My mother,
child of a single mum
during the war.
I never finish
a box of chocolates
in one sitting.

#one-line on-line poet

Dhaka 2014

This week’s poem, a memory of the African lawns of my childhood.

African lawns

Memory, barefoot
across desiccated lawn,
tear-stinging cut of paper-thorn.
Summer’s lush green,
incisive sting of devil-thorn,
plump-faced with horns.

Dhaka 2014

What happened?

I know it only now,

looking back.

Dhaka 2014

On winter green sky

red sun draws

the flag of Bangladesh.

Dhaka 2014

After a couple of weeks filled with art exhibitions (no less than three), cultural evenings and the fabulous Dhaka Hay festival which included a number of very inspiring speakers. For me the bravest of all were the performance poets. I have been moved, again and again by the courage of those who dare to share their art and have the courage to be proud of what they do when there is no quality standard against which to measure and reassure themselves.

Artists

Courage to overcome
the inner critic,
skeptic analytic,
to dare to share
who you are, what you hide
inside.

Have the cheek to be loud,
weird and proud.
Unrefined emotion,
you’ve untwisted, set in motion-
let free,
let be,
let us see
what emerges if you dare
to share.

Dhaka 2014

Memories of trekking in Nepal.

Farmhouse night

We slept one night in a farmhouse, farmer and family left their warmth
in thin mattresses for us to enjoy, after campfire and dancing.
Bare-foot dusty pounding,
smoke in my hair.

We slept two to a bed, tired limbs dragging us into dreamless
sleep, until shaken by screams, sharp-eyed shape of a rat.
Inquisitive peering
from cracks in dirt walls.

Pinprick torch light in pouring darkness, midnight rain’s
monsoon flood, visions of landslides, bare rocks, broken limbs.
Wide-eyed awake
while our young ones slept on.

We slept, after all, ‘til the world was reborn, Himalayan
sunrise, smoky coffee, damp socks. Relieved, rested and restless.
Fresh fire-fried eggs,
we trek eagerly on.

Dhaka 2014

This week’s poem, inspired by the way things change, the cold fact – that we never know what will happen next, the warm comfort that we always have hope and dreams for the future.

The unknown

Sail wide seas, sail wide seas – the wind is blowing strong,
you pause and feel its power and know the time has come.
Hauling, furling, creaking ropes, breathe grey wash of time,
feel the gasp of destiny, of birth, of death, security
is ebbing with the tide.

Adjust the sails, adjust the sails – these storms will surely cost,
strain anchor chain, prepare for change, good hope is never lost.
Priming, planning, rub scarred hands, grip tight what you can hold,
make ready for you know not what, the bond is cut
that bound you to the old.

A gleaming twist from glowing mist, the future steps on board,
her voice is calm and confident – she guides to unknown shores.
Let down the sails, make fast looped cords, bring only what you must,
and trembling still, eyes raised in hope, you swing ashore, you cut the rope
and step new earth in trust.

Dhaka 2014

Musings on life and growth.

Solar Winds

When once you’ve seen us elements of infinity expanding,
atoms in anatomy,
animal – mineral – vegetable.
When once you’ve sensed we’re inorganics energized,
double-helix organized,
synapse glint initialized.
When once you’ve heard your voice in solar winds,
seen souls survive as glistenings in sand,
you’ll be too small,
you’ll be too vast,
you’ll have outgrown the part you’re cast.
No more you’ll fit the box that bears your name.

Dhaka 2014

Putting up barriers,
keeping out evil,
take care,
take care,
to let the good in.

Dhaka 2014

In Dhaka days are growing shorter as we approach the end of the year. A favorite time of year for many reasons, not least of which is the chance to be awake and outdoors at sunrise.

Bird song

Aching, light longing,
rising from comfortable sleep –
tiptoe gladly to whispers of sunrise,

glowing moon behind grey,
wingspans fly silhouette –
shrieking colonies settle in treetops.

Roadside darkness is cast
huddled, homeless lies prone –
grey, cold witches cling soundless to night.

Clouds glow pink, sky grows light
golden moon takes her bow –
graceful plunge splashing distant horizon.

Unseen birds call out joy,
Nature’s midwifery –
as the sky pales in pain and in joy.

Hold your breath, raise your eyes –
cymbals crash silent skies
at the moment a new day is born.

Dhaka 2014