July

It’s really too hot for thought, so I’ve dug back into the archives for something to suit the weather.

Heat swells to stuff the corners
of the room, tucking itself up
to pad the picture rail, deadening
the walls. We lie at the edges
of a king-sized bed, white cotton
smooth beneath us. You reach across
and touch me. Sweat breaks
under the weight of your hand.

irrelevant facts

In yesterday’s post, I touched on how the natural world is changing and how, while words I learned as a child are being lost from children’s vocabularies, there will presumably be a need for new words for the invasive species that are making their way to the UK common.

This got me thinking about how so much of what I learned in school has been superseded.
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white flowers

I think perhaps some regular readers will know that I love bright flowers. I’m sure I’ve said that salmon pink geraniums and sunflowers are among my favourites.

So you can imagine my feelings when I realised that all the plants I bought this spring were white.
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blind hope

There are lots of old buildings around here, and many newer ones that pretend to be old or use details from older buildings.

Many of the architectural features are bricked up and I wonder what is behind them.

I think the correct word for the bricked in windows and arches is “blind” – though I’m not sure if that is only for ones that were never intended to be open.
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fantastical flora & fauna

For some reason, I’ve been thinking about fairy tales.

I’ve already mentioned that the tree lupin buds made me think of alien claws, but I’m pretty sure the plant is terrestrial, so perhaps it’s more like the talon of a mythical bird.

Lupins weren’t the only flowers I found in my mother’s garden last week that transported me into the world of the imagination.
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tangentially topical

The new General Data Protection Regulation came into force in the EU yesterday and the topic of security – albeit cyber security – has been in most people’s minds, which makes the photo at least slightly apposite.

The poem – written in Spain seven or eight years ago – is a repost, but it’s the best fit for the photograph – taken recently in England:

Camaraderie

In the greystone shadow
of the old jail, three men share
smokes and anecdotes. Two
wear drab and polished black,
the third raises his cigarette
between cupped hands.
Metal glints at his wrists.

when to stop

I’ve been looking through old files searching for poems that might be suitable to submit to a couple of competitions, as well as for a couple of projects that involve music, about which I will probably write at length at a later date.

Often, I have found numerous versions of the same poem and it isn’t always clear which is the latest, nor which is the best.
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