Tag Archives: Poems

Daffodils In a Garden for Peace

I have spent this last weekend of March in the UK at Woodbrooke Quaker College Birmingham, and I wandered around the garden of many acres to find the different types of daffodils. I gave up counting. Some were very different, some differences were very subtle. Some were fading away or being eaten. Some were in their full glory. I was bounded by time and the need to return to the conference talks. Perhaps the daffodils reflected the topic of our weekend about Unity, Diversity and Boundaries. Although there were many different points of view as there are often are within Quakers there was a unity and peacefulness in the stillness of Meeting, Woodbrooke and its Quaker history.

On return I thought the daffodils and stillness should inspire some writing and Dverse poets hosted by Sarah are working on the Villanelle form. So I have given it a go. More on the form and the links to past poets at end of poem.

 

 

 

 

An Infinity of Daffodils

(Woodbrooke Quaker Garden, March 2019)

What are words worth when silence calls?

Too many views but 22 types of daffodil flower,

Pensive thoughts when a pale petal falls.

The worm that wriggles deep within us all.

Now frays the edges of the yellow cloud shower.

What are words worth when silence calls?

We gather together to tear down walls.

Dare we dare  discern eternity within one hour?.

Pensive thoughts when a pale petal falls.

Bright orange clothes a host of petals small.

Elegant trumpets ready to hide the pollen’s power.

What are words worth when the bees need to call?

To live in a way that no longer appals.

To hold in the light the insects’ last hour.

Pensive thoughts when a pale petal falls.

Is it God calls or some wormlike fear?

The fall of a tear, the lost peace of a flower.

Pensive thoughts when a pale petal falls.

What are words worth when silence calls?

 

 

 

 

 

https://dversepoets.com/  For  Dverse poets  this month there is the opportunity to try out the Villanelle form and read a range of these written by the many talented poets who frequent this very convivial and poetic meeting place. Why not have a go? Check on the link and then on Mr Linky at the end of the post.

Note the villanelle form has to have 19 lines with 5×3 line stanzas, finishing with a quatrain, all  with repeating lines and a rhyme scheme to keep to.

Past poets referred to of course are William Wordsworth and his daffodils and ‘pensive eye’ and William Blake with ‘O sick rose’ and the worm and ‘ to hold infinity in the palm of your hand, eternity in an hour.’

Daffodil Notes

As for daffodils, well the number of varieties that have been cultivated seems to be about 13,000. And the number of wild species from 40 to 60. But it seems this depends on how daffodils are categorised and there are different sources for this information. Still a staggering number as there are also so many hybrids too.

 

 

 

Daffodils are from the Amaryllidacae family, think lilies and one of the old names for daffodil is Lent Lily. These beauties seem to like to lighten up lent as the time between Ash Wednesday and Easter is when they are in bloom. It is thought daffodils are a mispronunciation of Asphodels, see those in a previous post. Perhaps also the English made a play on words with daffadowndilly. Narcissus of course is a name given to this range of species and Linnaeus decided on Narcissus poeticus when he began to classify them. They seem to be the poet’s flower.

Wild daffodils originate from the Mediterranean region and  there is a wild one we saw near our Navasola home in the south of Spain; the wild hooped daffodil. There is also a wild species in the U.K. that can still be found growing wild. The Wildlife Trusts have this link as to where to go. There may not be  the ‘ hosts of golden daffodils’ that Wordsworth saw in the  Lake District but it is good to know that the wild species can still be found.

Wild daffodils in the U.K. https://www.wildlifetrusts.org/where-see-wildlife/where-see-spring-wildlife/wild-daffodils
P1010076 Small Wild daffodil, hooped daffodil,in Southern Spain in  early April2018

My outcome for the weekend was ….to enjoy: swinging high, walking and watching the geese on the labyrinth, a visit to Cadbury’s Bournville village and watching an amazing woman play the carillon bells. And the conference….threw some light on what unites us.

 

 

Lets hope Spring is not blown away by another cold spell and possible snow.

And let’s hope with so much political turmoil the beauty of nature can unite us and the stillness we can find within bring peaceful and positive outcomes.

Rhodes; a walking haibun tour!

