Tuesday, 25 February 2014

Images of Edinburgh

After a long weekend away in Edinburgh here are some of the photos from my mobile phone. 

View from the train window of the coastline near Berwick. 

Our room in the Balmoral hotel came with the statue of an eagle. 

The Balmoral hotel where we stayed, with its destinctive clock tower. The clock  is always 2 minutes fast as sitting above Waverly train station it helps you get to the station on time. 
 
The hotel has a whisky bar which is very cosy. We tried 3 different single malts all delicious in different ways. 

In St Andrews square there's an art installation called Field of Light which we walked around. It was very beautiful. 





A poem a day - Day 56

My mind is a blank,
Well actually, it feels bobbly 
Like the inside of a well used handbag
Or a pocket full of fluff,
The detritus of life, shapeless, voluminous
Just gathering and gathering 
Inside my head. 

Monday, 24 February 2014

A week of poems - Day 48 - 55


Day 48

Rain flickers across
my face, tiny tongues of ice
darting through darkness. 


Day 49

I went to Barbican today
It made me sad;
All that concrete, concrete and glass
Dull thudding buildings bruise the skyline, 
The blank deceptive windows
Throw back at us a leaden sky
Petrol stench from the mouth of a car park
Cement tunnels echoing with
The guttural throat clearing of engines
And ghouls in suits lurked 
Sheltering from the rain 
Hands cupped like claws around cigarettes.
This is a migraine place 
Somewhere I don't want to be. 


Day 50

Snapshots from yesterday

Blood like gleaming garnets 
Oozing into a syringe 
Then topped and bagged 
Off to a science lab. 

A sterile cubicle one side glass
Like a lidless eye
I face and stare at the wall
Answering questions over the phone. 

A windowless meeting
In the basement 
Raised voices including my own
Fills me with irritation. 

A train journey home
Racing into the night
Soon I'll be on holiday 
Escaping to Scotland. 


Day 51

England speeds by my window
Mud troubled fields unploughed 
Still choked by flood dregs
Looking Like the wastes of Mordor.

As we cut a dash to the north
The fields become mossy green
Skies brightest blue, looking
Like the set of the teletubbies.

Spindle trees throw brain shapes
Soon we'll pass the jagged cliffs
Of the northeast and the writhing sea
Viking stalked and sparkling.

Heading north of the wall. 


Day 52

Fresh washed streets glimmer
Under a rinsed clean blue sky;
Edinburgh morning


Day 53

Like a lighting strike 
Spider web filaments 
Splinter out in front of me
In the indigo dusk of Edinburgh
Magical globes in ethereal waves
Of colour wash over the square. 

Elsewhere the city waits, poised 
To unfurl like a night flower
Etched with veins, cobbles and close
Winding streets steep and treacherous
Silent places where mists rise
Lights welcome from an inn window
Where hens and stags carouse 
Rubbing shoulders with the ghosts of Auld Reekie 
  

Day 54

The sun shines on the last weeks of winter
Where everything looks at its deadest
Waiting to spring back to life. 
Speeding home with a heavy heart 
Back to work filled with frustrations
That previously weren't there
Why can't good things stay the same? 
But the seasons turn 
And situations unravel
To be woven again anew
If I don't like the pattern I do have a choice
Unpick it or simply walk away. 
There is always an option.


Day 55

Haunted Edinburgh

Under these cobbles 
beneath my boot heels 
something sinister stirs.

Below the old town, 
that crowds with histories 
competing for the award for
most mysterious and most macabre,
echo the cavernous vaults,
buried closes of underground dwellings, 
once lived in by beggars and thieves,

As we walk in the day light 
beneath us still saunter the
beings of the subterranean town:
out of work actors leading round tourists
students dressed up as ghouls and hags
paid to leap out at the gullible and excitable
to dangle a cobweb 
or flash the silk red 
of the inside of a cloak. 

The crystal white sound of water dripping 
rings out through the blackness
a darkness thicker than a course woollen blanket.
The pretend spook waits 
watching for the torch light 
to throw jagged shadows 
down the vault in front of him,
heralding the tourists approach.
He glances and spies a little light flicker,
splinter across the damp stone, 
but it's not of the torch light 
of his colleague getting closer
but something green
phosphorescence 
unnaturally glowing, 
creeping towards him
like a hand reaching out
with slithering fingers 
scratching, scraping,
pincering for him. 

When the tourists hear his hideous scream
they think it's all part of the show. 

