Crawling out from beneath the covers of a sick bed I reached for a book. Any book.
Someone had discarded a copy of Empire of the Sun,J G Ballard's winner of the Guardian Fiction Prize 1984.
A serious undertaking but I didn't have the energy to go rummaging for anything else.
According to the author the book draws on his experiences in Shanghai, China during the Second World War, and in the Lunghua C,A,C, (Civilian Assembly centre) where he was interned from 1942-1945
This is no light read but I did try to skim read the early chapters, ignoring detail, until somewhere along the skim..... I fell into the text.
As well as his passion for aircraft, the main protagonist Jamie Graham is curious about just about everything. And placed in an extreme situation, where the safe, structured world he known is falling apart, survival depends upon exactly that- attention to detail.
The fear and emotion in such a crisis would cripple most people, certainly it would floor me, but Jamie manages to transcend his fear and focus on the minutiae of his new existence. Restless, eccentric, considered unhinged by both fellow prisoners and guards, the boy's vigilance, resilience and adaptability are inspirational.
My recent discomforts were certainly booted down to the end of the misery-chain by this big read.
A challenging read
An informative read
And a reminder of the importance of curiosity.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Empire_of_the_Sun
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56674.Empire_of_the_Sun
Wednesday 14 December 2016
Wednesday 7 December 2016
London
Attended launch of Baubles-short story collection in Camden. Hearing the stories read aloud was great. You can follow the Bridgehouse blog at
http://bridgehousepublishing.blogspot.ie/ and sample the stories from now to Christmas.
It had been over 40 years since I was in London. Visited the Globe on arrival, a lively tour delivered by entertaining actors. Walked along the Embankment and saw London Bridge in the distance, the Shard and London Eye.
A quick visit to the National Gallery, and the Victoria & Albert Museum.
Walked through Harrod's accessory department... depressingly expensive!
Oxford Street lit up for Christmas, windows animated with puppets and seasonal characters.
221b Baker Street- a Must -See for me.Adore Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock! Was hoping for a sighting of the great detective.Bought a deerstalker hat of course.
The Wallace Collection tucked away behind Oxford St and a great location for tasty lunch served in a beautiful court yard.
Stayed at Leonard's Hotel close to Marble arch, secluded and peaceful haven.
My partner dipped his hand in the lake water at the Lido and, though a seasoned Forty Foot all- year- round swimmer, he marvelled at the cold water of the Serpentine lake at Hyde Park.
Imbibed English cider at The Duck and The dog.
No evening shows for us.....but very sore feet.
Missed loads of tourist attractions.
Too much to see in the Great Metropolis.
Need to re-visit and maybe catch sighting of that elusive deerstalker ......
http://bridgehousepublishing.blogspot.ie/ and sample the stories from now to Christmas.
It had been over 40 years since I was in London. Visited the Globe on arrival, a lively tour delivered by entertaining actors. Walked along the Embankment and saw London Bridge in the distance, the Shard and London Eye.
A quick visit to the National Gallery, and the Victoria & Albert Museum.
Walked through Harrod's accessory department... depressingly expensive!
Oxford Street lit up for Christmas, windows animated with puppets and seasonal characters.
221b Baker Street- a Must -See for me.Adore Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock! Was hoping for a sighting of the great detective.Bought a deerstalker hat of course.
The Wallace Collection tucked away behind Oxford St and a great location for tasty lunch served in a beautiful court yard.
Stayed at Leonard's Hotel close to Marble arch, secluded and peaceful haven.
My partner dipped his hand in the lake water at the Lido and, though a seasoned Forty Foot all- year- round swimmer, he marvelled at the cold water of the Serpentine lake at Hyde Park.
Imbibed English cider at The Duck and The dog.
No evening shows for us.....but very sore feet.
Missed loads of tourist attractions.
Too much to see in the Great Metropolis.
Need to re-visit and maybe catch sighting of that elusive deerstalker ......
Tuesday 6 December 2016
Letting Go
The older I get
the more I know
what I don't know
And when I've said
everything
that doesn't help
And done
everything
I can do
And finally
let
go
of saying
or doing
anything
Then I know
I'm getting
somewhere
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
the more I know
what I don't know
And when I've said
everything
that doesn't help
And done
everything
I can do
And finally
let
go
of saying
or doing
anything
Then I know
I'm getting
somewhere
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Thursday 24 November 2016
The Best Medicine
The Best Medicine by Christine Hamill is a courageous
book that addresses the difficult subject of the effects of a mother’s illness
on her teenage boy.
Hard to
imagine, but the tone of this romp is hilarious
Philip
Wright’s school escapades, his infatuation with school mate, the Goddess Lucy,
his confrontations with school bully, the Yeti, his broken specs and hapless
adventures will endear him to you.
You will be
strongly rooting for him and his Mum as they engage with the Big C.
Proverbial
as the saying goes…….It will make you
laugh and it will make you cry.
The writer
is also the author of B is for Breast Cancer … and she has drawn on her own personal life story to create
these memorable characters.
