Winter Colour

Over the last month I have written a series of poems based around the theme of spring being around the corner. I have been overwhelmed by some of the positive feedback I've received when I've posted excerpts taken from the poems on Twitter. Now I am happy to share the full collection with you here on my blog.

I hope they add a splash of sunshine to your winter days.

Hidden Stars

I almost walked past

Without noticing them,

Two tiny white flowers

Like chicks in a nest.

They hesitate before

Lifting their heads,

Then open their beaks

To sing from the hedge.

With petals unfurling

And colours of spring

There are butterflies

Waiting in their wings.

The Painted Ladies

They are all dressed up,

They are loud and proud,

They are setting the room

And my world on fire.

They are painted ladies

Wearing bright lipstick,

They may not be heard

But demand to be seen.

They are extrovert,

Determined and bold,

Flamboyant yet cool,

The stars of the show.

Velvet Smile

You cannot fail 

to be amazed

how quickly 

things can change,

From a seemingly 

lifeless pitted bulb

glossy green 

leaves appear.

Then almost in 

the blink of an eye

exquisite buds 

are born,

trumpets play 

a fanfare

as majestic 

flowers unfold.

Daffodil Waves

The yellow glow of spring time

Emanating from each stem

Fills my heart with sunshine,

A treasured long lost friend.

Each petal holds a golden key

To doors I thought were locked,

Waving their arms gracefully

They have been away too long.

A golden ray of joy and hope

Through misty rain and clouds,

I see life through a different lens

When daffodils are in flower.

The Cherubs

Bare branches, brittle fingers

Reaching up towards the light,

Swaying, dancing in the wind,

Weaving patterns in the sky.

My eyes fall like a raindrop

To the ground beneath my feet,

Nestled safely in their beds

On a cradle of green leaves.

Smiling cherubs dressed in pink,

Refreshed by morning dew,

Unfolding buds of hope,

Rays of sunshine peeping through.

Daisy Chains

The winter grass is alive

With tiny splashes of white,

Feather like petals as

Soft as a swan's back

Turning back hands of time.

Each pink tip tells a story

Of distant summer days,

Of butterflies dancing,

Of carefree laughter

And making daisy chains.

© Jill Webb February 2020

       

Iceland

Last September I was lucky enough to tick an item off my bucket list by visiting Iceland. The country lived up to all expectations. With some of the awe inspiring sights we saw it would have been impossible for me not to write one or two poems. I would like to share them with you.

The first poem was inspired by the magnificent Dettifoss waterfall.

Match stick like people

Overpowered humbled,

Gazing into timeless depths

Of endless gushing spray.

The sights and sounds

Demand you stand

And stare in awe

At crystal drops,

Ice coated patterns

Cascading displays

Painted by nature’s hand.

A gigantic symphony,

Fills your head

Yet soothes your heart.

Clouds above, clouds below

It’s hard to differentiate.

Rushing and crashing

Against rugged rocks

Here to tell the tale

Long after we have gone.

The waterfall was so powerful that a spectacular rainbow formed on the spray coming off it. It was an amazing sight.

Translucent pastel arch
From the heavens above
Rainbow orange, rainbow blue
Softly whisper words of love.

Illuminating sunshine
Dissolve into the spray
Make a wish, blow a kiss
Before you fade away.

A trip to Iceland would not be complete without seeing a glacier. We decided to go one step further and walk across one! It was one of the most humbling experiences of my life.

Folds of ice packed tight

Timeless ice blue mounds

Connect without wire

No quick fix to be found.

Glistening in the light

A million precious stones

Stretching to the clouds,

Undulating barren roads.

To stand upon a glacier

With arms outstretched wide

Defies space, time and logic,

Adds new meaning to life.

As we were driving around the Skútustaðahreppur region of Iceland we noticed what appeared to be bursts of steam coming from an area we passed. We immediately went to investigate further and were privileged to witness up close what I later found out are fumaroles. For information, a fumarole is a vent in the earth's surface from which steam and volcanic gases are emitted.

I don't think I have ever seen anything as incredible. It was like something out of a science fiction movie and definitely good material to write a poem about.

Volcanic desert,

Steaming rocky mass,

Bottomless cauldron,

No future, no past.

Sulphuric spray 

Staining misshapen rocks,

Scorched white and yellow,

Science fiction backdrop.

Active yet lifeless,

Shades of barren brown,

Hypnotic, spellbinding,

Ash covered ground.

Unfeeling aliens

Dropped in from outer space,

The blue sky above

Looks strangely out of place.

As our plane took off and I waved goodbye to Iceland I felt compelled to write one final poem to end the trip. It really was a once in a lifetime experience and one that will stay with me for ever. 

When I want a little time

To clear my troubled mind,

I close my eyes and float away

Until I reach the clouds.

In my elevated state

The world seems far behind,

There is no better therapy

Than floating on a cloud.

© Jill Webb February 2020

       

January Flowers

Welcome to my latest poetry collection. Because the first month of the year can be rather a bleak one I decided to take photos of various flowering plants as I noticed them shoot up both inside and outside, then write a poem about each one. 

