A table, chairs, pots and a pieris,
in spring glory of red leaves and white bell flowers,
all brought here from another life
in another place.The fennel was here before me,
growing over my head each summer,
spreading its seedlings to the lawn and the path.
They die if I try to move them,
but the lavender, rosemary, artemisia,
all came here as cuttings
from that other garden.I watch Miko, watching the bees,
as they visit the wallflowers.
Through instinct, experience, or laziness,
she leaves them in peace,
and folding her ears against the sea wind,
which rattles the fence against its posts,
she slips between the bluebells like a shadow,
looking for shelter.The magpies have fledged,
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the tree is quiet, but two perch,
dapper in their white and midnight blue,
on a distant chimney.
The small birds are safer,
but I miss their racket.
Day 20 – Strange Dreams
I dreamt I gave birth to a baby daughter,
and when I awoke, though it was fantastic,
at my age, in my state,
for the briefest of moments, I held on to the joy,
and couldn’t let go.
When I saw the truth, I felt such a loss,
as though for a real child.I slept again, and dreamt of my mother
(twenty years gone now).
In a clean, white world, she was cold and distant.
When I spoke to her truly, she walked off in silence.
When I found her again,
I pinned her down, and told her I loved her.When you dream of a child, you dream of yourself.
This much I know.
Is that who I grieve for?
When you dream of a parent, I don’t know the meaning.I don’t like these dreams,
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that carry such meanings I cannot untangle.
Please give me the daylight.
Day 19 – Circles
Bit of fun this morning.
A work in progress (or possibly regress).
Linda Rushby 19 April 2020
Day 18 – Istanbul
I saw a photograph today,
of a sandstone palace,
frosted with blue and white tiles.
And I thought of Istanbul,
though I knew it couldn’t be.‘Germany’ I guessed,
‘another of Mad King Ludwig’s confections’
(I’ve been caught out like that before).
But no, it was Seville, and I thought
‘Aha, Moorish influences!’
and ‘I must go there one day,
to southern Spain.’But oh, Istanbul,
beautiful, dirty, noisy city of my dreams.
Byzantium, city of Constantine,
with your minarets and domes, gardens and palaces,
cats, magpies and wonderful cafes,
sunshine and storms and clinging fogs,
and best of all, your waterways,
ships and ferries and fishermen on Galata Bridge.The taste of that fresh fish sandwich,
bought from the boat, where I watched them fry it
over a brazier by the water’s edge.
Or the tea I poured from a double pot,
the russet colour, clear as the glass I sipped it from
as fragrant as the roses in Gülhane Park
a sensual delight, sweet as the pastries
in Hafiz Mustafa’s.Perhaps one day I’ll find
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my way back to you,
(though somehow I know I won’t)
but you’ll always be there
in my heart.
Day 17 – Sonnet for An Introvert
Having already trashed the terza rima, I thought today I’d go for another classic poetic form – the sonnet.
Apologies for the longer final couplet, which I found written (as four lines) in my notebook, scribbled there a few nights ago and promptly forgotten by morning, when I wrote something completely different.
I could have used it another day, but I think it sort of fits (and saves me having to think up another two lines to finish with).
If I can write a poem today.
perhaps the world will go away
and leave me in this happy place
of never meeting face-to-face.I burrow like a worm or mole
and hide inside this cosy hole
while listening to the radio,
relieved I’ve nowhere else to go.I do the things I like to do,
and never go and join a queue
(not even one two metres spread)
I buy my milk first thing instead.Life feels strangely normal – or perhaps it’s normally strange?
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That same old déjà vu, coming around again.
PS Just thought I’d add Miko as my ‘featured image’, given that this reflects her philosophy on life as well as mine.
Day 16 – Conundrum
…also known as cheating!
Why do some days have
Linda Rushby 16 April 2020
no poetry to speak of?
It’s a conundrum.
Day15 – Terza Rima
As we are now half way through the month I thought I’d push the boat out and write something in verse.
The image above is genuine footage of Dante’s reaction to my poetry.
I thought that I would write a terza rima.
I had to look it up to find what’s what.
But every poet is at heart a dreamer.Though rhyming is a skill I haven’t got.
It’s not because I think it’s for the birds,
but when I try I just sound like a clot.It’s rhythm that I love, and sounds of words,
alliteration and internal rhymes.
Free verse is where I soar above the herds.So please forgive me for this garbled (c)rhyme.
Linda Rushby 15 April 2020
Perhaps I’ll try again another time.
Day 14 – Foraging
I ran out of milk
so I went to the shop.
First time in a week.At 8 o’clock,
there was no queue outside.
The aisles were empty,
but the shelves were full.
I didn’t want much
till I saw what they had.Kale, a swede and kiwi fuit;
cheddar and brie and mini pork pies
(I always get those).
Parsley and basil
in pots for my window.
Live Greek yogurt
and UHT milk,
so I can make more.Couldn’t find hummus,
but I got Brussels pate,
two bottles of wine
and two chocolate choux buns.Dark choc digestives
and dark Choco Leibniz;
cat food, and matches
for incense and candles
with my morning yoga.No decaff ground coffee,
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I forgot the cheese twirls.
And I almost forgot
the milk.
Day 13 – Poems
I had the idea for this in the middle of the night, and it seemed wonderful at the time – as things do, in the middle of the night.
But I haven’t got anything else to offer, so here it is:
I sent my poems out on paper darts,
fletched with the feathers of Halcyon birds,
shimmering blue and moonlit.I wonder if
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they will ever return?
Day 12 – Mr Fox
You asked me to send you a poem.
I sent you an old one, generic in intent
(though you were in there).
I never wrote one just for you,
till now.We never shared that bottle of champagne.
I never wore that silk dress for you –
(they didn’t make it in my size.)
You never got what you deserved,
yet you were always kind.I saw you run across a snowy field.
I saw no hounds upon your tail, and I was glad.I never felt that I deserved you,
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but I remember you with fondness.
Do you remember me,
my foxy-whiskered friend?