A powerful
read and an empowering one- for adults and teens.
http://www.irishexaminer.com/lifestyle/artsfilmtv/books/getting-to-know-authorchristine-hamill-406824.html
http://www.lovereading4kids.co.uk/book/9781910411513/isbn/The-Best-Medicine-by-Christine-Hamill.html
Monday 21 November 2016
Ask a Florist
Ask a Florist
about true love
All the red roses returned
every Valentine's
All the Aislings
uncollected
All the posies binned
or the single stems pinned
On lapels
'til they wither
Ask a florist
about the unsteadiness of the human heart
Its blossom as fickle
as a freshly cut bouquet
How ardour
gift wrapped
So quickly becomes
an order cancelled
Ask a florist
about true love
about true love
All the red roses returned
every Valentine's
All the Aislings
uncollected
All the posies binned
or the single stems pinned
On lapels
'til they wither
Ask a florist
about the unsteadiness of the human heart
Its blossom as fickle
as a freshly cut bouquet
How ardour
gift wrapped
So quickly becomes
an order cancelled
Ask a florist
about true love
Friday 18 November 2016
Baubles
Have had the good fortune to have a short story published in an anthology entitled Baubles.
Book launch will take place in London on December 3rd.
Baubles was the theme given to writers and the 24 selected stories all reflect that theme, but in a very diverse way.
The book is published by Bridge House Publishing- see links.Keep your eye on this site for further publications and competitions.
Have had a sneak preview of the other stories and there's something for everyone.
Available in paperback - A nice Christmas collection.
Kindle version also available.
https://www.facebook.com/Baubles-204986853276063/
http://www.bridgehousepublishing.co.uk/
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Baubles-Debz-Hobbs-Wyatt-ebook/dp/B01MXIMS15
Book launch will take place in London on December 3rd.
Baubles was the theme given to writers and the 24 selected stories all reflect that theme, but in a very diverse way.
The book is published by Bridge House Publishing- see links.Keep your eye on this site for further publications and competitions.
Have had a sneak preview of the other stories and there's something for everyone.
Available in paperback - A nice Christmas collection.
Kindle version also available.
https://www.facebook.com/Baubles-204986853276063/
http://www.bridgehousepublishing.co.uk/
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Baubles-Debz-Hobbs-Wyatt-ebook/dp/B01MXIMS15
Thursday 17 November 2016
Goodbyes
Letting Go
Without ceremony
I binned your letters
Shredded and
tossed in an Ikea office bin
Transferred
to a Panda Grey
Not to be
recycled
Never to be
re-read
I watched
them dragged and hoisted onto a conveyor belt
Pierced by
gigantic Panda teeth
Imagined them
flung in a land fill or incinerated
Leaving behind
the smell of a Sweet Afton
The taste
of a Blue Nun
And
memories as seemingly random
as the toss
of a dice.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Thursday 10 November 2016
Home Truths
https://webmail.eir.ie/service/home/~/?auth=co&loc=en_GB&id=216040&part=2
Got this link from my son today.
Many of you will definitely get this!!
Wednesday 9 November 2016
Curtains -The Ginger Tom Cat
Extract from my cat story. Adventures of a Ginger. Will keep you posted on this development.
Meanwhile a friend's website to browse for doggy treats
http://www.silvercollar.ie/
Meanwhile a friend's website to browse for doggy treats
http://www.silvercollar.ie/
CURTAINS
AND THE NEWCOMER
As Curtains Doyle rounded the corner of the sitting room on route to his
favourite sunspot he encountered an unusual obstacle. His ginger snout came
nose to nose with something white, soft and furry with pixie ears and blue eyes
and a face not unlike his own, but much smaller.
The ginger cat drew back in
distaste. A kitten! What was this white kitten, with a splash of black and
brown streaks and patches on its face and tail, doing in his hallway?
Behind it,
on all fours, was his owner Eimear, cooing and sighing into the kitten’s ears. Curtains
made a dash at the ball of white fluff and emitted a cry that sent the kitten
catapulting through the air. Then the triumphant Ginger retreated into the
kitchen to consider this latest addition to the Doyle household.
According to Eimear, Curtains
emitted a series of sharp hisses before he leapt onto the kitchen stool and
positioned himself in such a way that he had a bird’s eye view of all comings
and goings into the kitchen.
After a few minutes Eimear
minus kitty appeared around the door frame. She approached the Ginger tomcat
cautiously but was stopped in her tracks by an unmistakable hiss, bared teeth
and a show of sharp claws. Undaunted by this display of discontent the nine
year old crept nearer.
“Curtains. It’s you I love!”
This
flattery, however, made no impression on the outraged Ginger Tom. He repeated
his earlier performance and Eimear was forced to withdraw. So was her brother
Eoin but, in his case, the antics of his regular play mate reduced him to
tears.
“I’m afraid of Curtains!” he
bawled. “He doesn’t like me anymore. It’s that kitten’s fault. Why did we have
to get a kitten anyway?”
“Mum’s idea of company for Curtains.
That kitten will have to go!” declared his big sister.
“Give him time. He might come
around to the idea,” said Mum after listening to their account of the meeting
between the two cats.
Meanwhile Curtains was giving
out his usual recognisable signals that he wanted out, scratching at the
window, meowing loudly.
“Why doesn’t that cat use the
cat –flap? He just loves to have us all running after him,” said Mum.
Curtains
flicked his tail high, ignored these outrageous allegations and refused to descend
from his perch on the windowsill. When Mum finally opened the window the Ginger
Tom leapt with relief onto the driveway and headed for the road.
“What if he doesn’t come back?”
wailed Eoin, watching the cat walk purposefully towards the open gate.
“It’s chicken in a puddle for dinner,” shouted Eimear after the
disappearing tomcat. “He’ll be back! You know how he loves chicken.”
Curtains already knew what was
for dinner. He’d been sniffing the delicious aroma of chicken soaked in garlic
and cream for hours now. This timely reminder took the strut out of his swagger and caused him to waiver in his determination to take a long stroll that might hopefully
be interpreted as a sulk. He sat stock still in the driveway to reconsider his
position.
