January 31st (I Think!)

wouldn’t you think
in this day and age
with all our technology
knowledge and monery
that we could make
each and every month
the exact same length?

and don’t quote me that
days of the month hath
this and that whatnottery
it’s no use to a brain
that’s a veritable sieve
and can’t remember one day
from anothery

 

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minute by minute

I paint brushstrokes on a grey sky
and sit and wait for a while
you never know what might fly by
minute by minute by avian mile

believe me, they do not deceive my eyes
these airborne birdies so versatile
in flight so gracious up on high
minute by minute my widening smile

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for RSPB Big Garden Birdwatch 27th – 29th January 2018

https://www.rspb.org.uk/get-involved/activities/birdwatch/?channel=paidsearch&gclid=CjwKCAiA47DTBRAUEiwA4luU2c9gFxBni0vbHypxXrVuY4yFCuroNVWrodC4uUdL3z8uuG1JJWhP4hoCwVAQAvD_BwE

home

all the while
back on Earth
people starve
poachers poach
the planet dies
and all for what?
to send Trump’s goons
to the moon?
or on to Mars?
we neglect our home
seek solutions out in space
but the grass will not be greener
in another
more remoter
otherworldly place

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Winter Holidays

turning circles
we tumbled laughing
watched Crossley’s men
sail out on ice yachts
their reddish-brown sails
incongruous
like butterfly wings
flapping in the frigid air

this snow clad
wedding cake landscape
of valleys and fells
high topped mountains
a whitened backdrop
to cut glass lines
here on our beloved lake
the Lake of the North

its deep dark waters
beneath our skates
and schoolboy pranks
the telling of tales
of Viking conquests
Nansen’s recent polar quest
the Fram wedged tight
exploring in a sailing sledge

but adventure was here
on these waters and shores
waiting for the right wind
to set Swallow’s sails
swooping over white waves
and home to warm Aleppo
leaving as a parting gift
a pair of Turkish slippers

Ice yacht and skaters on a frozen Lake Windermere, Cumbria, England during the Great Frost of 1895. My poem imagines a young Arthur Ransome, who was a schoolboy at the Old College in Bowness at the time, skating and taking in the action and scenery which would later inspire him to write one of the much loved Swallows and Amazons children’s books. ‘Winter Holiday’ was the 4th book in the famous series and was published in 1933.

Around the years of the Great Frost of 1895, Norwegian polar explorer Fridtjof Nansen made an attempt to reach the North Pole using the natural drift of the ice. When his purpose built ship The Fram became stuck in the ice he continued on by sailing sledge and skis. However, the southerly drift and shortage of food meant the trip had to be abandoned on 7 April 1895 and after observing that the way ahead was “a veritable chaos of iceblocks stretching as far as the horizon”.

The ‘Swallow’ children were in part based on the real life children of Ransome’s friends Dora (Collingwood) and Ernest Altounyan who in 1919 had moved to Aleppo in Syria where Ernest’s father had established an innovative hospital in the 1890’s. The children frequently visited the Lakes to see their English grandparents in Coniston and it was in 1928 that they met Arthur Ransome. Before returning to the Middle East the children gifted Ransome a pair of red Turkish slippers as a keepsake.

The image above is borrowed with thanks from a lantern slide in the collection of Stuart Jenkins, more of which can be viewed on the following link:

Ice Yacht on Windermere, 18th February 1895

InstaPoem – a silent contemplative walk through a Welsh village landscape.

I gallop like a horse
an odd sight I will admit
but the winter sun has warmed my spiritsPicMonkey Collage1past teasel heads and the old gate post
blue sky light
red dogwood stems all of a tangle
PicMonkey Collage2the winter garden rests
five tall poplars wear ivy leggings
green arrows point me south by southeast
PicMonkey Collage3to copper islands mapped out in lichens
where fungi sprouts from torn silage bail holesPicMonkey Collage4I come across a sheep stuck in wire fencing
released and thankful it contemplates me
but an empty belly needs fillingPicMonkey Collage5by the road some broken pink rubble
and graffiti in a bus shelter
taking care on the steep descent to the village below
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there is an upturned table in a front garden which makes for a sorry sight
as is this home wind power system
but the guardian at the door sits proud and alert
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some other words catch in my mane like drops of dew
Doombar and Pint
Grit and Salt
Sunday and Carvery
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the crossing by the school not in use
I wave to Santa waiting patiently down an alley
run my finger over carved inscriptions on tarred poles
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a familiar shadow greets me on the memorial
as my imaginary horse gallops off down the old railway tracks
frightened I think of the coming water jump
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and on to this field for budding heroes
or a blackbird cautiously walking the line
rolling without steam
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the people of the world communicate their anger and frustration
with love it seems
on public surfaces
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I hear the silent crack of a branch breaking in a storm
water flowing under an arch of trees
I open the gate here -> but the directions are just a joke
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here the dead miners sleep under coal black headstones
their old terrace houses have coal bunkers and outside toilets
my illusions momentarily shattered for no reason
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tractor tracks cross my narrow path
what I would give to unpadlock these blue doors and rummage inside
a red gate beckons its owner
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no more will the bell toll for the village
expanding red foam fungus escapes from a builder’s yard mess
carry me across the crumbling river bridge before we both break with age
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peep as we go through verdigris rust holes
down railway line supports
and on festive peeling paint colours
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galloping now the last stretch
a pleasant view some might think
like this starling in high wire silhouette
I come home to a sheepish welcome party

 

Oh Heavenly Sky

I swear the sunrise
came and went
and came again
as each new line
of jet stream tourists
filled the sky
in silver tubes
hung up so high
with hopes of riches
and promised wishes
to see the sights
to Christmas shop
at Harrods
Hamley’s
Oxford Street
oh
heavenly
sky

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