No trouble with you

No trouble with you

Write me a funny one you say

Something light-hearted with a smile

Some humorous words to lift the day

My mood's been low this little while

No mention then my dearest friend

Of gratitude for all you do

The emailed messages you send

The only one to bother, you

For writing thus might make you cry

My poems touch you, that I know

But if they're sad you wonder why

Detecting sorrow's undertow

Instead I'll dwell on foolish hens

With you upon the fence in hat

Fragmented dosi, made for friends

And husband's 'Your bum's big in that!'

He's only telling like it is

Plus other faults, he knows them all

The trouble with you dear is this

You really don't know how to fall

In truth that's just not what I see

More for me the helpless laughter

Both of us bedecked in saris

Or teachers behaving dafter

For me there is no trouble with you

Just things to love and make me smile

I'm proud that we're alike, we two

My special friend across the miles

Brighton June 30th 2009, for Pam of course

Before the Weetabix

Before the Weetabix

Side by side on Brighton sofa

We're sitting with pencils poised

We talk of themes and opening lines

Of some that gush and some that don't

When plumber's needed to unblock

When words don't flow just drip and spurt

Then suddenly you're on a roll

Dashing it down, your latest work

Whilst mini-poet in the room

Makes spider marks across my page

And talks to seagulls and machines

So love's declared and sorry's said

In poetry and soggy kiss

In anguished cry to thoughtless dad

And all before the day's begun

With cup of tea and Weetabix

June 28th 2008 Brighton for my fellow poet Lily

The Prattle Ceaseless

The Prattle Ceaseless

Great! I thought alone on a train
Just time to set a poem down
But reckoned without the prattle
Ceaseless, Brighton to London town
Michael Jackson's dead- What a shock!
Fragments: appalling Ryan Air
Americans you talk and talk
That's Monty Python to be fair
But god, the funny men spoke truth
Just love your English this and that
Bombay daughter loud on India
So on and on the fractured chat

Wordsworth's tranquility? No way
Tower of Babel in carriage eight
Give up the fight, snap shut my book
The words will come, sooner or late
When lo! Upon my inner thigh
I sense a warmth is spreading out
Starbuck's cup quite overflowing
Culprit neighbour emits loud shout
Dabbing in panic, sorry so
Sorry. I stare at darkening stain
Slice of life played out this Friday
Moving stuff on Railtrack highway
Crowded Brighton to London train

Brighton 26th June 2009

The Scent of Afterwards

The Scent of Afterwards

Sudden out of nowhere
The shocking news arrives

Time's stricken rope is severed here
Snapped threads will never meet again
The clock will not run backwards
Though begging would have it so
Anguish's scorching arrow
Just zinged right through the air
And scored a loud bullseye
Twanging Never never never
Like mad lamenting Lear

Now ever all the livelong days
Will wear the scent of afterwards
Dreadfully and always
Quite other than before


Brighton June 25th 2009

Dear Ghost

Dear Ghost

Lucy
My grandmother
Unspoken childhood's grief
The void she left in legacy
Too soon

Her laugh
Echoing still
My only memory
A lovely life not shared with me
My loss

Dear ghost
In stories told
By those who loved her so
Beside me as I strive to be
Granny

Middle of the night, 24th June 2009, Brighton, for us her six- now only five- grandchildren

Brighton Cinquains

Brighton Cinquains

Blue skies
Brighton, Bondi
All the same, I'm not home
Enmeshed in others' tangled lives
Lonely

Smiling
Your nose crinkles
No more kisses granny
You say, sun dancing in your eyes
Love you

Daytime
Fairy stories
Television programmes
Serving up salvation with tears
And smiles

June 23rd 2009 Brighton

Earthworks

Earthworks

Sculpture
Serpent in coils
Morphing under moonlight
To palest crescents stacking on
Red clay

Moon sets
Leaving star show
Nocturnal brilliance
Of stellar meadow all above
I gaze

Landscape
Goldsworthy's art
Ephemeral often
Sentinels growing organic
Timeless

June 22nd, after reading Saturday Travel Guardian article on Goldsworthy's Provencal project

First attempts at Cinquain form after correspondence with Chris Stones

Hidden Dragons

Hidden Dragons

Five minutes in the park
Maximum, for her to make a friend
Boy, girl, age no barrier
Chasing, spinning, swinging Pied Piper
She leads they follow her
Real talent for friendship evident
Easy child equable
Natural mediator, she plays
More childlike than her years
More diplomatic than her peers

