So much going on this week, so many plans and events and ideas, at home and at work, it is hard to focus on one thing at a time, let alone find the calm to write a poem. So I’m sharing a poem about how my brain behaves on days like this… and hoping the end will come to pass….

In my brain

My brain is full of passages that lead to obscure halls

And rubber bands, elastic, that bounce me off the walls

Loud music plays beside me and whispers behind doors

There’s earthquakes in the distance and trembling in the floors

I argue with the echoes, the hollow drumming beats

And step around on tiptoes on narrow winding streets

Thoughts waver on the cliff edge where voices spark and glow

I see them in the distance and hear them down below

Shouts echo everlasting in caverns vast and wide

I solemn climb the stairways and look for where they hide

On hot days I run panting from room to crowded room

and hear the birds are singing and hear the drums dark boom

I climb the stairs and cross the halls and hear alarms and barks and calls

In endless unmade urgent calls, delays and thought replays

And eyes and ears bring messages like children playing games

And nothing ever changes yet nothing is the same

But when I chose a corner and sweep the floor with grace

And calmly still the voices and drop out of the chase

Amongst the halls and steps and calls – I find a peaceful core

And when I breathe it deeply – it leads to so much more

As January draws towards a close I share a poem written for the annual meeting of ‘The Society for the Appreciation of January’, a group of ladies who meet each year to appreciate the most unappreciated month of all. The poem celebrates the charm and beauty of cold and foggy January mornings in the villages of Bangladesh.

January in the village

Morning fog slows day’s awakening, softening blood red sunrise

Mist dulls speed and noise, and space takes on a shadow world’s disguise

By waking homesteads milking cows breathe steam into grey dawn

Dressed in neatly stitched hessian robes and the dusty smell of hay

Warm milk at the dairy

To celebrate January

Goats in old coats find green leaves and warmth, kids in kid’s hand-me-downs

Torn t-shirts and worn sweaters, pulled over reluctant sharp-horned crowns

Along the path, through mist appear piles of clothes in human form

While dark lingers under mango trees huddling to stay warm

Morning is a sanctuary

To celebrate January

Smoke from morning fires mingles lifting fog with smells of tea

Small flames lick eagerly at cold air and wood from new cut trees

Morning’s yawning children put on red and orange knitted hats

While early risers wrap their heads like gifts waiting to unwrap

All dressed up merry

To celebrate January

Before we go too far down the path of forgetting I would like to share a poem I wrote after first reading about the Delhi gang rape;

Rest in peace

I cannot bare to think of your death and your suffering

I cannot stop thinking about your death and suffering

I cannot bare to think of the perpetrators, I don’t want to believe such people exist

I cannot stop thinking about the perpetrators and how such people come to exist

I have to believe that through your death the world has been woken and changed

I must be part of the world that through your death has been woken and changed

I have been so shaken by the events that I lie awake thinking of you

I sense the world has been so shaken by your death that many lie awake, thinking of you

I will not forget, I will remember you, in memory of you I will keep my eyes open

I will speak out against injustice, in your memory I will do more, care more, speak out more

I see the citizens of Delhi and India and the world shout and demand justice for your suffering

I see young and old, men and women, unite in sympathy and the demand for life and decency for all

I see hope for the change of the system that produced your tormentors

I see a chance for change in the world that grew your murderers

I know the world must change for the better, change for your sisters, change with our children

I cry for your suffering, I beg your forgiveness that the world contains such cruelty

I thank you for your terrible sacrifice,

Rest in peace

Today I start the regular posting of new poems. Hope you like this one inspired by the vast, flat and ever changing landscape of the delta that is Bangladesh …

Delta

At first I didn’t understand that flooding waters covered land

At first I thought an unmapped sea was stretching to eternity

Small boats were sailing, fishers fished,

and nets were thrown and water splashed

Along the road on either side I thought I saw a seas high tide

But monsoon waters ebb away and by that route an autumn day

The seas of water had withdrawn, a transformation undergone

the patched fields stretch horizon wide

with aisles and bunds to subdivide

The fertile soils now promise growth, receding waters made that oath

And as the summer months go by the waving rice spreads sky to sky

The harvest time is drawing near, reward for those who persevere

Long muddy hours farmer’s toil

their bare feet tread the fertile soil

Official maps simplicity can never  match reality

Today I shared the link with a few people and now, I pledge to myself to share the link via facebook and other places… e mail and skype I guess, by the end of the just commenced week end. Then I shall start to put up daily or probably more realistically  twice weekly poems.

Added some poems and photos. Learned a lot. Feel happy and excited and all frustration gone… for now! Will soon send the link to one or two people. So far only Torben is initiated…

Welcome to my poetry pages. This is day one and I’m totally lost, but finding various paths to stumble along, so who knows where it will end. A start has been made, and that is undeniably positive!