Perhaps the kitten hadn’t come
to stay. Perhaps it was gone already. He looked wistfully towards the dining
room where Eimear was setting the table for dinner. He wouldn’t leave home just
yet. Not until after dinner anyway.
Curtains was so intent on his
thoughts that he didn’t see Togs Toner, the neighbour’s King Charles spaniel,
sneaking up on him. Togs was about to pounce on the unsuspecting Ginger when the dog found himself mounted by a fully clawed white ball of rage; the kitten scratching furiously at his back and biting into his neck. Before Togs could
dislodge his attacker from behind he felt himself confronted by a huge ginger
paw which gave him a clout in the face. The spaniel let out a high pitched wail
and scampered quickly under the fence and back to his kennel followed by a
flash of ginger.
“Good work, Junior!” declared
Curtains on returning to his side of the fence. But the white ball of fluff lay
inert on the driveway. Curtains nudged the kitten with his snout.
“This won’t do, Junior. No pretending now!”
But the kitten wasn’t
pretending. He was lying face down in the gravel path. Curtains sank his teeth
carefully into the loose flesh around the kitten’s neck and lifted it gently.
Then he headed straight for the cat flap which Junior had so recently
discovered and that he himself only used in emergencies.
“Curtains has killed the
kitten!” wailed Eoin on seeing the cats emerge through the flap. “Bad cat! I
hate Curtains!”
“How did that kitten get outside?” demanded
Mum who was staring down at the lifeless creature that Curtains dropped at her
feet, just as he would do with a dead bird or mouse.
“He ran away!” shouted Eimear from the hallway. “I saw the whole thing from the window. The kitten saved Curtains
from Togs Toner, but it got injured in the fight. Curtains didn’t touch it.”
“The kitten saved Curtains?”
Eoin was wide eyed as he considered this revelation.
“Look! The kitten’s beginning
to move! It’s not dead,” said Mum.
And sure enough the small
creature was beginning to stir. A few moments later, when kitty opened its eyes
it saw itself enveloped in a warm ginger furry paw. A rough tongue was licking
its head and ears. It made a shaky attempt to stand up, and when the kitten collapsed a ginger snout gently raised it up again.
“I think Curtains has got used
to the new kitten already, “declared Eimear.
“Can we keep it now?” asked Eoin.
“What will we call him?”
“Ronaldinho?” suggested Eoin.
“That’s not fair! No footballers’
names!” wailed his sister.
“What about Junior?” said Mum.
Both cats perked up their ears
when they heard this suggestion.
“I think the kitten likes that
name,” said Eoin.
“I think they both do,” said
Eimear.
“And with a name like that our
Curtains can’t complain, now can he?” said Mum.
Certainly not, thought the
Ginger Tom, wallowing in his new position as Topcat.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Tuesday 8 November 2016
To a Winter Sun
Read an article by Conor Pope about extinct and near extinct technologies and realise that I still use a few of them..but then he did include cameras, books, CDs,video tapes, cassette tapes...
http://www.irishtimes.com/news/consumer/from-cb-radio-to-sodastreams-the-technology-that-time-forgot-1.2853374
I still like my camera and here's a winter poem about just that ...sort of and Sunrise
To the Winter Sun
Rising at dawn to catch a glimpse
I swivel lens and mince words, meaningless,
to myself. And when the reel is done
you come, catching me speechless.
Sunblaze across a winter scape
reaching me dazed in a doorstep
Come, lover, come.
Though the reel is done
Meet me and melt me
as the frozen earth is spun
Over and over to meet the sun.
Come, lover, come
http://www.irishtimes.com/news/consumer/from-cb-radio-to-sodastreams-the-technology-that-time-forgot-1.2853374
I still like my camera and here's a winter poem about just that ...sort of and Sunrise
To the Winter Sun
Rising at dawn to catch a glimpse
I swivel lens and mince words, meaningless,
to myself. And when the reel is done
you come, catching me speechless.
Sunblaze across a winter scape
reaching me dazed in a doorstep
Come, lover, come.
Though the reel is done
Meet me and melt me
as the frozen earth is spun
Over and over to meet the sun.
Come, lover, come
Friday 4 November 2016
A Whole Life
I am not much
into translations.
And books that
excel in long descriptive passages don’t do it for me either.
A Whole Life by Robert Seethaler is
a translation from German, the author’s fifth novel and full of evocative prose….
So what
kept me turning the pages??
A friend says,
“It’s a wise book…”
I’d say he
could be right.
There is
something about it that brings you to a deeper place within yourself than the
daily grind allows. It’s contemplative, meditative in tone and feeling: it calms
you down.
From the word go Andreas Egger has the odds stacked apparently
against him. An orphan, beaten at the age of 8 by his adoptive father, Andreas ends up with a permanent limp.
He has no great notions about himself and no great aspirations.
Born in
1902 he witnesses the arrival of electrification, cables cars, modernity, war
followed by depression and then the new industry of tourism: the evolution of a
way of life in the Austrian Alps from traditional to modern.
Moments of joy
alternate with longer periods of grief and he spends years in sorrow, though
not self indulgence, following the death of his wife and unborn child until one
day he raises his eyes and notices again the beauty of the mountain: "He saw the mountains grow out of the night with the first rays of the sun,and although it was a spectacle he had watched a thousand times before, this time he found himself strangely moved by it"
His
intimate love for, and knowledge of, his place, and his strong work ethic save him
from a deep melancholy that might have enveloped him.