From her birth delighting
With the simple brightness of her ways
But trouble now beginning
Sudden sadness, puzzled she confides
Childhood glow now fading
Darker moments surely lie in wait
May she keep her own light
Burnished, in her daily dragon fights
As letting go we prove
Our love, and strong in truth she grows

The Levels Park, Brighton, June 22nd 2009, for Lily

Love in the letting go

Love in the Letting Go

The cord is cut at hour of birth
Mother and child now two
And yet I know, how could I not?
That though the child’s set free
His selfhood now allowed to grow
Unfettered, watched with love
Still all her days, till dying breath
She’ll feel connection’s tug

So prove your love by letting go
Encourage him to walk
But though he cross the world entire
And take beloved wife
Become a father, give his heart
Watch his own son in awe
Still all your days, till dying breath
You’ll feel connection’s tug

June 16th, 2009, Hounoux, for Hayley, bravely letting go...

Betty's Song

Betty’s Song

Not for you the poet’s angry raging
Though many now departed, homeward bound
Empty chairs resounding left to toll
In sad reversal of childhood’s glad game
And where six friends together, laughing, sat
Just two of you, quietly, now remain
You, boss of the world, dear matriarch still

Choose life it seems your daily intention
No time to lose complaining of neglect
You make the calls ,bid lonely souls to dine
And grateful family, friends so gladly come
Whilst each morning, evening, afternoon
Advice and listening eagerly is sought
By children keen to keep you in their loop

Loving and giving the length of your days
A Friday’s child perhaps, woman of strength
No lavender lady sweetly silent,
Formidable monarch, reigning benign
Ayatollah another wryly smiles
Still welcoming the light, each day dawning
Now cataract cured, your crossword awaits

Born too soon for female liberation
Choices for women then all depending
Upon a father’s, husband’s, brother’s whim
So grammar school place was carelessly denied
And not for you career nor mark to make
Endless juggling, grim fight to have it all
Yet small life, local life, honestly spent

When young I fear this model I disdained
But older now such certainty is fled
What is it gives a life some added worth?
How spend the dash dividing birth from death?
I salute you still reaching out to others
Careless of self, extending friendship’s hand
Outward looking, living right to the end

En route to Brive la Gaillarde, June 15th 2009, for Betty Ballard

The Straw Men

The Straw Men

Somewhat eccentrically attired
The old guys slouch in midday sun
Dress casual you must have said
And be prepared to work outdoors
In every weather, summer long
But peace and quiet guaranteed
And oh! the breathless view!

Epouvantails they call you here
But you don’t look local to me
No Gallic shrug nor Gaulloise butts
Though where you stand the garlic grows
And mange-tout and haricot vert
A potager without a doubt
And oh! the breathless view!

At night, I wonder, do you creep
Off duty now, down to the lake
Where botoxed carp all lippy swim
And watch the ripples widening
By orange light of floating moon
And oh! the breathless view!

12th June Bordebasse, Aude, for Gill, artist and creator of the Straw Men

Second Childhood

Second Childhood

Once digging to Australia
Seemed well within my grasp
And squeezing scent from roses
An easy trick to work
I dreamed of tree-top living
A bed beneath the stars
And sprouting wings and flying
Was what I most desired

For life at three-foot level
Quite changed my point of view
Caterpillars, daisy chains
Fat worms and acorn cups
The quest for four-leafed clover
Fuchsias in fairy dance
How many spots on a ladybird?
The stuff of childhood days

And now at last, a granny
Again I sit and watch
Small butterfly fanatic
Chasing between the peas
And I consider questions
How best to house a snail?
And creep into the fig tree
To share a cup of tea

11th June Hounoux, for Lily and Luca and Zach

Held Fast by Roses

Held Fast by Roses

Held fast by roses tangled, run amok
I think of Dad’s more military show
And me in yellow frock, hand-smocked by mum
Saddened by mush, where rosy scent should be

So, picking raspberries just before tea
I see her, younger still, that fifties girl
Cramming the lovely fruit, and pea rows too
Eye-height, just tall enough to lose her in

The guileless child lives in the hour, filling
Sweet memory’s store, potato treasure-trove
Unearthing. Digger, discoverer
Eating the peach to the rough-ribbed stone

