Sad to say some folk are denied the joy of poetry. Bad teaching at school made it punishment, not pleasure, and they loathe it with a passion. I’m lucky to have always enjoyed reading –and writing – it, ever on the quest to improve. Like many of my fellow enthusiasts, we workshop our efforts and send them off to small poetry journals. This month I feel privileged to have had four of mine printed in ‘Mozzie.’
The poem below was written on a day out , near Bath, south-west England when a peaceful drive suddenly took on a turn for the worse. The driver little knew he had a back-seat poet on the lookout for material!
his aristocratic confidence knows
no bounds some call it noble
arrogance that self-satisfaction
regardless of achievements
or knowledge of the route
and don’t remind him how he
reacts that tell-tale
blink blink blink
of a man under stress
road barrier change
direction the problem
becomes entirely hers
he screams why didn’t you tell me
to take the side road?
This one was written one foggy morning in Bath.
the sky and hills are gone
this morning someone
stole them overnight
even the trees are missing
streets and houses shiver
beyond that curtain
it gives me the scares
will i be next?
With rising costs of child-care, and unaffordable housing, many grandparents find themselves as regular babysitters, at a time when they might have hoped for some free time to indulge their hobbies and passions. Others take up the task when their children can’t manage the parental role. But, sadly, there are some who don’t get the chance to interact with their grandchildren at all.
huge distress denied access
to my grandson if i can’t
hope what’s the point?
yearning for that knock on the door
if I was wrong can’t I be forgiven?
just pick up the phone and call home
didn’t even know his name until last week
saw his photo on Facebook i’m aching to
share secrets show him the beauty
and magic of life i’d cherish his heavy
innocence asleep in my arms be joyful
over milestones first tooth steps words …
grandparents conspirators of love
help make their young all they can be
Finally ,a thought for all those writers – or others -whose efforts in the creative field, fails to meet their goals. All I need is one more lifetime to write that bestseller…
ODE TO A LIFE
of study and striving perfection
a distant atoll glimpsed from my
shingled shore of self-education
i’ve struggled to create the perfect
novel have my lyrical poems astound
wavelets of hope foam and groan
around my toes sand sinking ‘neath
my feet tries hard screeches a seagull
but does not always succeed
very good mutters a crab walking sideways
at some things in the music of air and sea i
know for me this is the way it’s meant to be
yet nothing can replace the joy of creation
success? Well yes i’ve done my best