autumn – Page 12 – don't confuse the narrator

memory of sunshine

J M Barrie is quoted as saying:

God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.

I wonder if perhaps He gave us photography and the internet so those of us with poor memories could not just have their own sunflowers and blue skies on dull autumnal days, but so we could also share them with others.(And share them long after the apparently absent sun set, too.)

a poem for every occasion

Two months ago, the rolling green of Middle England was covered in purple and I wrote on the blog that the rosebay willow herb is one of my favourite summer flowers.

Tangled rosebay willow herb after seeding

Today, the countryside is every bit as green, but the bright aspirational flower spikes have long gone and the feathery thought-like seeds have been carried away on the wind.

Nothing is left but a dried up scribble of empty seed pods, which perfectly matches the barren tangle of my mind at the moment.
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remember, remember

Bonfire night:
the wide-eyed moon looks down
on multi-coloured stars

of things past

flower arrangement of pink/red roses in old church

All Hallows Anniversary

A heavy storm has made the flat roof leak
and in the small hours, memories drip
from the bedroom ceiling.

Unlike the rain they cannot be absorbed
by piles of folded towels, or mopped into a bucket, so
I paddle through them, barefoot, towards dawn.

Flower stalls sprout on street corners and blossom
with chrysanthemums and wreaths
for loved ones’ graves.

I skirt the queues and wonder, should I buy
for the ghost of a relationship
long dead?

The poem is from the collection Around the Corner from Hope Street.

Read sequentially, the poems reveal a narrative thread, covering a period of 15 months in the life of the female narrator; they deal with themes of alienation and isolation, recovery and renewal, and, of course, love. The book is illustrated in black and white by graphic artist Lance Tooks and available in various digital formats from the Tantamount bookstore.

(A draft of the poem was posted on the blog a few years ago.)

some squirrels and a Wren

The squirrels in the previous post were photographed in St Paul’s churchyard, London. Like the ones I remember from the parks of my childhood, they were very friendly and keen to be fed by the tourists.

Nearer to home there are wild squirrels who visit and use the flower pots on the patio as storage jars for their winter supplies; they are not at all tame – which is why I couldn’t get closer for the next picture – but they do seem to have learned their kerb drill:

grey squirrel sitting on kerbside as if waiting to cross road — Tufty would be proud

October 20th was the anniversary of the birth of Christopher Wren, so it seems appropriate to make another post connected to his great work, St Paul’s. I made a brief visit there on a recent trip to London and sat in the churchyard, where I watched the squirrels and began planning a poem.
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