Timeless joy well spent .
Orginally written for the Earle Richardson Ekphrastic Review Writing Challenge:
https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-writing-challenges
My Foot in Theirs
Could these be footprints long hardened in rock ? I wondered as I stepped on the mound; The lives once defined in the sand- coloured clay, Hard spent under the glare of the sun. I closed my eye to imagine Striped cloth in line with regimental row, Determination and order: the strength of the women Upright and strong defining conformity Robed and stooped but not in submission, In dutiful bond Stepping in unison , labouring hard United in pose, in colour and creed Protective Protected? – a different question Unshod in slavery’s emblazoned position Cotton picking but singing forbidden, Irrespective of age, lives bought for a price; What when they’re gone Like imprints on sand, Slavery scrubbed out like a stain on the land? But the footprints were there, I’d seen them, I knew The contoured maps Of lives on their skin In the way that they moved in the toil that they did; Ashamed what the price of freedom meant I thought as I planted my foot in their place.
White disc in the sky
Marbled face like granite hewn
Elegance aligned
Balanced over moorland ridge
Personified by sunlight
In celestial orb unveil.
Contours slip from a world
Parallel and synchronised in beat
And motion
Their flight is straight
Suspended in the void
Half arrowed in formation
Skimming the rooftop
Near-grazing the slate
Mighty Hercules of the flight
Heavy with beat of the wing
No navigation aid to site
Still and blue
Their playground is
Driven on by diurnal force
Over the edge with
Complete precision
Tattooed wing
Charts the lives in their vision.
Snow- white she rises
Resplendent and poised
Queen of the heavens
Jewel of the sky.
Haloed and frosted
Silent and bold
Hunger moon known
By tribes long ago.
This ancient of spectres
Storm moon and Chaste
Known by our ancestors.
Ghost white and laced.
I am excited to tell you that thanks to all your interest and support, I have delved into publishing and had the courage to proceed .
This has been my journey over the past year, discovering how to use language to describe what I see and think.
I have been the English lead at school for years, encouraging generations of children to love language and to write, without actually writing anything more than the models I do for them. For the first time I have practised what I preach!
With no option but to walk and run locally during Lockdown One, I started to observe more and learnt to relish being out in the open , alone with time to think. Words come to me as I am running. I started to write them down and then they became the focus of my blog ( and the running not as much ). I rethought the intentions of my website and have really enjoyed blogging. It has been a hugely exciting journey and I have been amazed at how my poetry has been received.
My thanks go to all who have encouraged me on the way, especially to author, Jane Dougherty who gave me such a lot of support and advice on how to self- publish and Sheena McCready who has encouraged, shared interests , walks and friendship on this journey .
So here is the link to purchasing my new book : Running in the Slow Lane
Poems always start when I’m out running . Tonight I took this picture at 4km and the light was going – I ended up doing 9.5km and the last stretch up the ‘ thinking lane’ was in total darkness to our house on the ridge.
Darkness enveloped
Just primroses lit the way
Branches mirrored in blackened puddles
The v shaped valley defined
And the sharp siren of geese in flight
High above, the ridge
Fringed with the waning light
Nocturnal animals take their cue
I’m still running home.
Ruth Partridge