Video: [Poem] Lizzie (Gaskin’s Wood)

Back on Boxing Day (strangely) I posted a murder poem called Lizzie. I wasn’t thinking about murder, Christmas was quite a pleasant affair.

I do enjoy reading my poems out but don’t think I could ever face a crowd doing it but I can mask it with the power of video (insert reverb and 1980’s sound effects here). I would like to create versions to go along with all my written work eventually. I don’t know what’s come over me getting all these videos done…..actually I do, I downloaded the free software VSDC for video editing. If I didn’t have such a terrible laptop I probably would have created a few more fancy videos but it likes to crash on me which means I’m sticking with simple.

My YouTube channel is here if you would like to go and take a look.

 

Poem: Beauty in Brown

Beauty in brown.
A trickle of treacle
Warm chestnuts in cold hands
Toasted bread and bubbling cheese,
two rounds please.
Rough walnut shells and wet earth smells.
Coffee ground from beans
means time to sit down , feet up
book open and flick through the pages
for ages.
Glossy conkers peeping up to me
through crunchy Autumn leaves.
Sparrows shouting from my roof.
The clopping hooves of a shaggy Shire,
Logs waiting for a fire
or a carving that makes a floor full of shavings,
or back to the start as a gnarled oak tree
with acorn cups for a fairy or three.
To scribble with ink of many shades
but always back to brown on a thick cream page.

© Swarms Me 2017

Poem: The hare’s field.

My immortal eyes,

across pastures glide

Beyond the crow cloaked oak

and woodfire smoke.

To hear the small dryw cry

For the White Hart’s rise.

Swarms Me ©2016

In March of 2016 we went on a short trip to Llandygwydd, Cardiganshire, Wales where we met local artist, David Beattie. You can see his works on his Facebook page here. David kindly opened up his studio to let us have a look round. It was a veritable cornucopia for the eyes and mind, every available surface was covered in his work and works in progress. He was very welcoming and happy to talk about his work, processes and research, he has a true artist’s character.

He was, at that time working on a number of pieces for his university portfolio and hares feature very strongly in his work. So the combination of this, the surroundings and long walks and the natural inspiration of Wales led to this poem.

Poem. Remember?

The bad, the ugly and the good
I would remember you however I could.
A smudge for a face,
my mind’s misjudged, short-sighted at night,
even in grieving daydreams
the dappled light shadows your features to me.
And your voice that I think I can recall
sounds shrill and will not reach that lilting timbre
that made me safe
That made me warm.
We sit and talk in a mundane scene.
No award winning shots that capture our dream.
I know I am, but I keep it going
Don’t focus too much
or my brain will wake me,
out of this empty longing reverie.
Let’s just slide back in, butter dripping
down our fingers, eating chip sandwiches
at the kitchen table with a cup of tea
and the dog on your knee trying to catch scraps.
Then my mind switches to a stupid row
when I dug in my heels.
The hurt in your eyes. I cried that night.
Ashamed.
Freeze frame.
Why does my brain punish me?
I know what’s coming next.
My lids are closed but I still see
you there, not there, don’t leave me
Again.

© Swarms Me 2017

Keeping up the momentum. My rabbit hole is a stinking alley.

I use ‘keeping up the momentum’ as I have a terrible habit of flagging, lagging and getting distracted. I’ve been a procrastinator that does too many things so as not to get anything finished. About four months ago I decided to have a clear out and focus on the right things. That’s not to say I don’t have a dabble but by limiting myself I have expanded my mind; don’t get excited, it hasn’t been transcendental. It has been quite bleak. Now don’t get me wrong I’m a really happy, fluffy, unicorn rainbows kind of girl but I believe (you may feel differently) that you cannot truly be a kitten eating a bag of rainbow drops without going a bit further down the road, round the corner and hanging out in the dank, rotting alley too.

And so here is another poem that I would like to share and if you would like to take a look at the video on YouTube that is here.

The Man in the moon

The man in the moon could find no room
in his cold dead heart
to warn the man who walks the street
with shadows of strangers at his feet.

The man in the moon watched as the broom,
in the hairy hands of a bitter heart
went with a thwack
down on the girl as it broke her small back.

The man in the moon, in hooded gloom
watched as still as could be.
In the dark of the door with brimstone eyes,
stood a lonely girl with a world full of sighs

The man in the moon looks in my room
as I lie in my bed. What does he see?
Do I peep through the crack
or take my chance and stare right back?

Swarms Me 2016