This novel’s
protagonist will touch your heart and move you to re-evaluate your own
existence.
Pure
therapy
Wednesday 2 November 2016
Lentil Soup
Winter Warming Soup
Chop a couple of celery stalks
2 or 3 carrots peeled and chopped
1 onion chopped
A handful of red lentils
****
Throw ingredients into a pot on the stove
Add a stock cube
Bring to boil and then simmer until vegetables are cooked
Liquidize to a smooth consistency or leave as chunky veg soup
****
This takes minutes to prepare and is a great lunch or filler any time of the day
Add some split peas and/or pot barley for variation but simmer for longer
Top with parsley and cream( if desired) and serve with crusty loaf bread
Bon Apetit
Chop a couple of celery stalks
2 or 3 carrots peeled and chopped
1 onion chopped
A handful of red lentils
****
Throw ingredients into a pot on the stove
Add a stock cube
Bring to boil and then simmer until vegetables are cooked
Liquidize to a smooth consistency or leave as chunky veg soup
****
This takes minutes to prepare and is a great lunch or filler any time of the day
Add some split peas and/or pot barley for variation but simmer for longer
Top with parsley and cream( if desired) and serve with crusty loaf bread
Bon Apetit
Tuesday 1 November 2016
Falling Leaves Time
I definitely hibernate in winter so if I post more recipes, book reviews and knitting patterns than poems it is because I am not out and about much...
Falling Leaves Time
Disillusionment is a thickness
in the air
and in the throat
a closing up like a clam shell
a hedgehog turning in for winter
a self reflective bubble
feet touching mouth in a perfect O
All myths and legends have their Tartarus
their underworld journey
through darkness to rebirth
and regeneration;
Native American Indians call it
Falling Leaves Time.
In Newgrange we squatted in darkness
and waited for a shaft of light
that would herald the promise
of a new dawn.
So for now I will hold my feet
in my mouth and wait
for the coming of Solstice
Falling Leaves Time
Disillusionment is a thickness
in the air
and in the throat
a closing up like a clam shell
a hedgehog turning in for winter
a self reflective bubble
feet touching mouth in a perfect O
All myths and legends have their Tartarus
their underworld journey
through darkness to rebirth
and regeneration;
Native American Indians call it
Falling Leaves Time.
In Newgrange we squatted in darkness
and waited for a shaft of light
that would herald the promise
of a new dawn.
So for now I will hold my feet
in my mouth and wait
for the coming of Solstice
Thursday 27 October 2016
Morality Play
If I could take only one book with me to a desert island....you know the question?
People usually take the Bible or Shakespeare's Complete Works or Middlemarch, War and Peace...Harry Potter...the complete series....you get the drift.
They are anticipating a long stay.
Foolish or not, I would opt for Barry Unsworth's novella Morality Play.
Set in the late fourteenth century it tells the tale of a wandering group of players. Actors these days are a different species; they earn the biggest bucks, are highly esteemed and enjoy global celebrity status. We perhaps too often live our lives vicariously through them...I speak for myself...
Their medieval predecessors were social pariahs, itinerant minstrels who trailed their few possessions from village to village, performed in makeshift sets and were often chased out of town. Biblical sketches, ie scenes from the bible and pageants, made up their staple repertoire.
In Morality Play a poor young scholar, a man in Holy Orders, and "well favoured though short of stature ...with nothing but Latin to recommend" him stumbles across such a motley crew. He is in a dire situation... having been caught in flagrante delicto by a husband's ill timed return.... He escapes through the cow shed leaving his good cloak behind him.
Luckily his Latin verses buy him a loaf of bread, a pigskin and a place in the company and he thereby escapes the wrath of a cuckolded husband.
Dwindling audiences and borderline penury prompt the players to introduce and improvise contemporary topics within their theatrical performances, and, happening upon a village where a young woman is accused of the murder of a boy... the players decide to enact the murder. Reconstruction of the murder scene, I think it's called these days.
But something snags, facts don't add up and the reenactment throws up reasonable doubts. Sherlock could learn a thing or too from this crew. Their theatrics point to a different suspect, to other possible victims and to a web of heinous abuse perpetrated by a man ......in high authority.
This is nail biting stuff.
A must read, must keep , must reread.
People usually take the Bible or Shakespeare's Complete Works or Middlemarch, War and Peace...Harry Potter...the complete series....you get the drift.
They are anticipating a long stay.
Foolish or not, I would opt for Barry Unsworth's novella Morality Play.
Set in the late fourteenth century it tells the tale of a wandering group of players. Actors these days are a different species; they earn the biggest bucks, are highly esteemed and enjoy global celebrity status. We perhaps too often live our lives vicariously through them...I speak for myself...
Their medieval predecessors were social pariahs, itinerant minstrels who trailed their few possessions from village to village, performed in makeshift sets and were often chased out of town. Biblical sketches, ie scenes from the bible and pageants, made up their staple repertoire.
In Morality Play a poor young scholar, a man in Holy Orders, and "well favoured though short of stature ...with nothing but Latin to recommend" him stumbles across such a motley crew. He is in a dire situation... having been caught in flagrante delicto by a husband's ill timed return.... He escapes through the cow shed leaving his good cloak behind him.
Luckily his Latin verses buy him a loaf of bread, a pigskin and a place in the company and he thereby escapes the wrath of a cuckolded husband.
Dwindling audiences and borderline penury prompt the players to introduce and improvise contemporary topics within their theatrical performances, and, happening upon a village where a young woman is accused of the murder of a boy... the players decide to enact the murder. Reconstruction of the murder scene, I think it's called these days.