I am in Rhodes with a longstanding friend who loves the island and visits regularly. More will follow on this beautiful place but I am prompted by Dverse poets to write a haibun about walking.  A haibun is poetic prose followed by a haiku. My friend and I have been fortunate to do a lot of walking together.

In youth, we walked and walked, together. Teenage talks and teenage walks to Barnes pond, along the towpath of the river Thames, across Hammersmith Bridge. We walked our children too into Manchester’s many parks and out to the moors of Derbyshire. We’ve walked in friendship for more than 40 years. And now I finally walk with her in her beloved Rhodes. And we walk and walk.

Walking the past. In the present. Future thoughts.

Feet walk over cobbled stones in narrow streets. Above, the eyes take in medieval arches. Thoughts of knights and maybe horses along the wider streets leading to the Grand Palace of the Masters. Castle turrets protected the Order of St John. Stones in piles from pillars fallen. Many battles fought, won, lost. Bright bougainvillea flowers adorn walled gardens within ancient fortress walls. Scents of jasmine waft with sounds of many voices from many places. Scooters dodge the wandering tourists. Greek homes still within the sturdy old town walls from where the deep blue of the sea separates the isle from the mainland mountains of the Turkish coast. So near. So far. Empires have come, empires have gone. This small island a jewel to hold.

We walk along the ancient stadium of ancient Greeks. As women we wonder on the nakedness of men running fast, in the past! No women allowed then. Except for one. The mother of a hero. The broken Acropolis with scaffolding speaks of the need to respect the past but greatness goes. We walk around the ruins of men and there lies the small dragon lizard, still and basking in the warmth of ancient stones. We walk through the streets of modern Greece, the new town, coloured by blooms. Concrete sore we reach a deep valley park. Rodini. A jewel from the Italian rule. Now forgotten, neglected but it’s streams flow with life. Small turtles, egrets, giant carp and butterflies. We cross broken bridges, pass by young lovers. Here the world of green enjoys the lack of human tramping unlike the famous butterfly valley walked through by the multitudes who yearn for green and to see  some wild thing ; the beleaguered tiger moth.

We walk over more pebbled mosaic floors into holy places. Two headed eagles symbols for the Eastern Church. The frankincense and gold of icon painting fill the spaces with a silent sacredness. Behind a city wall a gate opens up into the Jewish synagogue. We walk through this with silent acknowledgement of a persecuted past. Spanish sounds sing songs of their Sephardic roots from Andalucia; my home now.  We walk to connect. So few returned to their island home. Down by the harbour in an old Islamic building we walk past the hopes of new refugees from not so far but far enough across the gleaming blue and treacherous depths. Later, we walk high up a hill, along a path with stations of the cross. From the giant cross, we walk no more but watch Apollo’s sun being guided down to rest beyond the horizon of the west. How long have we got left?

Broken bridges show
The eternal flow below
Walk the heart to know

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With love to Tigger our family cat on his birthday; Valentine’s Day. A tribute to the world of Cats.

This is a haibun for a very special love between human and animal. A haibun is a Japanese form of concise prose usually connected to nature as with the writer Basho and his  travel journey ‘The Narrow Road to the Deep North’ The haibun should end in the famous Japanese poetry form of three lines, a haiku. This though is quite personal and may stray or wander like a cat.  Thanks again for Dverse poets being the inspiration behind the form and Robert Frost for opening the first line of haiku.

Golden Days

Our golden cat departed from us on a Friday,appropriate perhaps as the Japanese call Friday, Gold Day. In the morning the cat and I meditated together and there seemed to be a deep glow and connection. He sat on my lap and purred a bit. As I came out of my silence he got up to return to his dying. We helped him a little. Autumn leaves were falling fast and there was rain, sun and tears. When the vet came the cat was calm and ready. We had to be too. I was strong enough to dig a garden grave. I didn’t think I could but he had given us so much strength. He had been a survivor but his hours on this planet are less than ours. Over my lifetime I have been blessed  with many cat hours, four cats, one  cat at a time. The black cat Blackie of my childhood I remember coming through the slightly open sash window of the Victorian terrace house from a small yard full of my mother’s flowers, honeysuckle and lilac tree,  to sleep and calm me in my room. The brown long haired one, Shandy, came when I longed for a cat when setting up my own home. She was from the RSPCA, abandoned, possibly pregnant. One Christmas the cat came with me from her Northern home to London but didn’t go back. My mother bluntly said “I’ll miss her more than you!” I gave in to my mother. My only kitten, the only one we named, shimmered with us in a pretty delicate way for three years until she, Shimmer went missing. Heartbreak round the local roads, searching, searching. Never knowing.