I hope the poetry adds a ray of sunshine to your winter days. 

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First Snowdrops

A blanket of damp earth
Hiding all signs of life
Naked branches painted
On a canvas of grey skies.

Peeping through the bracken
The winter ballerinas raise
Their graceful white heads,
They give a butterfly like wave.

Suddenly the grey skies
Fade into a silver mist,
The snow queens are smiling
As they blow me a kiss.


Winter Jasmine

Gently refreshed
By winter dew,
Smiling faces
Peeping at you
Through a mesh,
A giant bird's nest
Bursts of sunshine
And happiness.
Through grey skies
And misty views
These winter stars
Always shine for you.

Hyancinths

She's a vision in white,

with sun dancing on

her sleek, satin petals.

A fountain of stars

and chiming bells,

she fills the room

with intricate charm.

A shimmering bride

with a bodice of pearls

and fine embroidery.

Her beauty shines

from deep within,

And when you see

her touching display

everything but her 

beauty will dissolve

in a fragrant cloud

of peace and harmony.

Nestled in 

their rich green beds,

a satin tapestry,

a white cascade

of tubular bells

a fragrant harmony.

Campanula

They must have appeared
When my back was turned,
On the back of a sunbeam,
Or a breath of fresh air.

Their delicate leaves
Are like butterfly wings,
An intricate patchwork
Etched into pure silk.

A camera click
Of a summer cascade,
These stars are shining
Through a purple blue haze.

© Jill Webb January 2020

       

Sunset Poems

Firstly I would like to wish all of my readers a happy new year. Thank you to everyone who showed an interest in my poetry in 2019. I have plenty more lined up for the new decade.

For my first post of 2020 I thought I would add a series of poems I've written over the last few months, all of which have been inspired by sunsets at various points on the River Humber in East Yorkshire. I hope you enjoy them.

Untouchable,

majestic

ball of fire

eclipsed by clouds.

Golden ripples

like a pathway

leading to

an unknown land.

Where anything

is possible

and dreams

can come true, 

across the 

sparkling water

I extend

my hand to you.

Mesmerizing 

golden orb

touch down 

and kiss the sea

set the sky 

and my senses on fire

rejuvenate 

the deserted beach.

Illuminating 

heavenly light,

new horizons

revealed.

Chameleon clouds

pink, orange, blue,

help me to see

things differently.

The fading reflections

of all that could have been

shimmer gently in the wind

like the remnants of a dream.

Slowly gazing upwards

blue skies smile on me

and pale winter sunshine

gently dries my tears.

Show me new dimensions

break the chains, free my mind.

I'm drawing strength

from the explosion in the sky.

The contours of mudflats,

tiny islands bathed in light.

Remoulded, reshaped

by the rising falling tides.

Dusk is falling all around

in shades of pink and gold,

a lonesome bird swoops down,

a silhouette against the glow.

As the night starts to fall

the sky bursts into flames,

revealing hidden depths,

no two days are the same.

The setting sun

sheds a teardrop 

of gold into

the river of dreams

and as the wind

caresses my face

for the first time

I can breathe.

I cannot reshape

the advancing clouds

or control 

the onshore breeze,

but I will wait

for as long as it takes

for the river 

to flow back to me.

A thousand whispered secrets

are swept away to sea

on the ever changing tides,

by the ever changing breeze.

Tentacle like branches

sprawl across a wooden fence

clumps of rugged, windswept grass - 

my journey's start, journey's end.

As I push the gate open

the sea is bathed in golden light,

knowing I can go no further

peace and sunlight flood my mind.

©Jill Webb January 2020

      

Three Special Poems

The three poems below are particularly special to me.

The first was written back in 1985. As I walked home from the bus stop one misty November 5^th evening, I couldn’t fail to notice all the fireworks exploding in the sky around me, the heavy aroma of bonfires burning and the sound of children squealing with excitement. The sights, sounds and smells inspired me to write this poem.

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Visions of November

Waves of murky brown smoke

gently ripple over my tousled head,

and that rich, intoxicating aroma

plays havoc with my sense,

conjuring up a thousand vivid memories

of chestnuts, brandy snap, childhood aspirations

and hot steamy breath evaporating in the night.

Unthinkingly I turn to stare

at the stark silhouettes of cold

bare trees on parade for the night,

then a rainbow coloured shower

suddenly bursts into view,

glittering like tinsel in the chilled November air,

until fading, twinkling, dying

it flutters down to kiss the ground.

Droves of excited children circle around,

their small frames protected by

thick woolly garments,

lovingly knitted by elderly relatives.

Their squeals are high pitched,

their laughter infectious

and their ruddy little faces

are so eager, so alive.

In the flickering orange glow of the bonfire

a bedraggled yet beaming Guy Fawkes

is crackling and burning

and in my mind's eye I see my father

leaning over to light a dormant gunpowder treat

whilst I clutched my mother's hand

and watched every second

in starry eyed amazement.

