During self isolation. Guest poet, Mary Jenkins.

MAry jenkins

(The novelist Helen Carey and her cousin, poet, Mary Jenkins, plus Maisie, on Carningli mountain one summer day, in pre-virus times)

Mary sent us the two poems below and I felt that it would be good to share them.

Two poems, written by Mary Jenkins during self-isolation, March 2020.



“Run away, Mary. Escape.“

“It’s not safe here.”

Normally, if things get tricky and dangerous,

“Flee” it says to me –

But I could fly away instead.

Like the swifts?

How would that be?

“Fly where to?” I ask.

Swifts don’t fly to a place (unless it’s nest – building).

It’s Flight.

All the time, every day every night

Round and round the world.

Often breeding in China.

Feeding, drinking, sleeping

And even mating on the wing.

Lucky things I say, and brave.

We have to “stay put” now.

And we can also fly with the swifts.



Black is the “in – colour” this spring;

Matt Black Ash buds, opening now on stout

Twigs and trees;

Inflated, ebony nosegays

Are breaking; bursting out

of their cosy night attire

of winter past –

to pale, utopian lime – green, little bouquets.

Beyond my wilder dreams of us , me, the world.


And Black iris rebels against

established grass patch

By growing here where it’s triangular and unknown

half –way down the garden –

You shoot up amongst white –striped stems to guide and lead us.

We need “Black” to enlighten us now to sunshine.


Thanks for sharing these Mary. 



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