Sunday, 16 February 2014

A poem a day - Day 47

Rising above 

The rattle of dead leaves 
In an absent minded breeze
Unsettling sound in the stillness 
Then overhead suddenly
White wings wink 
against a lapis lazuli sky
And the mood is lifted  
By the swoop of feathers,
A different bird to the usual buzzard
Who hovers keen eyes glinting 
Circling, seeking out the slightest rustle
Competing with our cats for the fields' rodents, 
No sign of the raptor today 
Just acres of sky mirrored in waterlogged fields
All is safe for the mice and me. 
  
I forge on across the land 
Leading to crouched farm buildings, 
Alone on the edge of the world
Earth and water slide into one
Strange bird calls vibrate along power lines
As the pylon quakes in the sun
I listen to its electric hiss. 

Sun light blanches
I reach into it 
Stretching 
Climbing
Photon by photon
Disappearing 
Into the ultra violet
Only I can see. 

That's the crux of the matter
The knot that's been pulling 
I can unpick its thread
Here and now
Unravel it fully
And if I want to 
Start again
Regardless 
And In spite of what others have said. 

I pick my way back towards home
Boots sinking into soft sodden earth
No one else knows what this feels like to me
No one else sees the water's glint as I do
And I do not taste this cold air like the hare does
As she leaps across the ploughed ridges,
Also making her way home. 

Saturday, 15 February 2014

London afternoon

Today I met up with my friends Ruth and Rachel in London and we had a lovely time pottering along the south bank, Borough Market and had a lovely lunch. The view below is from the Puzza Express where we had lunch looking over the Thames when the sun came out. 

We popped into Foyles at the Royal Festival Hall and I bought a couple of poetry books. It's so long since I've bought any poetry. Since I've been writing every day I've really wanted to read some new poetry. I don't know why I ever stopped. Reading and writing poetry has been something I loved from about age 13 until I was about 30 and then I just stopped. I'm so pleased I've rekindled that love of poetry. I've not only been reading new poetry but revisiting old favourites like Sylvia Plath, Simon Armitage, Grace Nichollls, Wilfred Owen, and many more. 

When I got home this evening the sun was setting over the market square so I quickly snapped a picture of it. 






A poem a Day - Day 46

The storm

Last night the house felt like a boat
Rocking on a wild ocean of wind ravaged fields
Our home sounded like a flimsy wooden craft 
Creaking and straining, lurching against a tide
Ripped into a frenzy by a gleaming full moon
Filled with cold indifference to our plight.  

Friday, 14 February 2014

A poem a Day - Day 42 - 45

Mission to Mars

Stretching across space 
Filling the emptiness with intention
Pushing away from all that's familiar
Cosy sun closing in on its self
Weaker and further away from the light
A vacuum of coldness of absence of feeling
A pioneer into the fear of what I'll uncover
My own loneliness and boredom I've already quantified
Measured over and over and over again
But this distance is painful, difficult and alien
I must forge on to reach you
Bring you closer and comfort you
But it's never that easy; 
It's like a mission to Mars.    


A day in colour

Blue black of wings scurry skywards
Soaring over a soggy field.
Fluorescent lollypop lady trudges to her sentry post
Her smile not yet fixed on her face. 
Dark umbrellas inverted by the wind
Flap above heads like ragged birds. 
Tacky red hearts litter shop windows
That were previously colourless and blank.
Comfy blue sweater wraps a man from the Valleys
Talking about transport in a meeting room.
Grey of the tube station hurtles into black
Speeding noisily beneath the city.
I wield my white cane, get out of my way,
Through the crowds and the crush.
Sky drained of rain sprinkled with gold clouds
Float In fathomless blue.
Mauve dusk settles over the suburbs
Tucking us in for the night. 


Konditor and Cook Cake Shop

How I love cake! 
Sumptuous sponge frothing with frosting 
Lemon chiffon silky and zingy
Soft soft chocolate swathed in vanilla
Icing shimmering, sticky and sweet
Victoria sandwiches middles squishing
A muddle of cup cakes too many to choose
A heaven of baked goodness in the heart of the city
And don't worry if you don't live near to their
Emporium of indulgence
They have a cake hotline and they're online!    


Outside the outsiders 

Sadness seeps like the rain water 
Dripping from our coats and bags
Beer and spirits rest in their glasses
A circle unspirals as the conversation 
Skirts round and round like a bird of prey
Hovering but never diving for the kill. 
Am I too old? Too needy for this gathering?
Thinking too hard when no one else does?
I do seem to have the capacity to always 
Feel the outsider even in the company 
Of outcasts and pariahs to whom I'm sent scurrying 
By those who belong.  