10th June 2009, Hounoux, for Jude who cherishes childhood

Weeding for Mr Wordsworth

My bet is Wordworth never had to choose
Between The Prelude, polishing a verse
And ditto with the silverware
For Dorothy was ever there
And Mrs W did the chores
And kept away the tiresome bores
And Eliot though he measured spoons
Evenings, mornings, afternoons
Still when he heard the sweet lines forming
Despite mad Vivian's rage and storming
Put down the love song set to shock
With tea and toast, J A Prufrock

In my head the poems come and go
Echoes of Hopkins, T S and Co

No Porlock stranger snaps my thread
Just thoughts of weeds in strawberry bed
For though the garden lovesome grows
How soon the careful measured rows
Of bean and pea and such delights
Have lost the battle and the light
Whilst I, unminding, grope for rhyme
Careless of world enough and time

In my head the poems come and go
Echoes of Hopkins, T S and Co

And so it is for artist who
Loses herself as artists do
In oil on canvas, gone for days
Down the labyrinthine ways
Striving for colour, tone and line
Whilst others talk and sleep and dine

So yes I'll choose creation's birth
Echo of heaven heard on earth
Sweet wonder that keeps the stars apart
Dancing with angels, the poet's art

June 8th 2009 Hounoux, for Gill and for Susan

Gardeners' World

Gardeners’ World

Chocolate Cosmos, Moroccan Broom
Eleagnus, clove-scented Pinks
Honeysuckle and sweet Rocket
Fragrant catalogue thrown open
A perfume feast before our eyes
Drugging our senses on a Friday night

Then Islington Eden, sudden
Bursts upon the screen, such excess
Making us laugh out loud and cheer
The lovely gardener, smile so wide
Contagious, a technicolour
Poem, magical on a Friday night

5th June 2009, Hounoux

The Tortoise, the Snail and Me

The Tortoise the Snail and Me

The vigorous trio smartly
Step it out, briskly through the fields
With Santiago shell to follow
And me, as foreseen, bringing up the rear

Wild orchids, look! are scattered here
And every shade from blue to purple
Countless nameless wildflowers bloom
Come on, I’ll help you, lagging in the rear

The sound of bells is coming near
Ha! here they are, the bleating flock
Stemming our onward march, we’re caught
In their tide, and no-one’s in the rear

This truly is the last ascent
You say, repeatedly, and laugh
See, Mirepoix is up ahead
And ever thus from childhood, in the rear

June 6th 2009,Hounoux, for Pam, who walks with me

Starbucks Poem

Starbucks poem

Darting into Primark
Picking through the rails
Half a thought for bargains
Half for rich world greed

Here’s a cheery chugger
Care to save a life?
Quickly sign this paper
Gotta rush to Mac

Learn of make-up mystery
Concealed those aged cracks
Costs to save a face but
Difference made today?

Starbucks Brighton, February 25th 2009

Sugar Granny

Sugar Granny

Standing in the fudge shop
Warm and sweet
Back to childhood smell and taste
Mum at the stove stirring
Experimental balls dropped in water
Exact moment for beating, as
Crystals form and fudge crumbles

All my life at special times
Mum melted boiled and beat
Poured in a tray, set it to cool
Then marked the caramel squares
To pack in a tin, these for me
For sister, niece, for son, tokens of love

Standing in the fudge shop
In from the cold with Luca
I tell the Fudge man mum’s story
And hear the tears beneath my voice
I could never learn the trick I say
We let mum’s gift die with her

In the heady butter sweetness
Luca is asleep at last
My granny gift is peace for his mum
It’s only love and sugar
In whatever form it comes, so
Mix it pour it, share it, pass it on

February 2009, Brighton Wai kiki moo cow cafe. For my daughter Rosie

The Wild lies waiting

The Wild lies waiting

Along the jagged margins of our land
The Wild lies waiting, giant thistles
In the van, advancing over the hill
Silent on grandmother’s footsteps it creeps
Making a mock of all your toil

You turned your back whilst Spring rains fell and fell
No gardener there to tend the careful plot
And savage weeds will always win the fight
No contest where the tender seedlings grow
Though glorious poppies make us smile

A meadow’s high where orchard lawn was planned
On wildflower bank coarse grasses careless blow
Heedless of measured rows and grand design
How soon your work is overthrown, wilderness
Moving back in to claim her own

3rd June 2009, Hounoux, for Andy, the conscientious gardener.