In spite of everything we managed a holiday. Family in a van. Changeable weather. Changeable moods. Same sky. I took paper and pencil and wrote a poem a day, by way of capturing them as they passed by. If you wish sit back, read, listen and take a trip with me, see where it takes your mind and memories, day by day, until we return safely home.
Day One
The lake whipped up
An artificial blue
making home for human,
boat and swan.
Thick mud under foot,
best to stay afloat.
Shrieks of joy,
banter with strangers,
roaming dogs,
feral children.
The threat of rain
which never comes
Time fades,
it is not significant here.
Day Two
The wind blew through today
bringing a perpetual freshness,
a transience to the day.
Wind bringing up miniature showers
of spray from under the pedlo
Wind cooling the warmth
Of the locked van.
Wind tousling my unbrushed hair,
caressing my unmade up face.
Wind blowing freely,
as it ever does.
Changing all the spaces
it is in,
if only for a few moments.
Blowing away what was there,
drawing along something new.
Day Three
A day of changing light
grey light,
green light, as cast
through the trees.
Fire light,
bright flame,
glowing ember.
Fairy light,
on soft bed,
as eyelids close,
gathering memories
known only by our dreams
and the watchful trees.
Day Four
The ease with which a day passes
when in the company of friends.
The time slipping
seamlessly into
one long glorious day.
There is only lightness here,
and softness,
and joy.
Everything, just for a moment,
in this place,
is exactly
as it should be.
Day Five
A confusing day
A ‘why me?’ day
Calculating the injustices
in my head.
Hearing and seeing
the honestness of life
It’s wounds and scars
cannot be hidden
or ignored for long
We, the walking wounded
carry ourselves
where ever we go,
stumbling forward
into our next step.
Day Six
The rain fell through
the light onto the
body of brown canal water
in such a way
that it appeared
as fireflies skitting,
Or as bright dots
behind the eyes in a head rush,
or as disco lasers dancing
across a sticky pub floor.
A moment of absurd beauty,
Appearing where it does not belong,
but it turns up anyway.
A glimpse of the miraculous
on an otherwise
less than ordinary day.
Day Seven
Take me to the river
Where the water flows
Cool and deep
Each glimpse of a
Passing body of water
Washes over my soul
Rinsing away
The dirt stuck there
Mile by mile
River by river
I am healed.
Day Eight
The feral hunter gatherer’s
brown paper bag
is brimming
with rocks, like dinosaur eggs
Lichen from the fairy woods,
sticks whose value is known
only to their owner
endowed with attributes
of the imagination.
These collected treasures
were joined today
by gifts from the sea.
Sandy enormous shells,
a crab claw
Memories of a jelly fish graveyard
washed up on shore
Their bouncy bodies
acting as a trampoline
for broken starfish
The tales of a small girl,
discoveries of five year old eyes
wonders of a growing heart.
Clutched by sticky fingers
in a brown paper bag.
Day Nine
The sand
here
tells of
ships
stones
sailors
shells
Some now
so fine
they are barely
there.
Unless it is
in your eye
where it becomes
a football.
Sand, the only terrain
which is always
a canvas.
An artists dream
to rewrite tales
from the fragments
of untold stories
Ground down
into particles
layer upon layer
forming a golden canvas
for creations anew.
Day Ten
Nothing but air above
Nothing but water below
The membrane between
The two is paper thin.
For floating on,
for cutting through
arm over arm
Face down is another world
which belongs to the creatures
of the deep.
Face up, to breath and view
the canopy above,
another world unobtainable.
You will find me here
on this glassy surface
where one element
meets another.
Impenetrable to both,
neither home to me.
Yet my presence
forges a connection
between them,
And, even so,
between the elements
of air and water
that reside within my soul.
The lake whipped up An artificial blue making home for human, boat and swan. Thick mud under foot, best to stay afloat. Shrieks of joy, banter with strangers, roaming dogs, feral children. The threat of rain which never comes Time fades, it is not significant here. Day Two
The wind blew through today bringing a perpetual freshness, a transience to the day. Wind bringing up miniature showers of spray from under the pedlo Wind cooling the warmth Of the locked van. Wind tousling my unbrushed hair, caressing my unmade up face. Wind blowing freely, as it ever does. Changing all the spaces it is in, if only for a few moments. Blowing away what was there, drawing along something new. Day Three
A day of changing light grey light, green light, as cast through the trees. Fire light, bright flame, glowing ember. Fairy light, on soft bed, as eyelids close, gathering memories known only by our dreams and the watchful trees. Day Four
The ease with which a day passes when in the company of friends. The time slipping seamlessly into one long glorious day. There is only lightness here, and softness, and joy. Everything, just for a moment, in this place, is exactly as it should be. Day Five
A confusing day A ‘why me?’ day Calculating the injustices in my head. Hearing and seeing the honestness of life It’s wounds and scars cannot be hidden or ignored for long We, the walking wounded carry ourselves where ever we go, stumbling forward into our next step.
The rain fell through the light onto the body of brown canal water in such a way that it appeared as fireflies skitting, Or as bright dots behind the eyes in a head rush, or as disco lasers dancing across a sticky pub floor. A moment of absurd beauty, Appearing where it does not belong, but it turns up anyway. A glimpse of the miraculous on an otherwise less than ordinary day.
Take me to the river Where the water flows Cool and deep Each glimpse of a Passing body of water Washes over my soul Rinsing away The dirt stuck there Mile by mile River by river I am healed.
The feral hunter gatherer’s brown paper bag is brimming with rocks, like dinosaur eggs Lichen from the fairy woods, sticks whose value is known only to their owner endowed with attributes of the imagination. These collected treasures were joined today by gifts from the sea. Sandy enormous shells, a crab claw Memories of a jelly fish graveyard washed up on shore Their bouncy bodies acting as a trampoline for broken starfish The tales of a small girl, discoveries of five year old eyes wonders of a growing heart. Clutched by sticky fingers in a brown paper bag.
The sand here tells of ships stones sailors shells Some now so fine they are barely there. Unless it is in your eye where it becomes a football. Sand, the only terrain which is always a canvas. An artists dream to rewrite tales from the fragments of untold stories Ground down into particles layer upon layer forming a golden canvas for creations anew.
Nothing but air above Nothing but water below The membrane between The two is paper thin. For floating on, for cutting through arm over arm Face down is another world which belongs to the creatures of the deep. Face up, to breath and view the canopy above, another world unobtainable. You will find me here on this glassy surface where one element meets another. Impenetrable to both, neither home to me. Yet my presence forges a connection between them, And, even so, between the elements of air and water that reside within my soul.