Monday, 10 February 2014

A poem a day - day 41

Hormone imbalance 

I feel fragile today
Papery, opaque like an honesty seed head
Shimmery tissue, flimsy, silvery white
I seem to have no substance, just skeletal slender
Housed within a body of shadow and fog
The world around me is out of kilter
All sharp edges and jagged corners 
Hard bright light and clashing sound 
I lurch through the day queasy, uneasy
Wanting to curl myself up away from it all. 

Sunday, 9 February 2014

Flooding

We're lucky that the winter storms haven't really been too bad for us. Part of our neighbours roof came down in the storm before Christmas Eve. But otherwise it's just been a bit of a nuisance that it's been so wet and windy. 

In a break between showers on Saturday I went for a walk near our house and discovered the small stream had bust it banks. 


The stream is fed mainly by run off from the farmer's field and flows into a deep pond in one direction and eventually the Ivel river in the other direction. In the summer it sometimes resembles nothing more than a trickling stream. But at the moment it's a small river. 


The flooding wasn't very deep. I could wade through in my willies but at one point it was almost up to the top of my boots. In the photo above you can see it's very close to our housing estate. 

There wasn't much flooding elsewhere so I don't think it's particularly serious and the stream is clearly doing its job as the farmer's fields are free from standing water. 

Below is a photo of some of the berries bringing colour to the garden at the moment as I wait for my bulbs to flower. 






A poem a day - day 39 and 40

Day 39

Greasy spoon cafe

It's not just the icy rain and biting wind that pushes us in
Nor the yellow glow of light through steamy glass
We're lured by the promise of comforting, fat laden food
Tasty, tasty all day breakfasts, burgers and chips
Steaming mugs of tea and non frothy coffee
Simple food we ate in our youth 
they even sell liver and onions. 

Once inside all senses are satisfied
The bubble and his of the deep fat fryer 
The clatter of cutlery cold against skin
The chomping, the chatter
The pungent aroma of everyone's dinners
Eclectic interior design from
Pink standing stone paintings
To a London bus
And best of all the taste
Savoured and waited for
Of unadulterated comfort. 

Day 40

School days' Sundays 

Sunday evening sinking feeling
Another weekend done
The same old Sunday night routine
Makes me softly sigh
Fill the bath with soapy bubbles
Clean behind my ears
Mum stands ironing shirts and skirts
Shrouded by clouds of steam
Dad's busy cleaning shoes
That pungent polish smell
On telly it's songs of Praise
And last of the summer wine
I'm hiding in my bedroom
Taping the top 40 charts
Tomorrow it's back to school
Alarm is set and checked
Sunday evening sinking feeling
Another weekend done. 

Friday, 7 February 2014

A poem a day - Day 38


A land sodden, submerged
The boundary between earth and water blurred
Trees emerge from the sky's reflection
Islands of mud break up rippling fields
There's an unnerving, unravelling of reality
In this quivering world of water 
Where our ancestors would give up offerings of
Swords and precious jewels, into rivers
That swelled and sought out land 
Where the realms were linked
And could be reached 
Where spirits of earth and water flirt. 

Thursday, 6 February 2014

A poem a day - Day 36 and 37

Day 36

Luvvies

Luvvies in the cafe
Breaking from rehearsal
To talk theatre and
Gossip about:
That awful director,
This dreadful play,
And that guy, 
you know the one?
Made it on broadway
But he's a real bore...
Bitterness spikes through 
their thespy Bon Ami 
Even so 
I wish I could join them.
An actors life for me! 


Day 37

No poem comes today 
As rain slithers through grey

No rest comes at all
From the pigeons constant call

My head is heavy and dull
thoughts rattling against my skull

Only sleep will render me calm
Until the morning's alarm.  

Tuesday, 4 February 2014

A poem a day - Days 33 - 35

Day 33

Cat

Soft grey cat naps on
My canvas "Keep Calm" bag; a
Lesson to us all. 

Day 34

Commuters

Some sleep, 
Others' thumbs are constantly twitching
A weird dance across their phones,
Some read news papers looking gloomy.

The woman next to me has no concept of space,
She flicks her hair at me, elbow in my ribs
Every two minutes she clears her throat, 
making a sound like a dove.

Over heard phone conversations, 
woman repeating "I'll stick my nose in your office"  
it sounds like a euphemism
Or simply just daft. 

As we reach our destination
Some are in a hurry, fussing and frantic 
Whilst others are more languid, almost forgetful
Wandering blearily into the day. 

