To mark my 63rd birthday I proudly present another collection of poetry and photographs, all taken by me. Once again, it is a mix of shades of light and dark and in some cases miniature stories in verse. I hope you will enjoy reading.
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Sweet Peas
The scent of sweet peas
Drifted through an open window
Played havoc with her senses
Some things never leave you
Remembering the posy
He left by the kitchen sink
Wiry stalks tied
With frayed green string
And the letter…
The letter saying
“It isn’t you, it’s me”
It felt like they no longer
Wanted the same things
Teardrops fell creating
Inky whirlpools on the page
He always had a way with words
Or at least that's what
She used to say
But she was not listening
Or believing any more
Flimsy wilting petals
Infidelity dressed up
As remorse.
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The Fruit and Veg Man
We called him
The fruit and veg man
He had a stall
In the market
He sang as he spoke
Made up rhymes
About apples
Cherries and parsnips
You could hear him
Above the noise of the street
No microphone was needed
If he had told people
Carrots were blue
I swear they would have believed him
He squeezed the hands of old ladies
When he gave them their change
Made them feel
They were getting extra
Irrespective of what they had paid
I once asked why he had
A crowd around him
When other traders never did
He winked and said
A bit of banter
And a cheeky smile
Has always got me
Where I want to be.
<>
The Busy Bee
When you were a child
You used to laugh
When I called you
A busy bee
You raced around
Flapped your arms
Made a buzzing sound
Through pursed lips
One time I decided
To slow you down
And sit you on my knee
I said whilst it is fun
To soar and fly
Feel the wind in your face
As you aim for the sky
You must also
Make the time
To study the bee’s
Tiny stained glass wings.
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Lavender Burst
There was something about
The time of year
When summer leaves
Started to lose their sheen
And the smell of lavender
Hung in the air
Clouds of purple confetti
Scattered in her hair
She thought they would be
Together forever
Clinging to rainbows
In stormy weather
Remembering times
Now drenched in doubt
Were his feelings for her
Ever sincere?
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The Ballroom
It was once a ballroom
It stood there for years
An ornate reminder
Weeping derelict tears
Now it had to be demolished
To build a superstore
Another chain without a link
As if we needed any more
Peeping through the rubble
I saw a single orange flower
It was my mother’s favourite colour
A ray of sunshine in dark showers
It reminded me of the marigolds
My father grew for her
And beside it I spotted
A single creamy pearl
A necklace once cherished
By a 17 year old girl
I pictured my parents dancing
To a piano melody
The night they first met
In 1963.
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New Territory
Scrambling beside
The remains of
A crumbling
Wooden jetty
Using jagged rocks
To assist in
Navigating pools
Of seaweed
And soft mud
I felt like
I was treading
Where no-one
Had gone before
Virgin territory
A remote island
Belonging to me
I don’t think
I have ever
Felt so aligned
With the pulse
And the heartbeat
Of the river
Whilst teetering
On the brink of
New discoveries.
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Harmony
This poem was inspired by the Paul Weller penned song 'Liza Radley'. It is due to feature in the 40th anniversary edition of the fanzine I wrote in the early 80s, called 'Kindred Spirit', which I am currently working on.
I used to see her
Late at night
Her name
Was Harmony
She wore
Wild marigolds
In her hair
And dresses with
Floaty sleeves
It was as if
She had entered
Another world
When she glided
Through midnight fields
I sometimes used
To wonder if
She was a figment
Of my imagination
But early one morning
I heard a faint knock
And when I opened
The curtains
I noticed a perfect
Orange heart
Had been drawn
In the mist
On my window pane.
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Driftwood Wish
The sky turned burnt crimson
A wizard landed on the beach
He held a piece of driftwood
Up to the moon
And granted it one wish
The driftwood replied very softly
On the back of a sea breeze
It said I was once a sturdy branch
Of a sycamore tree
Spiders weaved intricate tapestries
Through my ornate leaves
They glistened with raindrops
After spring showers
Tiny jewels suspended
In threads of tears
They twinkled at sunrise
Floated through sunset
Please will you carefully cut out a leaf
And carve a web in my fading bark
To remind me although
My appearance has changed
I will always be a tree at heart.
<>
Beyond The Gate
It hurts me when I see you
Walk this path alone
I sense your pain and anger
A fusion of my own
Emotions
I know you have left the gate open
For me to walk on through
Never give up hope my angel
I will come back to you
On days when you feel despondent
Do the same as I do
Think of our separation
As temporary
A grey sky that
Eventually
Turns blue.
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Between the Cracks
The ground
Was cracking
Under her feet
He had stripped her
Of everything
Alienated from
Family and friends
Manipulated
Into disconnect
Locked within
His private world
Clutching at shreds
Of self respect
She should have
Listened to her mother
When she said
He was bad news.
<>
Sunrise Breakfast
The smell of coffee
Swirls of steam
Playing with my senses
Gyrating genies
Taking the first sip
I close my eyes and think
Of clear winter mornings
Ice blue and gold
Pewter whispers
New horizons unfold
Smiles exchanged
No words needed
Decisions can wait
Until later in the day
Breathing deeply
Inhaling possibilities
Sunrise breakfasts
By the sea.
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The Ghost of the Fallen Bunker
Some said
He was a vagrant
But his accent
Did not suggest
Humble beginnings
He wore
A tattered uniform
With a row of medals
That glistened
He appeared
On the beach
When the tide
Was out
Then vanished
Like footprints
In soft sand
His voice boomed
Over howling winds
Tales of fear
And slaughter
You could taste
His tears
Something in
His tone
Demanded you
Listen
To the ghost of
The fallen bunker.
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Thank you once again for reading. You can find me on both X and Instagram under @jillwebbwords. Links are provided below:
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