Taking Flight.

Courtesy of Pixabay.

I often elope these days,
Creaking the back window open
And jumping as lightly as my years allow
Onto the weedy flower bed.

Gretna Green is so far, though,
And my resolve peters out
When my hitching thumb proves useless.

My hips grate, rather than grind,
And the thoughts I was escaping from
Begin to seem less insufferable
Than the devil I don’t know.

And lately, I’ve noticed,
You’re waiting for me at home.
Where were you? I ask,
Pretending you’re the reason I came back,
Not the reason I left.

Another write on the theme of ‘the Mind’.



You saw a broken umbrella.
I saw a satellite dish.
You saw a red head.
I saw ochre seaweed.
You saw a flimsy skirt.
I saw a black jelly fish.
You said, not sand, then, but crème brûlée?
Which I thought was sweet.

Linking this to The Sunday Muse Blogspot (http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/) where Carrie has supplied us with another selection of absorbing images.

It’s down there, somewhere

Image courtesy of Pixabay.

Is it a long way down?
Fathoms, leagues, miles, whatever applies.
Squint your eye at the scope.
Night vision? May be useful,
although that requires a heat source.
Requires signs of life.
You could lower a child down, their sight is better,
Further in, away from the outcry that led to this search,
the noise will abate and you may hear
your conscience calling.

Linking this to Sammi’s Weekend Prompts, which this week asks us to write prose or poetry which includes the word ‘outcry’ and uses exactly 65 words.

And so …

Image courtesy of Pixabay

And so I hide.
Hide in my little room
Room where I pretend
Pretend to be another.

Who did I wake as today?
Today I’d like to be a poet
Poety thoughts flap and try to fly
Flying is not easy.

I would like to soar
Soar above this terrulean weight
Wait, I tell myself, for inspiration
Inspiration has deaf ears.

My magic carpet will not rise
Rise off the pages of ink
Ink wasted in unfinished lines, and ….
And so I hide.

I sat down, all enthusiastic, to write a response to David’s W3 Prompt #4 challenge, this week set by Kerfe Roig. (https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/05/25/w3-prompt-4-weave-written-weekly/). But it was one of those mornings when it felt like pulling teeth. So…. This is a Loop poem. (http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/looppoetry.html)

Oh do be quiet, Mother.

Image from pexels.com

My mother warned me about characters like you,
Just listen to him, she'd scoff,
rough as they come.
And she had a point,
your garrulous rasp
is a tad coarse.

And what does he do for a living?
she'd argue,
haul cargo from A to B.
She heard you'd been found hoarding goods -
always a sign of a selfish nature (she claimed).

But when you came to whisk me off to a family party,
she had nothing to say.
You were handsome as any she'd seen.
Spruce black tail, clean white at your throat
and a splash of bright blue to catch the eye.
My glorious Jay.

Linking this to d’Verse Poets where Ingrid is inviting us to write a poem or song inspired by the Corvid family of birds.

The Eurasian Jay (Garrulous glandarius) has visited my garden from time to time. I always think his beautiful appearance does not match the grating sound of his call. One of the collective nouns for Jays, is a party.

Perfect Conditions.

Image from Pixabay

Will withstand average storms, provided they are not constant.
Some moderate upsets may improve root strength.
Force 10 arguments, or similar, may result in stunted growth.
Overall, prefers calm, temperate climate.

Rich compost of thoughts, peeled and cored over a length of time.
Regular rummaging to discourage a morass settling.
Sprinkle with grains of inspiration when needed.

More robust varieties cope with any orientation.
A south-westerly aspect is preferred by most, where a scattering of red light waves generally enhances overall flavour. Some early-risers may respond better to an easterly aspect.

General Maintenance:
Requires regular support, especially when showing signs of weakness.
Avoid drying out – if not addressed this may result in reduced productivity.
Equally, overwatering can be detrimental to effective growth.
Check for bugs (esp. the Doubt Beetle) – some infestations can prove fatal.

If treated well, will reward the owner with many years of enjoyment.

The theme for my poetry group this month is ‘The Mind’, which has led me to penning this. Not sure I will use it, but it amused me to write it …

Later, in the China Shop.

Well, now we’re awake.
We waited until the thunder had died down,
the crashing of crockery, the snorting.
Don’t imagine that we’re clearing up that mess.
Our bodies do not come with a broom as a permanent appendage,
or a kettle and teapot.
This isn’t haberdasher’s glitter on these gowns,
they are spun from a fabric far from here.
Don’t waste your precious hours trying to tear
at our skirts, they are unrippable.
And don’t fool yourself,
you are not the centre of the universe,
the omphalos.

We’ll let ourselves out.

Linking this to The Sunday Muse Blogspot, where Carrie has supplied some Gemini-inspired images. (http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/) and to Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt to write poetry or prose of exactly 91 words, using the word ‘omphalos’ (https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2022/05/21/weekend-writing-prompt-260-omphalos/)


image from Pixabay.

Unseeing yet staring.
Beneath her seat
Lie a heap of fragments,
Piling ever higher.
Names, places, common words
Drop like dying petals,
And when I lift her
She is as light
As fallen blossom

Written in response to the W3 challenge of the Skeptic’s Kaddish. This week is set by A J Wilson, to respond to her poem ‘Burden of Time’ using the word ‘fragment’ in a poem of 12 lines or less. (https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/05/18/w3-prompt-3-weave-written-weekly/).



As lights are dimmed, a hush descends.
We watch the stage, polite applause,
The soloist steps from the doors.

The artist’s hands begin their blend,
His fingers and the keys are one
As intricate, rich themes are sung.

The music, deeply wrought, transcends,
Imagination fills the hall.
We are enrapt, we are enthralled.

Surpassing, as the notes intend,
With rippling waves and melody
The pieces float, a blissful sea.

Until the coda’s dazzling end,
The pianist has held us fast,
Transported us, opened our hearts.

As lights are dimmed, a hush descends.
The artist’s hands begin their blend.
The music, deeply wrought, transcends,
Surpassing, as the notes intend,
Until the coda’s dazzling end.

Linking this to d’Verse Poets and Bjorn’s invitation to write a Constanza (https://dversepoets.com/2022/05/19/meet-the-bar-with-the-constanza/).

I went to a piano concert at The Brighton Dome yesterday and heard the Ukrainian pianist Alexei Grynyuk play a selection of Mendelssohn, Schubert and Liszt. He was wonderful.

Taken by the Nose

Image from Pixabay.com

You never take me anywhere, my nose often complained,
And, to be fair, on most our jaunts it usually rained.
But not today, the sun it shone, and with it came those smells
That breathing deeply in and out my nose surely excels.
It first took flight to Africa, pink freesias packed a tale
From the florist’s pavement stall, their ancestry regaled.
Then a boat to India as fragrant sandalwood
Oozed seduction like a spell as any perfume should.
A gentle ride to Italy, towards its southern states,
Suggested by the apricots that lined the grocer’s crates.
And finally, the best of all, a fragment of strong cheese,
Took my nose to Somerset, a sandwich on the breeze.

I began to write something in response to the third w3 prompt on David’s site, The Skeptic’s Kaddish. The prompt is set by AJ Wilson, who asks us to write a poem of a maximum of 12 lines, to include the word ‘fragment’ in response to her poem ‘Burden of Time’ (https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/05/18/w3-prompt-3-weave-written-weekly/).

But, I can’t write anything serious today – I am in too good a mood. Had a lovely few hours with my daughter in Brighton, where the sun shone and we saw an excellent piano performance by the Ukrainian pianist Alexei Grynyuk. And, yes, there were a lot of smells in the air!