Hummingbirds

The hummingbirds are back

And all is well

They flew across the Atlantic with us

Years ago

They’d sprung from besides the Grand Canyon

They saw us through Bryce, Zion, Salt Lake City

Snow

Sunshine

They didn’t know

They travelled in a suitcase

Benign.

Months later we flagged them up

And they’ve floated serene

Meantimes

Above the Bay, spinning soundlessly

Morfa, Dinas Headed,

That’s where they’ve been.

Lately

We’ve been all at sea

Whilst they, dust dogged and long winter bedraggled

Were caught up in decorators detritus

Rested

Neglected and unseen.

Yesterday

Refreshed, rejuvenated,

Indifferent to all the noise and chatter of this troubled globe

We reinstated our duly mobile birds

Fee flowing silhouette

Shaded

Then sun burst on

Our newly pristine wall

As the chaos continues

The world may yet fall

But the hummingbirds are back

And

Just now

Our slice of the picture sits well

And that’s all.

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Happy Christmas

A Christmas message, from my ALLTIME favourite author!

helencareybooks

xmas bullfinchI would like to wish a VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS to all my friends, readers and blog followers.

2018 has been a good year for me on the writing front, with lots of acclaim for my wartime LAVENDER ROAD novels, and several of them hitting the best seller charts. All six books are now out as paperbacks, eBooks and audio books worldwide.

For those of you who have read the Lavender Road books there is still the option to have a go at SLICK DEALS, the adventure thriller I wrote a while back to amuse my husband, which is set in Monaco, France, London and lovely Pembrokeshire where we live. For the more romantic of you there is also THE ART OF LOVING, a light romance set in Germany, which launched my writing career so many years ago by getting me short-listed for the RNA new writer award!

Many of…

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Betty, elemental – for Roger, Emma and family.

A good friend of ours, Betty Hill, died recently. We went to her funeral service (as the Easterly wind snapped and bit its way into West Wales)  and the following quote, which she had chosen, was shared :

Total annihilation is impossible.We are the prisoners of an infinity without outlet, wherein nothing perishes, wherein everything is dispersed, but nothing lost.Neither a body nor a thought can drop out of the universe, out of time and space. Not an atom of our flesh, not a quiver of our nerves, will go where they cease to be, for there is no place where anything ceases to be. The brightness of a star extinguished millions of years ago still wanders in the ether where our eyes will perhaps behold it this very night, pursuing its endless road. it is the same with all that we see, as with all that we do not see.’ Maurice Maeterlinck.1912.   

Betty was gracious, elegant, interesting and interested. She reminded me very much of my grandmother. I wish I had known her better and for longer. 

This poem is for her, as I imagine her now…

Betty, elemental.

I am a mote of dust, blown in from Saharan sands

A snap of Jack Frost, chilling the way.

A speck of smoke from a long ago liner.

A swallow, skyline skimming, swooping,  above Kings Terrace

The bell in the cry of an oyster catcher, keening across Newport Bay

A ripple, as a seal explores Nevern estuary.

I am a hint of perfume, dripping from Skomer bluebells,

A flare of sunset, exploding across Dinas Head

A blade of grass in Llanychaer.

A hint of morning mist as the Berry Hill cows call.

A note in the minutes of the W.I.

I am a snowflake, falling in Edmonton.

A smudge of ink in a secretarial ledger. 

I am a piece of clay, fired in ceramic.

I am bold colour, and medieval motif. 

I am the turned up corner of a smile on my grandchildren’s faces

A hair on the lion’s head of my son in law

A stroke of paint on Roger’s palette. 

And I am

A breath of wind in my daughter’s face, as she gazes westwards.

I am grace sublime, 

Sun and star kissed

Pain dismissed, 

The silent voice of calm

Of love, care and kindness

Aswim in the universe

Sorrows shadowed,

Goodbye distress.

Fundamental.

I am Betty,

elemental. 

 


Brexit blues, November 18l

They seek it here

They seek it there

An elusive answer

Maybe even a prayer…

For some

Salvation

For others

Despair

And

Or so it seems

There’s them

Apparently

Who just don’t care.

A 100 years before

Europe completed a War

But some, dared to dream

Dreams

(Beyond passports and borders

Economics, migration

Project Hope and Project Fear

Leave or Remain

The results unclear)

Of a time and a passion

Where all people could fashion

A desire to end up

At

The same destination.

Whatever your politics

Your strength of conviction

The things that you value

Your own inclination

Let’s hope that our leaders

Can find some contrition

And guide us towards

A reunited state

An undivided, egalitarian

Non sectarian

Nation

Oh my!

A Nation….

But despite these views

I’m afraid to say

(Judged by the news

Speculation, analysis

Guesswork, bad temper

Reasoned debate

Irrational hate)

Day

after day

after day

We are all headed for

The Brexit Blues.

I can only trust

That, we don’t end up

With a terminal case

Of national paralysis.


The Bunuel Martini

I had the pleasure and privilege recently of meeting up with Stewart Bartlam, a long standing friend of Helen Carey. Stewart and I have got to know each other well, in the virtual world, and I have become a great admirer of his poems.

And now he has released a book, ‘The Bunuel Martini’. And we have got a copy. And I can unreservedly say that there are some very fine poems within.

I/you/we can buy it from Amazon or order it in book stores. 

And Stewart can be found at http://stewartstanzas.wordpress.com

Please do try his poetry – I feel sure that you will like it. A lovely man, an excellent writer.


In Crete we dreamed in blue

We had a holiday in Crete a little while back. The sea and sky were as blue as can be. The greens were equally intense. The kingfisher combined all these colours. The sunsets bled into the sea.

Helen and I met on a Greek Island, Kythira, when she was teaching creative writing. I was one of her students…I came home with the First Prize.

Helen Carey, this one’s for you.

(Oh! And hats off to Homer too! And a muted apology to the writer of ‘Grease’) 

IN CRETE WE DREAMED IN BLUE

It’s autumn

But in Crete the leaves are not yet falling

And I’m bursting with life

Olive grove glad

Back Home

In the land of the Iliad

We are here

Our 18th year

Greece, the landscape

Soaked in ancient Sage

Washed with Thyme

History beyond belief

And the nearly new

That’s me and you.

In our spring

Kythera was King

Oleander lit the way

Winding down dusted tracks to

The azure blue, Kapsali bay,

Hora above, gleaming alabaster white

In our autumnal , peacocked Crete

Kingfishers dripping jewels in flight

Across the Lake at Agir

Turtles stroke the tranquil waters at Koumas

Now, in the dream dented, honeyed night

My Cretan Queen whispers

Impish delight

“Greece is the word”

And I heard

And I heard

And I heard….


Remembering…