But something snags, facts don't add up and the reenactment throws up reasonable doubts. Sherlock could learn a thing or too from this crew. Their theatrics point to a different suspect, to other possible victims and to a web of heinous abuse perpetrated by a man ......in high authority.
This is nail biting stuff.
A must read, must keep , must reread.
Monday 24 October 2016
Penguin Lessons
Am reading The Penguin Lessons. by Tom Michell - a lovely read for these darkening days.
It transports the reader to Argentina where the author, a school teacher, purportedly and literally picks up a penguin.
The creature is washed up, expiring on a beach after a dumping exercise by an oil tanker in the nearby ocean.
Set in 1976 it depicts a country in crisis....political mayhem, high inflation and social/economic instability... while engaging you in the perambulations of the narrator and his rescued penguin, Juan Salvadora.
The penguin is integrated into a boys' boarding school environment, unlikely as that may seem.
You learn a lot about penguins; their feeding habits , their preening and grooming habits, their physical feats and attributes, their personality.
A charmingly told tale
A distinctive and engaging author's voice
A sense of humour
Highly recommended to pick up this penguin at a bookshop/library near you.
//www.amazon.co.uk/Penguin-Lessons-Tom-Michell/dp/0718181638
It transports the reader to Argentina where the author, a school teacher, purportedly and literally picks up a penguin.
The creature is washed up, expiring on a beach after a dumping exercise by an oil tanker in the nearby ocean.
Set in 1976 it depicts a country in crisis....political mayhem, high inflation and social/economic instability... while engaging you in the perambulations of the narrator and his rescued penguin, Juan Salvadora.
The penguin is integrated into a boys' boarding school environment, unlikely as that may seem.
You learn a lot about penguins; their feeding habits , their preening and grooming habits, their physical feats and attributes, their personality.
A charmingly told tale
A distinctive and engaging author's voice
A sense of humour
Highly recommended to pick up this penguin at a bookshop/library near you.
//www.amazon.co.uk/Penguin-Lessons-Tom-Michell/dp/0718181638
Friday 21 October 2016
Skellig Michael
Knitting rather than writing these days. But here's a lovely picture taken in Kerry from Lamb's Head
Peninsula where I go every year for at least a week..
Skellig Michael in the distance.
Caherdaniel as a holiday destination- magical...
http://www.skelligexperience.com/
http://derrynane.com/ring-of-kerry/caherdaniel/
Peninsula where I go every year for at least a week..
Skellig Michael in the distance.
Caherdaniel as a holiday destination- magical...
http://www.skelligexperience.com/
http://derrynane.com/ring-of-kerry/caherdaniel/
Friday 7 October 2016
Are we nearly there?
The Rear View Mirror
Your eyes would meet in the rear view mirror.
He, strapped in his child seat,
Wearing his teenage mutant hero turtle costume
Leonardo or Donatello or Michelangelo
You can't remember which.
And he'd ask, "How far is it?"
And you'd pretend to know;
"Just around the bend or nearly there."
And years later, still back-seated
But wearing that teenage boy long lost look
Staring out the window at his dreams
Whizzing by and no longer asking,
Knowing your bends were hairpin,
And treble at that.
Now empty grey upholstered seats
And no queries about destination
Or time or speed or direction;
Just him up the road ahead of you
Waiting for you to catch up.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Your eyes would meet in the rear view mirror.
He, strapped in his child seat,
Wearing his teenage mutant hero turtle costume
Leonardo or Donatello or Michelangelo
You can't remember which.
And he'd ask, "How far is it?"
And you'd pretend to know;
"Just around the bend or nearly there."
And years later, still back-seated
But wearing that teenage boy long lost look
Staring out the window at his dreams
Whizzing by and no longer asking,
Knowing your bends were hairpin,
And treble at that.
Now empty grey upholstered seats
And no queries about destination
Or time or speed or direction;
Just him up the road ahead of you
Waiting for you to catch up.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Thursday 6 October 2016
Aging
I 'm beginning to forget things.
I look at the tiles, hoof-marked
Didn't I?"
I did!
Then she made a dash
for the back hedge
beyond which lay
neighbour's garden shed-
door half-open
Pet rabbit's bob-tail
in the mix.
She came back
tail swinging
hips swaying
feet stamping imprints
on vacuumed tiles.
Or did she?
Or was that yesterday?
Or the day before?
Or last week?
I'm beginning to forget things...
I look at the tiles, hoof-marked
and dog-haired, and say to myself:
"I did hoover that floor today?Didn't I?"
I did!
Then she made a dash
for the back hedge
beyond which lay
neighbour's garden shed-
door half-open
Pet rabbit's bob-tail
in the mix.
She came back
tail swinging
hips swaying
feet stamping imprints
on vacuumed tiles.
Or did she?
Or was that yesterday?
Or the day before?
Or last week?
I'm beginning to forget things...
Wednesday 5 October 2016
Orange
Orange is a colour that attracts me though I never can wear it!
Between the base chakra and the solar plexis, between red and yellow, survival issues and will. Centred on the reproductive organs it connotes creativity.
I once bought a house simply because it was terra cotta in colour.
Orange
It falls between
Sunrise and the beginning
It is transition at the heart
Of all matters changing
It is the letting come
And the letting go
The woman builds a house to contain it
But finds she cannot hold it
It is bliss and aspiration
Some call it flowing
It is that which draws us onwards
If we can let go to it
Between the base chakra and the solar plexis, between red and yellow, survival issues and will. Centred on the reproductive organs it connotes creativity.