I wrote the second poem not long after the birth of my second son. This caused me to reflect on my own childhood and the special place my maternal grandpa had in my life. The poem was featured in an anthology named ‘Sealed With A Kiss’ in 2000.

Letter to Grandpa

I wish that I could tell you

how much you mean to me,

that all I now appreciate

I was then too young to see.

If only I could thank you

for always being there,

through growing pains

and teenage moods

I had no doubt you cared.

I wish that my two children

could play beside your feet

for them not to

have known you

means their lives

are less complete.

I hope that I can teach them

by actions that you showed

that those who give

without needing to take

are the ones

who love you the most.

As I briefly mentioned in my opening post on this blog, over the last few months I have taken the first steps towards fulfilling a lifelong ambition of writing a book. The story is going to have a strong psychic theme running through it and will be based around the subject of a twin flame relationship.

The Twin Flames

You are

a reflection of me,

a mirror image

of what I see.

All that you feel

I feel it too,

my strengths, my failings

I see in you.

Those glowing shades

of gold and red,

the spark you ignited

inside my head,

without you

my life is incomplete,

a jigsaw puzzle

with a missing piece.

Without you

my life is no longer ablaze,

shades of misty blue

are all that remain.

© Jill Webb September 2019

Welcome to my new blog

Back in the 1980s I wrote a music and poetry fanzine in Hull, United Kingdom called Kindred Spirit. I also had a number of short stories published in women's magazines and I regularly wrote music reviews for a local paper. 

Sadly life got in the way from the end of the 80s and I drifted away from creative writing altogether for almost a decade, when I had another short spell of writing poetry. I had several of my poems published over a period of four years, then sadly drifted away once more. 

After taking my youngest son to Hull train station one murky October morning in 2015 the idea landed in my head from nowhere that I should revisit my creative days by publishing the contents of my fanzines online.

Fast forward to May 2017 and my blog - Kindred Spirit, the story of a 1980s Hull fanzine - finally went live. It is an unashamed nostalgia trip and has given me a massive amount of pleasure too. But more importantly, writing the blog has enabled me to tap back into the creative side I moved away from years ago. The fuse has well and truly been lit once more where poetry writing is concerned and I have taken the first tentative steps towards fulfilling a lifelong ambition - writing my first book.

In January 2018 my oldest son suggested I joined Twitter in order to further develop my fanzine blog. I was rather sceptical at first and I hadn't got a clue how it worked when I signed up, but I can honestly say now I am glad I took his advice! It has brought me into contact with hundreds of like minded people from all over the world and has well and truly taken on a life of its own.

As a result of joining Twitter I have been inspired to start sharing some of the poetry I’ve written over recent times, but in doing this I realise I am ready to spread my wings beyond the 280 character limit. Setting up a new blog where I could share my writing without limits seemed like a really good idea.

To start the ball rolling I've decided to to share two poems about a rugged little spot on the Humber estuary with a beauty all of its own called Paull. It is a place I have visited many times over the years and is a never ending source of inspiration to me. 

The first poem was written only a few weeks ago when I was feeling in a reflective mood. The second was written back in 1995 and was published in a book called 'Eastern England Poets'. It was the first piece of writing I'd had published for eight years and it has a special place in my heart for that reason. Because it was written during the period when my sons were pre-school age, reading the poem always brings back memories of what were without a doubt the happiest days of my life.

I hope you will enjoy what I have to share. Please feel free to leave a comment on anything you see.

Shifting Sands

I’ve lost count of how many times

over the years

this river has mirrored

my laughter, my tears.

I’ve watched my two sons

who are now grown men

run side by side

to the water's edge.

Their breathless laughter

echoes in my mind

every time I reflect on

the changing tides.

I’ve mourned my losses,

searched for answers too

through misty horizons

and crystal clear views.

For each pebble, each ripple

through sunshine and rain

there is one thing

that will never change.

There is no other place

in this world

where I breathe more deeply,

see more clearly

or listen so intently

to what my heart tells me.

Reflections From Paull

Take a drive past the Saltend chemical plant,

By the pipework and exhaling towers,

Tucked discreetly behind this generating mass

Overlooking the Humber, a village can be found.

Quite often I find myself down here,

On the weather torn, ramshackle pier

Today is dull and overcast

But some days the view is astonishingly clear.

To my right is the small but proud lighthouse,

Peeping its head above houses and pubs,

My gaze swings along the river's edge

And there, swinging heavily are cranes in the dock.

The huge blue and white North Sea Ferry

Patiently waits to set sail,

The Humber Bridge - our jewel in the crown,

Seems a matchstick construction through feathery rain.

In the distance lies the flat south bank,

A patchwork quilt of multi-coloured fields,

And a host of buoys accompanied by gulls

Seem to find their way home to this seaweed-soaked beach.

The misty view is by many

Not considered a picturesque scene,

But whilst I'm here, for several minutes at least

Cares gently dissolve into the ripples of the sea.

© Jill Webb September 2019