And then came Tigger, or Mr Tig. We never changed his name. Nana Violet knew some folk who couldn’t cope with a boisterous, bouncy, growing fast, ginger kitten. We knew we could and he came to stay and stay, through my daughters’ childhoods, teenage years to fully fledged human beings. He watched over them. He wasn’t always kind and his wild side loved to hunt. He loved his outdoor life, the garden, up the apple tree and round his block, over and under fences, across roads, and dodging Diwali fireworks. But most of all he loved the three of us.  And others too he would meet and greet. He managed Theo’s childhood with his loving but independent ways. She learnt how to understand cat. Through adolescence he maintained a careful eye. He would come in for the night! ‘Be more dog’ Josie once said. He purred on her phone. When the dog came he moved upstairs but soon the golden ones became friends but the cat food remained up high. We never knew his birthday but nominated February 14th 1998 knowing then that this was a special love between humankind and the animal ones. He stayed with us as long as his body could for almost 18 years. I have written this tribute to Tigger today, Valentine’s Day 2016, a Sunday, always a special day for remembering those we love and hoping we all grow stronger in that Love of all loves. Life on Earth.

Nothing gold can stay,

But in this world for a while,

We must learn  to love.

 

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Pelican Puzzle poem. Donde Estamos? Where are We?

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Willow and Gingko

Am now in a very different place where there is sea all around and halfway between the USA and Europe. We are on holiday for Trevor’s significant birthday. However, this poem was written a little while ago  and was inspired by a walk in a famous park. I love many of the prompts given by Dverse poets prompts This one was about the surreal in the ordinary. The climate talks were also going on at the same time. It all felt quite surreal particularly as I recognised the Spanish words of a small child. I also wanted to do this walk in response to the blog  A Wildflower’s Melody.A wildflower Melody I love the serendipity of blogging. Also check out some amazing poems and advice, examples and interesting folk writing poetry for the Dverse Poets bar. http://Dversepoets.com I can’t keep up with it all!

 

Donde Estamos?   Where are We?  or  Pelican Puzzle Poem

 

Donde estamos a child says on a bridge

Crossing with his father near the edge

Familiar sounds in unfamiliar places

Familiar faces from high mountain passes

 

Donde Estamos?

Where are we?

 

Diverse ducks on rippling waters

Wild grey geese fly into land

Wild and tame take turns to feed

Clipped wings that long to be freed.

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Donde estamos?

Where are we?

 

 

 

 

Diverse trees some bare, some dressed,

With gilded leaves at some royal behest,

Weeping willow leaves green may last

Next to the far flung Gingko holding fast

 

Donde Estamos ?

Where are We?

 

Black fisher birds perched up on rocks

Herons looking down form weather cocks

Cottage house with surely, organic veggie plots

Fresh fish arrives in plastic pots.

 

Donde Eastamos?

Where are We?

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Great African White in grey December Park

Whose wingspan could rival the albatross

Grey squirrel on a grey man’s long grey arm

The wild we tame with foods ever constant charm.

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Donde Estamos ?

Where are We?

 

 

 

 

 

Wild eyed Pelicans look down the lake

Pink footed geese fly past their palace.

A dull sky with flights of fancy passes by

A skyline of roofs with power to make us cry.

 

Donde Estamos?

Where are We?

 

Overlooked by one all seeing Eye

Chopper birds also above us in the sky.

Surveillance city sees us all, weather indifferent

To human fair or peace for species in our care.

 

Donde estamos?

Where are We?

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A small sized beak cries out in hope

By a puffed up pigeon on a post.

Ancient birds with strange design

Greet us with a knowing look

Open up capacious beak that must be filled.

Talks and more talks, but act we must

Who are we to turn our backs?

 

Who are we?

 

Where are We?

Donde Estamos?

