water. sea. ocean.
the black body. from Mother stolen.
learning to swim. for freedom.
foam. air. white.
the black body. walk back home.
Learning to die. for freedom.
environment
Day 11 – NaPoWriMo- Mount Cherry
And here, we begin our ascent.
Please be careful of your footing.
There are loose chippings.
Look up. See how the sun graces
her face. Depending on the time
of the day or time of the month,
she may greet you with her broadest
smile, inviting. Other times, shadowed
and closed. You have been warned.
As we advance, observe the lumpy,
bumpy terrain, discoloured in places
with distinct dark spots. She was born
with these. And here, stop, examine
the outcrop revealing her core. Layer
upon layer of flesh: emotions
and intuition and wisdom. Years
of neglect has made this particular part
almost impassable. Look away if you have to.
And here, finally, we reach her peak.
Or should we say, peaks. Sagging
too far into the clouds. Inexcusable.
But, we are blessed to witness her
during the fleeting blossom season.
Enjoy the cherry clusters lining the path.
Careful as slippery when wet. And we
wouldn’t want you to loose your chance
to prod and poke and objectify this
rare and formidable mountain.
Day 9 – Concrete Poem – being in the moment
I sit on the bed, cross legged,
window open. Hearing a kid
scream, a car engine revving.
And there, just then, a seagull
flies by carrying bunch of leaf
and twine in its beak. Say you,
what you building? Stealing?
It’s now I’m aware of the trees
trees outside coming into leaf.
Buds unfurling like green ton-
gues with beard and feathery
flower clusters. What tree are
you? And why do you reach so
to the sky as if all that matters
is to grow and thrive? Zooming
traffic, loud, draw my attention
away from nature, from inside
But that’s usually the case with
modern life: a distancing from
our true nature with incentive
of moving faster, go anywhere,
produce anything of fake worth
as if our life depends upon it.
Day 8 – My Mother Forbad Us To Walk Backwards
After Anne Carson @carsonbot
The misty fret rolls
in from the North Sea
covering the bay
like a shroud.
There is no silence
when everything changes.
Grief strips the skin
from your body and leaves you raw.
Down along the shoreline
terns are turning and turning.
A question coaxed from your throat,
And this is how we love ourselves?
Onwards. There is so much beauty
in the world which you fail
to notice on a frenzy.
But if you allowed
each breath to be a prayer
you will enter the museum
of God and already
be inside of your body.
Day 1 – NAPoWriMo – In these troubling times, our way of being comes into sharp focus
April brings with it the challenge of National Poetry Writing Month. One poem per day for the next 30 days. What better way to kick start my next 100 days of blogging if you take up this challenge. So follow along as for the next 30 days , I’ll be sharing a poem I create, sometimes in response to the prompts posted over here, sometimes from other inspirations. But I’ll be hopefully following the theme of Nature for this body of work.
Day 1 – In these troubling times, our way of being comes into sharp focus
Taking out the rubbish
I’m met by a bully of a bird
on our backyard wall.
He doesn’t take his leave.
Indolent, he waiters along the bricks
beady eyeing me.
Mum used to say things
must be rough at sea
for seagulls to be so far inland.
Today, I don’t think this is the case.
I think people are no longer at sea
forcing these scavengers
reliant on the discarded chip
or bit of fish to become urban
into backyards where citizens
take their recommended
or is it permitted
daily shot of sun while in lockdown.
This seagull surveys the scene.
One foot, two foot, two foot, one.
Head jerking alert, yellow sickle beak,
hooking the air with it’s call.
Grey wings once settled now stretched
wide with an inkling to take flight
but it decides to stay, close.
Two foot, one foot, one foot two.
A shared landscape it’s always been.
Perhaps, now, more obvious
how we all have to adapt
to a new way of being
which might have us all eating grass yet.
The Sea is Medicine
Dressed for the journey
Osprey Watch
Kielder Forest and Water. Partaking in training to become a volunteer who will Osprey watch over the summer this year. It is an interesting gig, learning about the birds as they come back to the forest after wintering in Senegal or The Gambia.
Kielder has become the home for 7 mating pairs of Ospreys for the abundance of space and fish to raise fledglings. Our job will be to set up the scopes for viewing the nesting pairs. To talk to visitors about their behaviours and raise the profile of our birds as they work together to build up their chicks for becoming independent birds over the summer months.
There are also Osprey watch cruises upon Kielder water to check out all the nests along the reservoir.
In the past, I’ve volunteered for certain things, indoor jobs, like manning phones for charities, running creative workshops, talking to kids about writing etc. I’ve never volunteered for anything out in nature as I never thought I would be of any use. Or there was the underlying feeling of not belonging there. Bit by bit this self-limiting attitude is changing.
I look forward to start and share my experiences.
A little old house
There was an old woman who lived in a little old house. The little old house had a little old garden where the little old robins enjoyed to rest. This little old woman had a very harsh winter when her little old garden was covered in snow. So much snow that the robins didn’t come to visit until the snow had almost gone. The little old woman was so sad in her little old house with her little old garden all covered in snow with no robins to sit and watch. So she had an idea.
The next time the little old woman spied a robin in her little old garden, she crept out so quiet as can be. Tip-toe, tip- toe through the snow until she was right up on this little old robin sitting on the little old bird table in her little old garden. And as quick as you like, the little old woman hit the little old robin with a little old frying pan, swept it up and into the house. Where after the little old woman stuffed the little old robin into a plump little thing. She then stuck him on her little old bird table in her little old garden so she could look upon that little old robin all year long.
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Living Wild Studios 