Such gaily flashing lights!
Such bright fluorescent suits!
Wrapping paper brims from bags
and bundles stacked and glistening
in the rain.
(The rubbish men are back at work.)
Tag: fragments
grey’ku
This morning, I waited in the half-light for a bus that finally arrived 40 minutes late: there was no one about, and the only noise was the rain, an occasional car and a few birds. It gave me plenty of time to think, though it was too wet to get a notebook out to try and capture any of the ideas.
(I suppose I could record memos on my phone, but how you’re supposed to skim through an audio file later, I don’t know.)
Mind you, I actually believe that writing a thought down too soon can ‘fix’ it before it is ready, and I may carry a phrase or image round in my head for days or weeks, occasionally even years, before I finally anchor it to the page.
Continue reading “grey’ku”
seasons
I’ve mentioned bonfires a couple of times in the last week, and I reckon half the village have been out in their gardens, taking advantage of the sunshine and what, for many, is a long weekend. They haven’t all been busy at the same task, though:
Clear
above the bitter smoke of bonfires
the scent of new-mown grass
I was particularly surprised by that as my lawn looked like this until about midday:
Continue reading “seasons”
smoke screens
At this time of year, all round the valley, everyone is busy pruning trees and vines and making the most of the dry weather for bonfires. The clouds, mist and smoke all blend and it’s impossible to tell which it is hanging in the still air.
Bonfire after pruning;
at nightfall, the green wood
is still singing
Después de la poda, una hoguera;
cuando cae la noche
la madera verde sigue su canto
poetry on the bus
The village bus station looks quiet in the photo. Not so the journey into Madrid this morning.
En el autobús,
las viejas cotillean;
sólo los hombres casados
pueden dormir.
Roughly translated:
On the bus
old biddies gossip;
only married men
can sleep.
I swear you could tell which guys were used to nagging wives: they simply closed their eyes and nodded off as if the screeching voices were a lullaby.
Continue reading “poetry on the bus”
don't confuse the narrator 