Day 35

London backstreet 

News papers dance down the street
Pretty, I think, swirling, spinning a dervish
Through a bitter winter wind.
Then I see where they've escaped from
The doorway bed of a homeless person 
At the back of Camden Town Hall
Underneath the Banksy
Opposite that pub
Passed by hundreds of commuters just like me. 



Sunday, 2 February 2014

Happy Salmon's photostream

Garden catsGarden catsGarden catsGarden catsGarden catsGarden cats
Garden catsGarden catsGarden catsDenis and MartinDancersBarbara and Andrea
Val and JanetDancersAndreaColin and AndreaJanet, Natalie, Val and Barbara
MarijeStewart, Sally and HughVal, Barbara and AndreaJanet and ValMarijeVal, Stewart and Barbara

Click on the photos and it should take you to my flickr page to see them all.

Garden cats

Lumpy and Kasumi were playing in the garden this morning so I took some photos of them playing. 

Here's Lumpy peeking over the shed roof


He was clambering about messing around with the drain pipe on the garage here:


Whilst his sister looked on. 

The rest of the photos are on my flickr page that I'll link to in the next blog entry. 



Saturday, 1 February 2014

Music

I've been catching up on BBC4's Born to be Wild documentaries on American rock over the last couple of days. It got me thinking about the music that really influenced me. I was brought up listening to the best 60s music possible Hendrix, Stones, Dylan and many many more. But the music that I was discovering between the age of 16 - 20 was British indie and American grunge.

There are some records that I remember hearing for the first time and being just transfixed by them. Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana was one as was The Drowners by Suede, Sheela na gig by PJ Harvey, Geek Love by Bang Bang Machine and Glory Box by Portishead. Songs that I had to go out and buy as soon as I could so I could play them over and over again. I mean these were breathtakingly different records. I was always hearing stuff I loved but these were just so different.

You couldn't instantly download them or watch them on YouTube. Even in the early 90s I thought MTV's Sunday night indie show was the epitome of cool! In fact I bought Smells Like Teen Spirit, The Drowners and PJ Harvey's album Dry on vinyl! I left Dry in the back of the car in the sun and it warped slightly making it tricky to play properly but I managed to get it to play!

The only way to find out about new good music was to listen to late night radio shows like John Peel or for a while Mark Goodyear and then Steve Lemacq on Radio One, the MTV indie show on Sunday nights (but I only got to see that if I babysitted for families who had Sky) or by going to see bands, or student night at Ritzy on a Thursday where DJ Dave DD might play something new (especially if it was by a Yorkshire band like Cud) or through word of mouth or through reading NME. In fact I sometimes discovered new bands because the "cool" kids in the sixth form would be singing their songs. That sounds so quaint I know but it's how I first heard the Pixies Gigantic! (That was another I must have that record moment - I heard a sixth form band perform covers of Gigantic and Here Comes Your Man.)

Of course my friends and I were always making mix tapes for each other so we could share the music we'd found or borrowed from the library. You couldn't just pay 99p for the track you'd heard you had to by the single or the albumn. When I first started buying records (1988) singles were £1 or £1.20 so taking into account inflation over the last 25 years they were pretty expensive. Albums were anything from £5 - £7. By the time I stopped regularly buying singles and albums on CD they were a lot more expensive.

Now I hear something I like on 6Music, and yes I still have those - I must have that - moments with music. The last one was Reflektor by Arcade Fire. I heard it on the radio and immediately downloaded it. I could have added it to a spotify playlist if I'd wanted of course. It was instant. I then had to wait a while until the album was out. But that just downloaded as soon as it was out automatically.

I'm not knocking this new technology. Far from it. I wish it had been around when I was a teenager or am I ... there was something about having to be patient and have determination and great detective skills when it came to ferreting out good music. Having to listen to the radio as the only real way of hearing music and for it to be about listening (rather than watching) I remember not knowing what PJ Harvey looked like for some time until she was featured in NME! So in a way I think it's a shame that things are so instant now but I wouldn't want to go back to how it was!

 

A poem a day - day 32

Thursday Night Ritzy, Doncaster, early 90s

Dark, definitely dangerous,
Drinking snake bite and black
Thump of bass, flicker of white 
Through dry ice and smoke
Music as thick as molasses 
Swimming through sound 
On to a sticky dance floor
Hair flying as heads bang
Hands clasped behind backs
Doc Marten's stamp a beat
Flowery dresses swish
Head tipped back, hair ripples,
Life visceral, young and strong.