Snippet

The Candle

A candle in the window burns

to show by its uncertain light

that here dwells one who knows what fears

may plague a traveller through the night.

If he or she, or known or not

will not much signify -

this candle shed its kindly light

on lonely souls that pass close by.

For though the hearth of home’s behind,

or burns still many miles ahead,

a traveller sighs relief to find

a simple meal, a makeshift bed.

So there he’ll rest; but long before

the sun smiles on the road again,

he’ll take his boots and close the door.

Then, will this candle burn again?

A Cold Wind in August

I have been at home most of the day. In fact, I have been tidying up the confusion of folders on my laptop in readiness for A363. As a result, I have finally admitted defeat and have switched on the central heating. Even in winter, it is my custom to deploy my heating with care: it is an oil system that is never cheap to run. Today, though, I have been feeling so cold and so utterly damp and cheerless that I have abandoned thrift in favour of an unseasonal cosiness. To make matters worse, my brother has just telephoned from his house in Spain: there, he tells me, laughing, the weather is, if anything, too warm.
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I received the course materials for A363 yesterday. They have brought with them great excitement and some trepidation. No more fannying around: it is time to get down to some serious writing. I am encouraged in this intention by the fact that 'Long Story Short' have accepted two of my poems which are to appear in the January and March editions. I feel that it is only proper that I should mention here the very prompt and very friendly response of the editor, Marie Travis, who had confirmed my acceptance within just a few hours of submission. The magazine is still open to submissions for 2110 so, if you are interested, follow the link at the that appears above.

On mists and mellow fruitfulness...

So, the Bank Holiday weekend draws to a close and autumn is almost upon us. It is hard not to feel cheated when, here in Cornwall, we have enjoyed so little sun. Nevertheless, it has been a good year for delicious blackberry jam. I have several jars in my store cupboard and more fruit waiting in the fridge. Sadie, my dog, has developed a taste for blackberries that stands in some danger of becoming a full-blown addiction.

All in all, it has been a quiet but productive weekend. Not only have I turned my attention to some long-neglected household chores but I have also restored order to the chaos of desk and sorted and filed all my paperwork in readiness for the challenge of a new academic year. The course (OU A363) is scheduled to begin in October; however, is is rumoured that the course materials are already on their way. This has spooked me into laying aside my poetry in favour of some (frantic) prose. It is my firm intention to have at least three pieces from which to select my first assignment since it seems that the thing must be turned into a screenplay for TMA2. I am apprehensive: I have never attempted such a thing before...

Some good stuff and some bad stuff...

The good stuff was, firstly, spending time today with my beautiful daughter and, secondly, having a poem accepted by 'First Edition' to appear in the September magazine. (I believe it is due to hit the streets around 7 September.) I have another poem due out soon, in the October edition of 'Poetry Cornwall'. That being the case, it is probably time I pushed my prose a bit more forcefully. I have made a couple of submissions but, as usual, I am waiting to hear.

The bad stuff? Well, it's Bank Holiday weekend and there will be the usual mass invasion of Tesco. This will be accompanied by a 'love fest' of family feeling that will find its chief expression in an outbreak of barbecues and picnics. Forgive the note of cynicism: it's self-defence. It's hard being on your own through Bank Holiday weekends, almost as painful as Christmas. Believe me, just popping out for a loaf of bread and some cat food can reduce you tears. Last year, at this time... No, that's enough of that. It won't make things better to dwell on them. Soon, it will be Tuesday morning and things won't seem so bad.

Snippet

When the deserts filled with roses
and white towers scrape the sky,
then, may daisies crown a queen
and butterflies not die?

May lovers ever after love
and ships thought lost come sailing home?
And shall the sea give up its dead?
And I not live alone?

Something from Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson is one of my best-loved writers and this poem, although not widely known or very much anthologised, has long been one of my favourites. I think it communicates so much of her intensity of feeling and her profound sense of loss; however, here she also shows her strength and her and independence of spirit. Remarkably, these few lines accomplish all that with a wry sense of humour and the lightest of touches. Every time I read it, I feel I know exactly what she means.

1755

To make a prairie
It takes one clover and one bee,
One clover and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do
If bees are few.

Tangled Bear Finds A New Home

I know this sounds like a story for children but it is not quite what it seems. The hero of the story, Tangled Bear, is a rather old and battered wooden puppet. Sadly, I cannot post here: for one thing, the tale is not finished yet and, for another, I would dearly love to see this one published somewhere. It is, perhaps, a little quirky but sometimes quirky can be good, can't it? My goal is 500 words today and completion within a week. I am rather disorganised, though, in that I tend to have several projects 'in progress' at any one time. My defence is that this enables me to write something whatever mood I am in. I would be interested in knowing whether others have a similar approach or whether they find it more productive to concentrate on one project at a time.

A Timely Resurfacing...

I have been tidying my desk. I came across some of my old notebooks. In one of them, I found these words. They are the words of a very old and very dear friend who, as usual, spoke more wisely than I knew at the time.

Too late for tears;
trees wet with yesterday's rain.
Ideas begin to form
like green buds
and there is the long, slow growth
of the tree still to come -
the roots, the sap rising.
My moment was then;
yours is imminent.

Jenny, February, 2008

Monday, 24th August, 2009

Of Rain, Dogs and Crumble

This morning, Sadie and I took advantage of a rare break in the rain to do a spot of blackberrying. (Sadie likes her blackerries al fresco while I am fond of blackberry and apple crumble.) Since Sadie has quite a sweet tooth, it has always been my practice to give her the ripest berries and to feed them to her at intervals. In this way, she is encouraged to wait patiently rather than pulling at the leash. Today, though, it all proved too much and, the blackberries being plump and juicy, Sadie decided there was nothing for it but to pick the fruit herself. It was endearing and amusing to see what pains she took to sniff her way along the bottom of the hedgrows. Moreover, it was quite remarkable to observe the speed and the delicacy with which she was able to remove the berries once she had located them. It seemed to me that she was able to satisfy her appetite without scratching her nose at all. Indeed, I think it quite likely that, in the course of our walk, I suffered more injury than she did.

In terms of today's writing, little that is new has been accomplished. I have, however, spent some time organising - and sometimes revising - some verses originally written two summers ago. I have repeately promised myself that I will undertake this task but, somehow, I have always been distracted. Perhaps I will post one or two examples.

Sunday, 23rd August, 2009

Another wet and grey day the dreariness of which has been relieved only by an hour in the gym and a visit from my beautiful daughter. Two poems and three stories 'in progress' at the moment. I must finish something this weekend.

Saturday, 22nd August, 2009

So, this is the first entry in my new online journal. Of course, it is unlikely that I will have any readers yet but it is to be hoped that these will come in time. In point of fact, I am supposed to be working on a poem but I allowed myself to be distracted. Time now for a cup of tea before I get back to work.