poem

To Polaris

PolarisNebula_mandel800

Polaris dust nebula

 

 

February afternoon

Azure eastern horizon

Four hundred and eighty two

Aluminium-encased

Celestially-bound bodies

Reflect solar rays on ascent

Into the stratosphere

Compress and combust

Rotate and thrust

Breach auditory peace

Of wood pigeon coo

Teeter precariously

On twig tips

Winter ornament

To Polaris

 

Image source: http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap080111.html

Edie’s poem

Big Ben SW

My 7 year old niece came to visit.  We took her to the Natural History Museum.  Edie met her forefather, Neanderthal Jones and she shook the three-fingered hand of Tyrannosaurus Rex and she danced the do-si-do with Allosaurus and she swam alongside a sei whale, who combed her hair with his fine baleen.

After the museum, Edie saw lots of people close together, waving blue, red and yellow flags in the air and holding banners of words and shouting.  They were saying something that they cared about a lot to do with a man called Maduro.  He is the boss of a country five thousand miles away where angels fall.

Edie went on the train under the ground and then she saw a house on the river where the bosses of this country talk and make things up and decide things.  Then at quarter past four, the little Bens rang and she curtsied to the tower and yawned into my gloved hand.

At home, while I cleaned the kitchen, she asked me for a piece of lined paper.  I gave her my notepad and she sat at my desk.

I opened my notepad today and this is what I found.

 

If I was with you

the things that we could do

Like go and see Big Ben

If I was just with you then

 

Edie, age 7

 

Edie’s poem is the musical beauty of simplicity.  It is worth a million of my words.

Yours truly

YW

 

Image – Stephen Wiltshire sourced here: http://www.stephenwiltshire.co.uk/art_gallery.aspx?Id=3855

Daffodils

011

 

Daffodils, William Wordsworth, 7th April 1770 to 23rd April 1850

I wander’d lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretch’d in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: –
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company!
I gazed – and gazed – but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.

 

006

 

 

Image 1 and 2 – Narcissus, daffodil, Peter’s Leek or Easter Bell on my kitchen windowsill

A lovely film and reading of Daffodils – http://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/video/281

Daffodils, Wordsworth – http://www.bbc.co.uk/poetryseason/poems/daffodils.shtml

Bealdric the Shire

horse in fog annette hegel

Stratus stomps and snorts and treads slowly towards them, breathing getting louder and closer.  A silhouette emerges through grey cloud canvas.  Bealdric Black Shire strides over the moor.  He wears a faint star on his angular face.  He draws Avice down into bottomless wells of blackest eyes where secrets of the other world hide.

Idonea and Avice look long and hard at their last food.  In silent agreement sisters hold numb, flattened, tentative fingers in front of their narrow chests and out into icy fog, an offering.  Yellow dominoes pierce and sink into hard fruit, making easy pieces of it.  Chewing and chomping with ravenous enjoyment of sweet crunchy pleasures, Bealdric recalls green and russet memories of long gone summer treasures.

 

 

Image by Annette Hegel, ‘Horse in Fog in Winter’ sourced here: http://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Horse-in-Fog-in-Winter/225958/106168/view

Edie’s poem

Big Ben SW

My 7 year old niece came to visit.  We took her to the Natural History Museum.  Edie met her forefather, Neanderthal Jones and she shook the three-fingered hand of Tyrannosaurus Rex and she danced the do-si-do with Allosaurus and she swam alongside a sei whale, who combed her hair with his fine baleen.

After the museum, Edie saw lots of people close together, waving blue, red and yellow flags in the air and holding banners of words and shouting.  They were saying something that they cared about a lot to do with a man called Maduro.  He is the boss of a country five thousand miles away where angels fall.

Edie went on the train under the ground and then she saw a house on the river where the bosses of this country talk and make things up and decide things.  Then at quarter past four, the little Bens rang and she curtsied to the tower and yawned into my gloved hand.

At home, while I cleaned the kitchen, she asked me for a piece of lined paper.  I gave her my notepad and she sat at my desk.

I opened my notepad today and this is what I found.

 

If I was with you

the things that we could do

Like go and see Big Ben

If I was just with you then

 

Edie, age 7

 

Edie’s poem is the musical beauty of simplicity.  It is worth a million of my words.

 

Yours truly

 

YW

 

Image – Stephen Wiltshire sourced here: http://www.stephenwiltshire.co.uk/art_gallery.aspx?Id=3855