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February 2007

shells

She couldn’t face the mirror in her wide, white hall and wore wool and cream without tenderness  most days. So  for twenty years the mirror watched the visitors come and  go to… Read More »shells

heaven and hell

Mary wore very white socks and had a mother with a crush on a  knitting machine in her front room. I used to call  for Mary every morning  and the sound of that productive piece of furniture  would follow… Read More »heaven and hell

Drive by Eileen

DESPERATELY SEEKING MUCH NEEDED RELAXATION, THEY DROVE INTO THE COUNTRYSIDE.   UNEXPECTEDLY A TERRIER RAN IN FRONT OF THEM. SWERVING SUDDENLY, THEY MISSED HIM……  TAIL WAGGING,HE HURRIED BACK HOME FOR TEA. …… FROM… Read More »Drive by Eileen

Blue

Margaret Shilton had the clearest eyes that anyone could  bear to see. And she would turn her head and the blue would reach you before you could compose a  face. She had met Demeter once  at… Read More »Blue

Elephant

When the sore throat came it seemed so commonplace.  A Spring Friday. Bright yellow daffodils by the door. He promised to take aspirin. See us Monday. By then an angry scarlet cavern.  He… Read More »Elephant

Body Language

The shape of fear is always a surprise: you  are meeting something from within when you believe you are meeting something from without.  Today I saw that dismal glow again… Read More »Body Language

Sadness

Only a dog without hope could run like that. So she went out one morning and bought an explorer’s ticket for a new life. He didn’t come. He had hated… Read More »Sadness

Window

In a far corner of the garden a handsome boy was burning a book. Cowardly words eaten alive. Carbon calmed him. He dropped the book on the  grass, held his… Read More »Window

Albatross

A mean man fell from a window above her head. That’s life she thought and started to file a broken nail. It took over three weeks to replace that glass :… Read More »Albatross

Knowledge

Jackie knew two things. She was beautiful and she hated cheese. Then she fell in love. Now she’s sure of nothing.  

Gillian Clarke's 'October' poem with a trace of Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd

October Wind in the poplars and a broken branch,a dead arm in the bright trees. Five poplarstremble gradually to gold. The stone faceof the lion darkens in a sharp shower,his dreadlocks of lobelia grown long,tangled, more brown now than blue eyed. My friend dead and the graveyard at Orcop,her short ride to the hawthorn hedge, lighterthan hare bones on men’s shoulders, our facesstony, rain, weeping in the air. The gravedeep as a well takes the earth’s thud, the slowfall of flowers.                             Over the page the penruns faster than wind’s white steps over grass.For a while health feels like pain. Then panicrunning the fields, the grass, the racing leavesahead of light, holding that robin’s eyein the laurel, hydrangea’s faded green.I must write like the wind, year after yearpassing my death day, winning ground.   ‘The persistent torrent from the gurgoyle’s jaws directed all its vengeance into the grave. The rich tawny mould was stirred into motion, and boiled like… Read More »Gillian Clarke's 'October' poem with a trace of Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd