How Was It For You?

Maybe I should put up a Christmas poem. I’ll do that next. Hey ho... ho ho. Well, the house is all bright and sparkly. I’ve nearly finished the children’s story. It’s going well now that I’ve got a bit more time. The Molecules recording’s going well too. My mother’s gone home. Jill’s been in Nottingham this week but has returned – hooray! She's at home for the next few weeks now. Tomorrow - a friend’s birthday – we’re having a take away. Probably Indian. Talking of which - Jill has to visit the nurse tomorrow for her jabs in preparation for her Indian visit next year. I’m planning to finish the story by Friday. Then get the outline for the graphic novel finished next week. If I can do that and get the albums made by Christmas I’ll be well pleased. Meanwhile - Joe’s girlfriend’s family is coming on Sunday for a pre-Christmas dinner. Watch this space.

I was wondering. Do we, as adults, ever have a Christmas as good as the ones we had as children. Assuming we had a Christmas. Faith and privilege notwithstanding. Or do we just remember it being special? Was it rubbish really?

Tumbleweed

I am the tumbleweed
That rolls across the Western land
I am the shadow of a driftwood stick
Thrown for dogs
To fetch and chase
Upon command

I am a sea-born stone
Each layer worn away by passing time
I am an old man’s face
His joy and pain is read in each and every line

I am a lover’s letter
That’s always out of reach
That’s blown from eager hands
I am the dazzling strands of silver
Dancing on the rippling tide
That breaks upon the golden sands

I am a seagull’s cry
A crow’s lament
The rush of surf, the crash of that relentless call
The sands rendered in pixels on the virtual photograph
The sunshade and the empty sunscreen jar
That sits unwanted on the wall

Christmas Comes Apace

Jill’s parents have now left and my mum (80) is now visiting. Sorted out a great part of her Christmas present list yesterday by visiting a bookshop in Hastings. Books for all her grandchildren. A job well done. And found Don Paterson's Book of Shadows – which I’ve heard so much about . Several people listed it as a favourite book of 2004 in the Guardian round-up. I’m reading it right now – very interesting – but have a member of the family in mind who will be getting it as a present. Aphorisms used to be very popular didn’t they? It would be a good blog subject I think.

Last night I put up the string for the cards. The Leigh’s card is in pride of place. (See Flobberlob) Also got the tree out of its box and this morning put the lights on. Our first present is ready to go beneath it. It’s also from the Leighs and is a CD or possibly two. Can’t wait to hear what’s on them. I’ve got a nice pile of tracks accumulating ready for our CD to them. A bit of a tradition this.

Other news. The Molecules project is progressing well. James is coming over next Friday to add the lead guitar. Meanwhile I’ve started adding some applause. Also we now have the Matt Harvey collection available from - Rabbit Press. Four pocket-sized booklets of his poetry. I’m really pleased to be selling it. I saw him in performance a few months back and thought he was brilliant. Really funny. And the great thing is – his poems also work really well on the page. A nice guy, too.

Okay – enough blatant advertising – even if it is Christmas! Time to dress the tree and put up the decorations. Not to mention recording my Mum’s contribution to The Family Album. But more of that anon.

Let’s Write Another Poem

Last school visit done and dusted. A clear run to Christmas.
The children’s book to finish and the Mighty Molecules CD.
Of course, things are bound to crop up. My Mum’s coming to visit for one thing. And we’re in the process of looking for and buying a flat in Brighton. This is for our old age. Although if 106 doesn’t qualify for old age I don’t know what does.

Meanwhile, why don’t we write another poem?
Think of something that you once said goodbye to. (Note – something not someone).
Make a list of that object’s attributes.
Think about the process of losing, leaving, throwing away or even selling that object. How did you feel about it?
Finally, remembering that poetry is more about rhythm than rhyme – lay it out on the page. Tinker with it a while. Then when you’re happy with it – post it below in the comments.

Examples

Farewell Ted, no more to sit upon the bed
Grinning at me, giving me the paw with your one good arm…

Farewell hi-fidelity stereo. I didn’t want to buy the i-pod but… farewell scratchy albums, and red-wine-stained covers…

Good luck!

Ringing Them Bells

He gazed at me
Looked down from the pulpit
Carved with God’s trigonometry
And said, My boy, you pulled the rope
You rang the bell
You hung the chime in the dead air
Now you await my blessing or my curse
What do you have to say?
I felt the blistered shapes
Moving outside the corners of my mind
Gathering
And yet unmoved
I caught the dust motes, shadows and the spites
And wished the old priest well
I quietly closed the chapel door
And stole away
Along the grey-leaved late-November path
That briefly ran around the rim of hell

Out of Order

For some reason the last three blogs went out of order. I put the two poems up - then I put Country Roads -2 up. But it sat itself underneath the poems. These blogs have minds of their own.

I was planning on visiting a few blogs but the blog universe seems to be on a go-slow again. Think I'll try again later.

Vejer

We climb the soulful streets
Of Vejer
Cobbles and dust
And pause by the tight-lipped church
Golden-studded gate of bare-necked wood
The dusty walls hold long forgotten tales
The gabble and the chuckle
Of the market in the square
The dark portraits of the corbijata
The women from Vejer with half a veil
And behind the white walls' glare
Glimpses of hidden gardens