I once bought a house simply because it was terra cotta in colour.
Orange
It falls between
Sunrise and the beginning
It is transition at the heart
Of all matters changing
It is the letting come
And the letting go
The woman builds a house to contain it
But finds she cannot hold it
It is bliss and aspiration
Some call it flowing
It is that which draws us onwards
If we can let go to it
Tuesday 4 October 2016
The Art of Raising Yeast
I read a beautiful poem in the Irish Times Supplement- The Art of Making Macarons by Deirdre Daly and it triggered the following poem for me.
The Art of Raising
Yeast
Crumble
fresh yeast
between
thumb and forefinger
Add blood
warm water
and a
sprinkle of sugar
Cover with bone dry cloth
And wait
Go feed the
chickens
Or plant
bulbs for spring
Or take the
dog for a walk
And watch
the tree-top fringed sky
Suffused in
its waking blush
That
lightens to pink and then coral
Then gathers
itself into a tight ball
Intense as
a fire-coal, transfiguring
Chimney
pots into Disney turrets
Lighting up
a sun-bricked path
Through
woods where you crunch
Fallen husks underfoot
Cup and
stroke cool hard chestnuts
Surprise a
squabbling crow
Beneath the
Scots Pine
Then
emerge from the woods
And scatter grazing
gulls
That let
fall white feathers as they rise
Brush these
across your palm
And feel
their oiled nylon tickle
By now the
yeast should
Have
fermented
And spread
like foam
Thrown up by
a Spring tide
It may look
like freshly whipped cream
Resist -
the urge to sample
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Monday 3 October 2016
Belated Greetings
Birthdays have begun to straddle days rather than hours.
This year I received a rendering of Happy Birthday the day before the actual event.
And another one the day after.
Cards have been delivered at various intervals.
The only well wisher certain to be punctual with their greeting is probably the phone company.....
to which I take great personal affront!!
But...... Isn't it grand to allow the festive mood to peak earlier and linger longer
Belated
I had
folded away my birthday
Face down
in a small pile
When the rush
of black-
tailed dog
eschewing hall
carpet
howling at retreating footsteps
snouting parcel packaging
Declared –Post.
Addressed
to me
My maiden
name (in parenthesis)
Postmarked UK.
It was a copy of Jane Austen’s
Persuasion:
Hard-backed
Complete
and unabridged
Ribbon- book- marked
Pages -gilt-edged
Edition- illustrated
Straight
from her cottage
parsonage in Chowton.
parsonage in Chowton.
And inside
it
Gold stars
from a
wedding you gate-
crashed in Helsinki
and a
promise
To email
Properly
Soon.
Friday 30 September 2016
Aura Soma
Continuing my colour phase... here are a couple of poems on red.
It is associated with the base chakra and issues around survival, love and energy.
Red
And so from the womb of lush green
Brazen -blood stirring
Foot-firm stomping
Aries-dancing
Kali weaves to the sway
of serpent ascending
spirals,pivots, displays
of " I am " sounding.
It is life in the raw
Blood-stopping
Ram raging
Life affirming.
RED
Draws attention to itself
It shouts, "I am here!!"
Pigeon house, Light house
Red swings its hips and sways
To the sound of rumba
It is associated with the base chakra and issues around survival, love and energy.
Red
And so from the womb of lush green
Brazen -blood stirring
Foot-firm stomping
Aries-dancing
Kali weaves to the sway
of serpent ascending
spirals,pivots, displays
of " I am " sounding.
It is life in the raw
Blood-stopping
Ram raging
Life affirming.
RED
Draws attention to itself
It shouts, "I am here!!"
Pigeon house, Light house
Red swings its hips and sways
To the sound of rumba
Thursday 29 September 2016
Colour Healing
Today I am wearing the Get up and Go bottle
Red over Blue
Bottle 29 in the Aura Soma range.
Not literally of course-- but these are the colours I chose to don, red top over navy blue trousers, and
Reading about the Aura Soma system it appears that I am "opening up to inner peace" today.
In my case this is very pertinent.
I did a course in Aura Soma a few years ago and, at the time, wrote a few poems while meditating on the colours and chakras... so here is one of them.
For further info on the system follow links.
http://www.aura-soma.net/
You can do a mini free aura soma reading for yourself here
http://www.puresoulalchemy.com/free_aura_soma_reading
Royal Blue
Blind seeing
through third eye
Shamen's vision
extending
like the stretched skin
of his drum
beyond
our remembering
Kundalini rising
like the serpent
Emerging
through crown
knowing
It is here
that you become
author
mystic
seer
Open the eye and see
beyond the stars
and into the night sky.
Red over Blue
Bottle 29 in the Aura Soma range.
Not literally of course-- but these are the colours I chose to don, red top over navy blue trousers, and
Reading about the Aura Soma system it appears that I am "opening up to inner peace" today.
In my case this is very pertinent.
I did a course in Aura Soma a few years ago and, at the time, wrote a few poems while meditating on the colours and chakras... so here is one of them.
For further info on the system follow links.
http://www.aura-soma.net/
You can do a mini free aura soma reading for yourself here
http://www.puresoulalchemy.com/free_aura_soma_reading
Royal Blue
through third eye
Shamen's vision
extending
like the stretched skin
of his drum
beyond
our remembering
Kundalini rising
like the serpent
Emerging
through crown
knowing
It is here
that you become
author
mystic
seer
Open the eye and see
beyond the stars
and into the night sky.
