on the theme of 'achievement'...

Swimming in Sanity

Daylight needles my eyelids
against a hammering of birdsong.
Morning lays down a row of nails across my forehead,
still shiny from dreams.

No alarm is required
to break the moon of my sleep.
Serintatis splits quite effortlessly
with no holy man’s help.

The act of eating must come first,
then bathroom matters,
feet in a line like a blade,
that’s the order I must follow.

Purse. Car. Shop. Postbox.

High tide floods these shores
at the cast of each greeting,
my replies are the skin of a fish,
make, break eye contact,

fold my hands over all wounds,
tread water, tread water,
above all smile,
these things too must be ticked off the list.

I remember now.
This is how they said
it would be when
normality was achieved.

Achievement

If I were just a little taller,
I could cause havoc with the Universe.
I would reach up and flick the moon
from its socket,
see it skitter across the night,
a twinkling billiard ball;
maybe pocket it down a black hole.
I could rub the glitter from the stars
erase them from view,
then dust the red planet,
and pull it closer,
to hang it on an arm of the Milky Way;
an early Christmas tree bauble.
I could snuff out satellites,
between my finger and thumb
and hear the world’s communications
reduced to white noise.
I could laugh as every vehicle
travelled round in its own decreasing circle,
the drivers lost.
I could wear the blue and white Earth as a ring,
like cheap costume jewellery;
such is its degradation,
it doesn’t deserve a gold setting.
If I were of a mischievous frame of mind
I could achieve all this,
if I were just a little taller.

Glen

Group topic

Lovely to see some people putting stuff on the blog. And Abi, well done again!
Sharon, thanks for your sweet comment on my post - the piece makes me feel a bit like that too, sort of sad in an enjoyable way. Only trouble with posting on a blog like this is that I keep thinking "Oh, I could improve that...."

Glen, I enjoyed your post - I like the idea of you going into a bookshop determined to overcome your "quirk". I know what you mean about finding out that words you thought were innocuous in fact are not - I remember finding out something similar in an on-line dictionary of Cockney rhyming slang. Something everyone always treats as merely funny is actually quite blue when you know what it means. It might even have been berk, I can't recall. But I was sitting in the office and I had to quickly close down the page before anyone saw the definition...

Anyway, Group Topic. In honour of Abi's achievement, how about Achievement?

Book Shopping

I had a great day last Thursday. I spent the whole day trawling round the bookshops at Hay-on-Wye. I dragged John into each one, found the corner with car and motorbike books and left him there knowing he wouldn't move until I was ready to go.

I bought A Dictionary of Obscenity, Taboo and Euphemism by James McDonald. Thought I might be able to overcome my 'small disfunction'.

I found that the one swear word I do allow myself, DAMN, is not as innocuous as I'd thought. Apparently it was once a strong word, widely avoided in conversation and could only be printed in a disguised form, for example as D***. Bowdler, in his famous expurged version of the works of Shakespeare (1818) found it necessary to amend the line from MacBeth, "Out, damned spot!" to "Out, crimson spot!"

And don't even ask about the word, 'Berk' which I always thought meant (only) a foolish person.

Glen

group exercise?

Well, Barbara and Teddy have both suggested putting forward a topic or theme for us all to write something on to contribute to the blogspot (if we want to of course - entirely optional). Are we all up for it? Anyone got a suggestion they want to put forward?

How to Pour Madness into a Teacup

I have been chastised by Sharon for not posting, but until now haven't really had anything say! Today however, I heard that I have won the Cinnamon Press Poetry Award and have a contract for my first collection entitled How to Pour Madness into a Teacup. The title poem below:

How to Pour Madness into a Teacup
“September rain pours on this house…”
Sestina, Elizabeth Bishop

She hangs her tears at the front of the house
cuts the rain in half and puts time
in the hot black kettle. She sits in the kitchen
reading the teacup full of small dark tears;

it’s foretold the man in the wood
hovers in the dark rain above the winding path.
The man is talking to her in moons,
she is laughing to hide her tears

and with little time, she secretly
plants the moons in the dark brown bed.
She shivers, thinks the man is watching
as the jokes of the child dance

on the roof of the house. Tidying
she carefully puts hot rain in the teacup
sings as she hangs her tears on a string
and watching the dance, thinks herself mad.

A piece written at Gardoussel

This is my piece from that week. Perhaps my favourite of all the things I wrote.

In summer when they opened the swimming pool early three of us would go together. Tall beautiful Sue, Annie, cheerful and competent at sixteen, and me. The open-air pool was painted an unlikely Mediterranean blue, an illusion complemented rather than spoiled by glimpses of green English trees above the white-painted changing rooms and cafe. At that hour it was usually just us swimming, all angular hips and ribs in the bracing water. Afterwards we would cycle through the park to school along an avenue of flowering chestnuts.
That hour of sun-drenched freedom was the more precious because of the coming day of classrooms and lessons. One morning with time to spare we wheeled our bikes beneath the trees. Huge graceful branches arched down towards the grass, and Sue reached up to a flowering candle, her bike held upright in her free hand. Annie with her own bike stood beside her, blonde to her dark, both barelegged in flowered cotton skirts. I can see them now, poised for a moment in the sunshine, the road curving away from them.

a poem from our week - following up on Tedd'y suggestion that we each post something written during our week together. Here's mine.

Papillon de Nuit

Your thin silhouette
flickers in the doorway,
a coil of smoke morphing in the shadows.

Your once-eager hands,
then careless as swinging shutters,
shift edgily by your side.

My mouth ached for you once,
your lips mating hungrily with mine
in butterfly kisses.

In a Paris hotel room,
my transformation.
‘Don’t ever fly away’ you said
wrapping me in your legs.

But such dusty beauty is brief.
You wanted only the colours of my wings
and promises of spun silk.

Now you hover at thresholds
in the thrash of the night,
seeking out eternal brightness,
sizzling under naked bulbs.

Perfect Week Cake

(Note: this recipe is very easy, suitable even for beginners)

Ingredients:
500g creative talent
10 level tsp silence
large slab of unsalted support
laughter – as much as you have in the cupboard
1 sweet American, thawed
large dollop of good-humour and laughter
1 charming couple, unbroken
liberal sprinkling of hammocks

Method:
Put couple to the side. Pour rest of ingredients into a large green area with plenty of private spaces for contemplation. Mix gently. Fold in couple carefully and continue stirring until mixture is perfectly smooth. Turn out into a well-ventilated classroom. Bake in a moderate oven for 40 mins. Don’t leave to cool – eat while still warm. Delicious!