 

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Will be busy celebrating Trevor’s birthday and then travelling back from another rather surreal place.  Let us know if you know anything about where these Pelicans are or hopefully just enjoy the poem. Thanks again to Dverse poets for all their prompts and inspiration.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clear Skies, Bright Stars. Advent and Hope for Peace.

Here is a seasonal post inspired by  Dverse Poets and the stars.

We are now back at Navasola and although the stars and the sun do shine very brightly here I will miss being with my daughters this Christmas. It will be our first Christmas outside the UK and our first at Navasola. We were first greeted in Seville with grey and overcast skies; same as in London and other parts of the UK over the past month.Today the sun has come out bright,warm and strong and with the clearer skies the stars too are shining bright in the very dark skies we have here in the Sierra Aracena.  The viburnum tinus berries are metallic and bright. A Sardinian warbler, great tit and jays were gathering food by the house and now and again a butterfly flies by! The vultures also enjoyed the thermals when I was out on a walk with Lotti and Ruth. See post on Autumn for Ruth’s photography and links to her art work. She inspires me to draw!

We are looking forward to finding out more about how Christmas is celebrated here and in particular the Feast of the Kings on the 5th and 6th of January. Here there are processions showing this part of the Nativity story and children get presents.

It is the end of another blogging year and I have been inspired by so many of the links made to Navasola through nature blogs and many others now. I have managed to read some books by Opher Goodwin and in particular Anthropocene Apocalypse and Ebola in the Garden of Eden. Both very good reads and with current concerns about the future of our planet. Opher Goodwin

 

I am also glad to be linked to Dverse poets who have managed to spark some poetic muse in me. The poem below is inspired by poems by Victoria Slotto and Bjorn Rudberg  about the stars. I have also linked to another poet Malcolm Guite and bought his book with poetry for Advent. These have inspired me to write this poem about the stars I saw above Navasola in the summer months.

Stars over Navasola

Above the silhouette of trees appear a clarity of stars
Numinous and numerous I search for one.
The childhood star my father saw I saw.
The Pole star’s perfect North still guiding some.

 

The wizened faces of the chestnut trees with me stare,
Abandoned olive branches touch the sky I seek to name,
With virtual app- titude we see the lights of Vega and Altair,
Bright threesome pulse with Deneb and the flighty swan.

 

An owl sounds out from Navasola East.

The moon still hides behind the hill.

Through the dark of earth and sky, wander many a beast.

Summer sounds and warmth surround me still.

 

 

Now in December’s dark chill drawn days,
Advent’s hope casts doubts on the prophecies of stars.
What and where is that bright star, the magi say?
How much to know, how far to go, to go, how far?

 

 

 

Inspired by Keats,gardens, and a poetry workshop by Daljit Nagra

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The peony poem in one of my previous posts inspired me to try out a poetry workshop at Keats’ House during the Keats’ festival. I was also interested to find out that the poet Daljit Nagra was to take over as poet in residence there and was leading this workshop on how to write an ode. I have followed from a distance Daljit Nagra’s progress from an aspiring English teacher in a school I worked at to an inspiring poet and much quoted now from many GCSE anthologies. He is a truly modern British poet and very innovative not just with ideas but also language.

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We attempted a Sapphic ode and this meant we had to be concise and focus on a tight structure. This was to be the slightly longer length of 11 syllables to 3 lines and the fourth line with five. Instead of a more traditional 10 syllable the 11 suggests a more ‘falling’ tragic tone.  We were introduced to terms used for poetic structure but the focus of this ode was to address a person with a sense of absence, loss, time passing.  As an example we were shown a modern ode written with this structure and the example was very moving but also was inspired by a poet I was introduced to when I stayed in Karachi in 1984. Faiz Ahmed Faiz.
We had to go and sit in the garden of Keats house and had about 25 minutes to write a Sapphic style ode! My mind was filled with so many memories of Chris Abbas and her garden in Karachi. It had lovely trees and flowers but also a little white dog, a parrot and a turkey she had been given for Christmas and had kept rather than ate. The dog inspired my Jabbu Jabbu stories. His name was Jabbu and he was a cheeky miniature Samoyed type dog. Chris was a trained artist from the Slade school and she had met her husband, Ghulam Abbas, an Urdu short story writer, in London. They had had three daughters and lived in Karachi but sadly she had recently been widowed. She had invited us to stay with her while I was volunteering to help children learn to read. She had many inspiring artistic ways of helping children draw and trace letters.