Tuesday 27 September 2016
Cinder's sister
I don't know about you.
But I never got to play the Cinderellas or fairy princesses when it came to school pantos.
So here is the view from the much maligned side- the view from one of the ugly sisters.
But I never got to play the Cinderellas or fairy princesses when it came to school pantos.
So here is the view from the much maligned side- the view from one of the ugly sisters.
Panto
Frankly I think me and the sister get a raw
deal.
I mean to say, if it had been me, I wouldn’t have made such a skivvy out
of myself.
She could have left home anyway. The Fairy
Godmother would have bailed her out anytime. All she ever had to do was whip up
a storm and the Good Fairy would have arrived pronto.
But no. She had to string
it out. Snivel and moan and lick the ashes. Get the crowd real sorry for her.
Ready to lambaste us to any pole.
Did
you ever wonder where you’d be without us to act out the shadow side? And all
before Jung even got a whiff of it. I mean to say, if she’s not going to act downright
mean, then she’s going to attract it to her. Right?
But there she is on her knees in the
scullery owning all her goodness.
Instead of learning fast, she acts stupid,
eats as much ash as she can stomach, wallows in the stuff.
Me and the sister
had a terrible time getting her to the point of spiritual crisis. The girl’s
capacity for insult and injury was awesome. Another day of it and I’d have wept
with her in the ashes myself. But, thank God, she turned to a little creative
visualisation and manifested herself a Godmother.
I was quite enjoying that ball until she
turned up doe-eyed, dimple flashing, lid-lowering and whipped PC out from under
my nose.
And then the dramatic exit!
As if the universe isn’t bountiful!
I mean do you really believe the fairy would
have put a time limit on it?
No, I reckon she got one of her self doubt bouts. Lost
confidence, lost face and don’t forget the shoe! Very convenient that.
As for that slipper fitting scene!
Do you really think I wanted to squeeze my G
size into that skimpy little excuse for a shoe that had done the rounds of the
kingdom. And risk verruca, corns and God knows what?
And
then to watch her creep out of the cinders and slip her pygmy footsie into the golden
slipper. And then, jack rabbit, out with the other one from beneath her pinnie!!!
It’s all gush and pink flush forever and ever now. As if!
She’ll make a doormat out of herself no
matter what. There’ll be a few more shadows to play out. A few more spiritual
crises to be had. She hasn’t learnt the lesson yet.
But as
for me, I’ve done with them. Make me the fairest of them all next time and let
herself do a little shadow acting.
Saturday 24 September 2016
The Butcher's Hook
This novel is not for the faint- hearted.
I thought
it was another account of another powerless, young woman living within the
confines of a patriarchal society, in love with her social inferior and forced
to betroth an elderly rich man
And it is
Up to a point
But more
concerned with…. beyond that point
Jealousy,
revenge, obsessive love….
Think Jacobean Tragedies or Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, who pales in
comparison to our 19 year old anti heroine.
When I discovered
that Anne Jaccob kept dead mice, dead spiders and finger nails… “a
morbid tableau,” I should have known.
But in this
first person narrative you are inside her head, making allowances, constantly
adjusting, caught in a struggle with your own conscience.
She has
you, the reader, caught on that butcher’s hook.
Some of her
characters are caricatures like Titus Levener, the master butcher, “Great
slabs of flesh swell beneath his shoulders…his neck circles hugely around to
his back and balloons in front where it joins his many chins..”
And, with names
like Fub and Onions, they belong in the pages of a Dicken’s novel.
But this
novel is set a century earlier, Georgian London, the summer of 1763.
I have
already given enough spoilers …
suffice
to say
you won’t put it down till you finish it…
you may well skip to the last
page to see if she gets a way with it…
you will rush back to the library with it,
just to get rid of it…
but it will haunt you.
A very
skilful, edgy, sophisticated piece of work.
The Butcher's Hook by Janet Ellis, published by Two Roads 2016
Friday 23 September 2016
Things to do when trying not to listen to a phone conversation
The poem: Things to do around a Look-Out by Gary Snyder was suggested to me as a good read.
I haven't managed to access it yet but I was inspired by his title to write
Things to do when trying not to listen to a phone conversation
Keep doing what you're supposed
To be doing.
Even if the inflections of her voice
Change from chirp to flat.
Don't hold your breath
At her pause.
Keep breathing, even though
The pause stretches beyond hopeful.
Don't look at the clock;
Time may mean nothing
And you will have to wait
Regardless
To hear her news
Good, bad or ambivalent.
And keep praying
Or finger crossing
Or bead counting.
For that is probably
The only thing
You can do.
I haven't managed to access it yet but I was inspired by his title to write
Things to do when trying not to listen to a phone conversation
Keep doing what you're supposed
To be doing.
Even if the inflections of her voice
Change from chirp to flat.
Don't hold your breath
At her pause.
Keep breathing, even though
The pause stretches beyond hopeful.
Don't look at the clock;
Time may mean nothing
And you will have to wait
Regardless
To hear her news
Good, bad or ambivalent.
And keep praying
Or finger crossing
Or bead counting.
For that is probably
The only thing
You can do.
Monday 19 September 2016
Adieu
With your
oiled petals
still seductive
and your season's hues
still bold
I am
reluctant
to lay you
flat
or roll you
up
or fold you
away
And place
you
in a dark
closet
paper lined
and cedar
scented.
But darker
skies
and cooler
days
make urgent
the
imperative
To let you
go.
