Journal 18th February 2011

Friday 18th February 2011 – from my Journal

Often as I sit at my computer I also knit which I do today.   The yarn is beautiful – a mixture of purples and greens and will eventually be a V-neck sweater for me.

I think about my girls – Kate and family are in Mexico on hols for the week.  Sian rang me yesterday and made me laugh as she often does.   Steve’s sister Judy rings and we talk about my father-in-law who is once again in hospital.  It’s his 90^th birthday on Sunday and we make plans to take in the cake I’ve made and have some champagne.  I am not much of a baker and so hope that the cake doesn’t “do” for him finally!

I continue with my knitting and start to read another Doris Lessing book – it’s inscribed inside with “Love to mom/Winter ’93/Meike & Philip”  and it was from my brother and his wife and I held on to it when clearing out mum’s flat following her death last year.

At the same time I am listening, with one ear as they say, to Last Word on Radio4 and the first person they discuss is George Shearing who died age 91 this week – blind since birth and a much revered musician and composer.

The next I know is a voice shouting “anyone home” – it’s Steve and he comes in from a days’ golf smelling all outsidey and freshairy.   He’s not played well but seems quite cheerful which is nice.

I hear something of the world news on the radio – protests in Bahrain so I shall go and prep the curry so we can watch Jon Snow on Channel 4 News – the only one we rate – at 7pm.  And maybe later have a glass of red wine, close the curtains, turn up the heat and watch a film.

 

Razor Fish

Worm casts, conch shells, seaweed and fishy smells

Salty taste upon my tongue, huge white gull’s discordant song
Oily black, Common Shag,  Mermaids purse, Poly-bag
Razor fish and jelly fish, translucent, wobbly squashy-squish.
Slap of wave, Pepsi-can, at water’s edge, lone fisherman.
October sun, Turner sky, migrating swallows flying high.
A million pebbles, grey, blue and white
Will mermaids dance on them tonight?

The Gate to Nowhere

The Gate to Nowhere

Just by the gate the white hydrangea’s petals blush pink
with September’s arrival.
Its leaves bronze-tipped.
...
I am an orphan.

The still fiery montbretia is now past its best
As a robin all beady eyes and matchstick legs
approaches my garden bench,
quite fearless

I am an orphan.

Crows are caw-cawing
Blackbirds hitting all the right notes
Each garden bird competes in this teatime extravaganza
I find it beautiful – if melancholic.

And then just as if a baton-wielding bird demands finale
There is silence.

My robin has stayed and bobs on the lawn before me.
Come, come he jerkily seems to say
You’re a mother, a wife, a grandmother –
nothing odd about not having parents at your age.

So you’re an orphan.

I feel autumn in the air
In the rose-hips, in the dank smells
I can see the mighty Snowdonia range
dark grey and velvety.

The little gate,
there at the corner of my garden
Behind the silver birch
Is a gate to nowhere.

I found it lying around nine years ago
On our arrival at the cottage
I liked it – I liked its weight
So I painted it, in that colour
The colour that’s so “in” these days.
Eau-de-nil, water of the Nile
And propped it up in the corner.

There’s something of the Narnia about it to me
I sit and look
I think if I go through it will the hurt cease?
Will the taut muscles relax?
Will it be all wonderful and white, white, white?

Come, come my gate beckons …

But no, not today, my journey’s
far from over.
I’ve many miles to go
And the robin, the thrush, the blackbirds will sing
They’ll sing through the autumn, the winter
And then they’ll herald spring again.

My God is ......



My God is vermillion, violet, magenta
Orange, yellow, green, blue, azure.
My God is all colours.
My God is white as the falling snow.

My God is every lovely, perfect fragrance -
Myrrh, frankincense, mint, cinnamon
Jasmine, honeysuckle, baby's breath,
Roses and fennel and saffron

My God is every brilliant and precious jewel -
Jasper, diamonds, emeralds, lapis lazuli
Garnets, sapphires, rubies, topaz, amethysts
And opals and pearls - sparkling and priceless

My God is each element, the earth, wind and fire
My God is the rain, the rivers, the sea, the stars
The sun, the moon and every grain of sand.
He is the bright morning star
He is the crystal river of life.

My God is the lushest grass
The bluest sky, the highest mountains
The reddest blood, the deepest ocean.
My God is refined gold and lustrous silver.
The strongest iron and the most durable marble.

My God is the vine, the oak tree
The cedar of Lebanon, the ash

The palm and acacia
The chestnut, willow and ebony

The birch and the beech tree

He is the tree of Life

My God is the sweetest fruit
The finest wine
The most spectacular vista
The purest song
The most sumptuous feast
The loveliest flower
My God is the never-ending journey

My God is flesh
My God is spirit
My God is all things
My God is the greatest gift of all gifts.

Meg Marsden copyright

Moon Musings

Moon Musings

The moon looked everso heavy last night

It looked really huge and so round

It looked as though it might possibly fall

And bounce along on the ground

It looked like it shone just for Poynton

No, it looked like it shone just for me

It didn’t seem like a moon far away

But a golden rare fruit on a tree

I thought about stretching my hand right out

To try and to pinch it’s round cheek

 But as I drove along in my auto

It cunningly played hide and seek

One moment was there and then disappeared

The next was a beautiful light

I think I should leave it just where it is

Or should I just take a big bite?

Sky Dressing

Sky dressing

Fold me in your turquoise sky

Wrap me in your gold

On my feet those creamy clouds

I’m never growing old

Charcoal on my fingertips

In my hair some purple streaks

Evening’s scarlet for my lips

Amber locks and widow’s peak

Around my neck fine wisps of white

Upon my lids some silver stars

Lighting up the darkest night

Venus, Jupiter and Mars

Fold me in your turquoise sky

Just look up and watch me fly

FRIDAY NIGHTS

FRIDAY NIGHTS

Dolly-mixture daddy
With our Friday-night treats
With your world-weary eyes
And your sweet, beery breath
...
“Hello Mary dear”, you call down the hall
“And how are you my love?”
As you lay your clumsy hand
On our tired mum’s back

Eggs are fried briskly, bacon flipped
But there’s tension in her moves
Our dad’s a little silly
Our mum is not
Mum’s just tired with her life’s lot!

Sit down soppy daddy
As we lie on our bellies
Sit down dad as we squabble over sweets
Sit down Bill here’s your tray - Your Friday fry-up
And here’s your Daddie's sauce
At the end of the week.

Meg Marsden copyright