fragments – Page 15 – don't confuse the narrator

the name game

Yesterday I was working on a poem inspired by something I was told ages ago, which had re-surfaced in a conversation earlier in the week.

So far all I have is this:

Vanessa says,

I’ve heard tectonic plates move
at the same speed fingernails grow.
A flourish of bright acrylic tips
adds emphasis, and then: I like to think
it indicates a kind of synchronicity –
shows we’re in touch with Nature.

Although it hasn’t got to where I want it to be – which would be at least three times as long and with something actually happening in there – I was wondering what to call it. (In my own filing system it’s down as ‘tectonic nails’, but although that may help me keep track of it, I don’t think it will do for a title.)
Continue reading “the name game”

cat’ku

Looking for something summery to post for San Juan, I found this:

sunny verandah
a scattering
of kittens and kibble

The photo appears to have been taken on June 24th, two years ago. The blog post for that day is a proper Midsummer Night poem: noche de san juan.

at the western edge of Europe…

palm fronds prick at a volcanic sky
and bright hibiscus
leer at pink-skinned foreigners.

Continue reading “at the western edge of Europe…”

ephemera

Along the bridle path
brief worlds
flower and fade

The words are really only an excuse to post the photo. Sadly, even if you click the picture to enlarge it, it isn’t clear that the ‘dandelion’ globe was around three inches in diameter (approximately 8 cm).

I had to make do with my phone camera yesterday and of course by the time I’d re-charged my camera and went out this morning, there was nothing left. Perhaps I’ll catch the other bud at the right moment.

weeds and words

April has brought the cuckoo and forced the lilacs into bloom. Now it’s even bringing a few showers. They don’t seem to be doing much to pierce the drought of March, though, as they barely dampen the surface of the ground and then evaporate with wind and the suddenly dazzle of sunshine.

Still, they are enough to have prompted a few more weeds to flourish and the photo has reminded me of an unfinished poem of frustrated love entitled I want. This is the third stanza:

I want daisies on the lawn in clumps
of seven to fit my footstep, a universe
of dandelion globes and the chance
a simple breath can make it
any time I like.

Down by the river the other day, it would have been easy enough to put your foot on seven daisies, but I haven’t seen any in my garden and I’m sure summer isn’t really here yet. Perhaps the river bank is as inaccurate a time keeper as dandelion clocks tend to be.