Summer

Northern Echoes

DSC00500 (1)Photo image: © Davy D 2018

 

Just one bar for the fire,

scones on her best china,

the willow pattern faded.

bairns outside, their faces

wiped by hanky and spit

still stood tall and proud

 

lost in her bleak cage

she laments on her freedom

but it never nears

 

A terrier by his side

the old lad sits there,

silently nursing pints,

an air of contentment,

and knowing awaits

behind cap shaded eyes.

 

scattered in the snug

faces worn in history

stare from faded walls

 

Cut short summer camps,

dad worried about money,

the feeling of adventure

in exotic lands 100 mile

from home, knowing that

we are poor but so happy.

 

sat under canvas

in our fairy-tale castle

we hide from dragons

 

© Nigel P Smith & Davy D 2018

 

A big thank you to Nigel over at Voices Of A Hidden Self for this collaboration. When I suggested this, he came up with an East v West format to combine our different styles of poetry. And when West (Cumbria)  meets East (Yorkshire), or a Marra dances with a Tyke, you get echoes from the North. 

 

Summer Ice

Summer Ice

Come What May

Come What May

Image Credit: Freeimages.com

Poetry Treasures in a Car Boot

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I love car boot sales.

English dictionaries generally define the car boot sale as “an event in a public place where people sell their unwanted possessions, often from the back of their cars.”

Yes, that’s correct. People empty their unwanted rubbish from their house, load it into the back of their cars, drive to a big field, where they pay to park, then sell the rubbish to people who flock to buy it. What could be more English?

The car boot sale originated in Canada and was brought to the UK by an English priest in the 1970s. He experienced a car boot sale whilst visiting North America and saw it as a great way to raise money for his church.

Since then the car boot sale has become a bit of an institution in the UK and, during the summer months, I like nothing better than wandering around car boot sales in search of poetic treasures.

Trawling the boot sales, I will uncover something providing an idea or prompt for a poem. An old magazine, an old picture, an overheard story detailing where a family heirloom originated, followed by the pain and sorrow in having to part with it.

On my last visit to one, a few weeks ago, I discovered a poetry book titled

Lost Summer

lost-summer

Autumn’s Poetic Joy

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Summer is officially over in the UK.

Writing this blog and looking out of the poetry den window, the leaves and vines on the trees are beginning to lose their summer green and turn yellow. The lavender bushes are in their final bloom and bees are collecting the last remnants of pollen.

Autumn is a wonderful season, cushioning the warmth of summer into the cold of winter. It has influenced many poets and poems. Some of my favourite Autumn poems include, To Autumn by John Keats; Matsuo Basho’s Haiku – Autumn Moonlight and Autumn Journal by Louis MacNeice.

In 2000 I spent three weeks in New England during The Fall. Driving through the woods and forests of Maine, Vermont and New Hampshire, shrouded in red, brown, yellow and gold is an experience still vivid in my memory. There is something magical about the energy in the autumn transformation that makes you want to pick up a pen and get musing.

Gold and brown leaves fall.
Shadows at dusk lengthen as
A winter sleep nears.

If you want to read more poetry about Autumn, then the site at Famous Poets and Poems has a good selection.

What inspires your poetry in the Autumn months? Do you have a favourite poem describing Autumn?

I would be pleased to read your thoughts.