Poem: ‘The Painter’

The Painter

Climbing the dune,
wind heavy in our faces.
We squint (or do we smile?),
our laughs and quips
diffuse in the air.

Young legs carry you
ahead to the summit,
where tufts of green cling
to an existence. Then you’re
a sudden lithe silhouette

against a racing sky.
I revel in your victory;
your gentle hand hauls me
up close to ocean eyes,
an elfin smile, teeth

pristine like breakers
on the distant, crashing
shore, that white noise
filling our ears.
To look into you

is to look as men
have done for centuries.
Unchanging heart,
you’re the pearl left
nestling in filth.

So take a look –
can anyone steal time?
An hour here or there,
we leave our footprints,
no foothold anywhere.

I am the painter of this shore –
you are the model.
Again and again,
we return to wrestle
in familiar hues;

deep alizarin crimson,
yellow ochre, phthalo blue,
making it real. Stay in this
moment, we bless and bless.
It has to be you.

* Taken from the collection ‘Anonymous Lines’

The illustration is from a larger painting of a scene overlooking the North Sea, from sand dunes at Wells Next The Sea, Norfolk, England.

Poem: ‘Winter Sun’

Winter Sun

The weaker sun burns low
over stilled marsh and scrape.

Straight-cut dykes glow like
hot metal fissures through indigo.

Heavy boots crunch on ghosted grass,
breaking threats of enveloping silence.

By a glistening gate I pause, to gaze,
the pristine kiss of rime stiffens my hand.

The lone motion is my breath, brief clouds
vanishing in vasty air, to which I am inured.

A bleeding horizon yields dwarfed
silhouettes feigning heat, random skeletal

trees and pylons merely punctuate
before a distant church stump.

A sudden snipe breaks his cover,
rasping furiously over my head,

where I catch fleet Mercury gleaming
bright through icy blue.

* Taken from poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’, which can be found here: http://liten.be//nr7n9

** The illustration is from a current painting by the poet/artist, showing the marshland at winter sunset near Boston in Lincolnshire, England.

Versatile Blogger Award

Many grateful thanks go to Lauren at http://lscotthoughts.com/ for nominating me for this award. I feel lucky to have even one person look at my blog, which has only been wound up to anything like ‘full capacity’ in the last few weeks. I am grateful to everyone, and apologies to all if I seem a little rusty or ‘green’, I’m not very good at keeping up to pace!

And the rules for the Versatile Blogger Award is :

1. Nominate 15 fellow bloggers.
2. Inform the bloggers of their nomination.
3. Share 7 random things about yourself.
4. Thank the blogger who nominated you.
5. Add the Versatile Blogger Award pic on your blog post.

1. When I was three or four I used to tinker on an old harmonium and make up songs about werewolves.

2. I was born almost exactly on top of the Greenwich Meridian line.

3. I’ve always loved music as well as writing and painting and in the past have owned far too many guitars.

4. I was brought up in an agricultural community which seemed very old fashioned, even in the 70s.

5. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a cat (or two).

6. Like over 90% of the English population, I am descended from Edward III

7. Unfortunately (or should it be ‘fortunately’?, like nearly everyone in western Europe (and many in North America, Australasia etc..) I am also descended from Charlemagne.

Now, it’s time to nominate 15 bloggers:

http://kiranchawla44.wordpress.com/

http://justsimplyinlove.wordpress.com/

http://swansongsandprose.wordpress.com/

http://newprairiestore.wordpress.com/

http://poesiepocketsandpapercuts.wordpress.com/

http://journeyintopoetry.wordpress.com/

http://Catsnco.wordpress.com/

http://granbee.wordpress.com/

http://DancingAntelope.com/

http://littleskew.wordpress.com/

http://rhernandezpoetry.com/

http://neelthemuse.wordpress.com/

http://jamesboshea.wordpress.com/

http://myotherbookisatolstoy.wordpress.com/

http://allisongrayhurst.com/

I hope you all don’t mind being nominated! (perhaps again) I have enjoyed all your comments and look forward to great future postings.

Distraction

The thing that’s killing me
is that which first caught my ancestor’s eye.
Until then, I was content to roam the far horizon,

to be that quivering digit in the African plain,
strolling and musing, simply taking my time
when it didn’t matter; crouching at pools,

fishing for food, picking up things which lay around.
You could say it was like a kind of Eden,
for which I didn’t care or mistrust.

But then one day – I can’t recall exactly when –
something sparked, like a piece of flint in the sun;
sharp, fetching blood and an idea.

The rest you know in its outlines;
when the shaping of some tool
turned the wise one into a fool.

*Taken from poetry collection ‘anonymous lines’

http://liten.be//iHKVl

New Poem ‘Morning List’

Morning List

Aromas of snuffed out candles
A new bar of soap
The fix of fresh black coffee
A warm fruit teacake
smothered in melting butter

First sight and smell
of the salty sea

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