While others bundle and bunch
under umbrellas, shrug
into pak-a-macs and hunch deep
into their collars, their faces
scrunched, gurning
against the elements, she
pokes tongues
at raindrops and laughs
glitter from her hair.
In the UK we are used to hearing that “April showers bring May flowers”, an expression that apparently can be traced to its earliest known form – Continue reading “april”
Now that the weather’s improved and the council workers have managed to get out to do some jobs around the village, they’ve finally put in new lamp posts down by the river. Proper wrought iron ones that cast soft yellow light quite unlike the unnaturally white blare from the UFO-type double-headed farolas they put along by the polideportivo during a lull in the storms a month or so back.
Set against the snow-pocked backdrop of the Sierra de Gredos, the new Narnia-style lamp posts make me think of the Pevensie children helping Aslan banish the White Witch and release Narnia from the long winter.
They’ve also brought to mind a poem from a few years back:
Continue reading “light and hope”
When there used to be an M&S in Madrid, you could buy hot cross buns at Christmas – I think they labelled them bollos de Pascuas – but I’ve always thought of them as an Easter speciality. On the other hand, I’d associate crackers with Christmas or birthdays, but it seems there are places in the UK where you can now buy crackers for Easter.
Christmas and birthdays are times for gifts, and the knick-knacks, fripperies and party favours seem totally appropriate.
Easter, though, has always struck me as more focused on the religious side of things. Which meant my first idea was that there should be no paper hats and plastic toys, but that an Easter cracker should burst open with a loud Hosanna and a dazzling manifestation of the Risen Christ.
Further thought made me decide that this was unrealistic and that a little more symbolism would probably be appropriate.
So I’ve reached the conclusion that you must pull the crackers on Easter Sunday, only to discover that, just like the tomb, they are empty!
(Thanks to MG for the photo.)
Well, we’ve reached the end of the month and the expression “February fill dyke” has never seemed more appropriate.
How March is to come in remains to be seen: last night, I thought it was going to come roaring like a lion, but today has been as mild a day as you could wish for. On a walk back from the village at lunch time I saw:
The cats are twitterpated: lords and ladies
of misrule, they squeal like St Martin’s pigs
in their carnal carnival. Birds’ nests burgeon
in the hedges and, on the early apricot,
a choir of ruby buds swells, ready to burst
into scented song.
More “notes for a poem” than a finished poem, I think. And they were notes taken several years ago.
Continue reading “mardi garden”
don't confuse the narrator 