All of theses memories were flooding into my mind and I had to cut out so much in order to write an ode to her but the parallel of sitting in an English garden and enjoying time with her in her Karachi garden seemed to be the focus. I was able to feel I finished an ode and reading it out later at the workshop it seemed to work. Now as I reflect on it and have more time to count the syllables accurately I am not so sure! I also feel I want to slightly change the structure by adding just a few more lines! Writing seems to be such a difficult art as there are many ways to express ideas but it needs to feel right or fitting.
The poem isn’t quite ready yet but is an ode to her and her inspiring and diverse garden. In the blog are some pictures of Keat’s house and garden and it is here that he wrote some of his most famous poems in his very short life. The window view is from his upstairs study.

 

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A poem for Peony: The Wild Peony Forest; cycle of change from March to May, paeonia broterii,

Dverse poets have suggested a prompt based on ecopoetry. Do check out this inspirational poetry group at  Dverse  . The poetry bar is open and serving up so many different ideas most of the week. Ecopoetry seems to be a different term being introduced by groups such as Green Spirit and Resurgence. Alice Oswald is also mentioned and I find her a fascinating poet who has such an observant style that also brings out deep emotions. I’m not sure I want my own writing to be put into a category and I had never come across this term before but I certainly seem to be focused on my own and others relationship with the natural world at this point in time.

Trevor organised a nature course here some years ago and it was led by the botanist Teresa Farino. This started my inquiry into the plant kingdom. I was also given a mother’s day present of the Alice Oswald anthology, Weeds and Wild Flowers.  I loved the Snowdrop one ,’ A pale and pining girl,head bowed, heart gnawed’ ……. ‘ her wildflower sense of wounded gentleness’

I wrote this poem early on in blogging inspired by the wild peonies here at Navasola and in the Sierra Aracena. It is January 2016 now but on our return from our special birthday trip to the Azores within 10 days there have been changes. The invasive mimosa is out in its bright yellow headdress, the almond blossom is delicately feeling for the early bees, and the peonies are beginning to thrust through the cold ground. Some are near paths so I stick sticks around them so we don’t forget and tread on these wild sisters of the many cultivated ones.

 

A Poem for Peony and all those wild loving sisters

Ms Peony Broterii

Wild genes live dangerously

Not cultivated carefully

Like your gardened sisters.

But your barb is in your poisonous roots,

Anchored, aching deep in chestnut groves,

In the shade of veteran friends, long standing,

Bringing you your strength, uprightness, roots rooted.

Unlike the myriads of visitors ready to be satiated

In your open sensuous bloom.

Bringing a light touch on velvet petal,

A rubbing of stamens, a staining of pollen,

Buzzing bodies beating,

Intoxicated with your nectar.

They stay only for their own satisfaction.

You may have some regrets, a sense of loss

As petals fall and breezes betray your beauty.

But your thrill is in your seed pod,

Ready to ripen, always ready,

To begin again, always hopeful

To survive into another Spring.

Only the danger of the human mind
Can threaten you.

Georgina Wright

 

 

Wild peony forest January/February

Mid May
Mid May, seed pod, ripening and hopefully fully fertilised by an amazing range of insects that have loved being inside this peony!
Part of peony forest in full bloom - April to May
Part of peony forest in full bloom – April to May
Early May
Early May
Pollination
Pollination, fully open to the sun and all insects!
The first Peony bloom in Navasola East, by an old chestnut, attracting insects.
The first Peony bloom in Navasola East, by an old chestnut, attracting insects. April.
Wild peony forest January/February
Wild peony forest –  Early March.
Peony Plot in Kew gardens. Over 30 different types of peonies and now reclassified!
Peony Plot in Kew gardens.
Over 30 different types of peonies and now reclassified!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Link to Dverse   For the ecopoetry prompt  January 2016

With thanks to the poems by
Alice Oswald, Weeds and Wild Flowers ( Faber and Faber ) and to the peonies and photos taken at Navasola among the ancient chestnut trees.

Originally written in 2013 and posted then.