Friday 16 September 2016
This is just to say
William Carlos Williams,
This is just to say, (see link) which reads
like a note found on the kitchen table, triggered a couple of pieces for me.
This is just to say
I have
eaten
the
raspberries
that you
had
stowawayed
so
carefully
behind
the iceberg
lettuce.
They were
delish
and
berry,berry
raspish
RESPONSE
This is just to say
I have
entered
your
facebook
page
that you
had
left
so
carelessly
open
and have posted
some
berry,berry
cringish
posts.
Thursday 15 September 2016
Mrs Engels
That
feeling of dread as you near the end of your library book…because you just want
it to go on and on………
Enter Mrs
Engels by Gavin McCrea published by Scribe 2015
Now I have
zilch interest in Marx and Engels, though some of my dwindling brain cells urge
me to recant that statement.
But when I
read the opening line of Mrs Engels I was jolted.
“No one understands men better than the women
they don’t marry.”
The
narrator is Lizzie Burns, of Irish descent and a textile factory worker in Manchester who becomes
Engel’s lover.
And when
she declares that “love is a bygone idea;
centuries worn.”
I know she’s
about to debunk all the romantic ideology that has been my daily fodder…
And, frankly, I just can’t wait to read it.
I am not
disappointed.
If you
asked me, "What is this novel is about???
I’m not sure I could tell you.
Not a lot happens.
But I got a factionalised insight into the characters of Frederick Engels and
Karl Marx that will lodge with me…dwindling brain cells or no.
Set in 1870, political and social changes rumble throughout Europe
in the back-story,
But to the
fore
And larger
than the international canvas
Is the
riveting character of Lizzie Burns.
She has
been compared with Molly Bloom in Ulysses… (I can’t confess to having read past
the first page of Joyce's masterpiece, put off as I am by a book’s bulk.)
But Lizzie is a maelstrom, swirling through Georgian London, leaving disarray and confusion in her wake.
Her advice
to a woman in search of a partner might well be that of the famous Mrs Bennett in
Pride and Prejudice, but put with a
bit more verve.
“Odds are the handsome fellow you go spooney on
will turn out to be a bad bargain”
And she warns
against “fine wits, lookers, rare minds
and fancy poets…..”
What matters
to Lizzie is “A man with means, a man who
knows the value of brass and is easy with it.”
Enter Frederick Engels.
After returning my library book I went out
and bought a copy of it.
A must-keep!!
Tuesday 13 September 2016
Illusionists
An exercise in my on-line poetry course is to write a poem based on a picture.
The pic features an old trick- conjurer's assistant suspended, apparently, in mid air.
Fine, invisible rope? Not so- hence the presence of a hoop.
The decor was mock-Eygptian so
I did a bit of research on this type of visual trickery.
I won't be trying it out any time soon.
See links below.
http://www.bl.uk/learning/timeline/item106359.html
ttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Egyptian_Hall
Meanwhile here is the poem.
The pic features an old trick- conjurer's assistant suspended, apparently, in mid air.
Fine, invisible rope? Not so- hence the presence of a hoop.
The decor was mock-Eygptian so
I did a bit of research on this type of visual trickery.
I won't be trying it out any time soon.
See links below.
http://www.bl.uk/learning/timeline/item106359.html
ttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Egyptian_Hall
Meanwhile here is the poem.
The
Egyptian Hall
They loved
to watch women
Sawn in
half.
Or
suspended perilously
On a
conjurer’s breath.
You cannot
see the metal bar
Behind his
legs.
Or the
control buttons
At his feet.
Just a
moustached man
Tail-coated
and Bow-tied
Holding a clipped-
Winged woman
Winged woman
On a metal
hoop;
Her breasts
hieroglyph-
Bound, her
hips
Silk –Tied.
The ideal
woman
At his behest.
Silent, rigid.
Rising
Silent, rigid.
Rising
Out of her coffin
In mummified
In mummified
Repose.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Friday 9 September 2016
Enlightenment
At the time I gave in
to that very special offer, 3 for the price of 2! We’ve all done it…
3 copies of
Eat, Pray, Love. by Elizabeth Gilbert
It was a BEST SELLER after all.
And I could
think of a few recipient friends who might be rushing out to buy it….
Not all of
them divorcees.
But
I couldn’t
get through it myself.
Bad timing?
Wrong book?
So when I saw
a DVD version of it recently in my local library I thought - maybe the pop up
version would do the trick- enlightenment??
Julia Roberts
and Javier Bardem.
Could it go
wrong?
Well yes,
and no.
Apart from
the irritating interruptions from my partner, “Is that not over yet?”
And it did
go on….
Something
about it didn’t quite stick with me.
Julia running from one doomed relationship to
another (been there -done that)
Julia eating tons of spaghetti and not putting
on weight- (haven’t been there)
Julia trying unsuccessfully to meditate in an
ashram in India at 4.30 am.
(Tried that
unsuccessfully on a kitchen chair, a bit later in the day, many times)
Julia smiling from her liver! (Well how do you
do that anyway?)
Javier cast as struggling divorcee—gorgeous/gorgeous
man - But...
Hit Man in a Coen Brothers' movie sits better on him.
All in all- a bit of a flop??
But next
day I am up and thinking
about
meditating again!
And savouring
boiled eggs
and toast
and
wondering
how I might
make my liver smile?
Less red
wine?????
So I guess Eat
, Pray Love just might have
enlightened me …
a bit.
Thursday 8 September 2016
Paternal Gran
As part of my online course I am revisiting memories. I tried in an earlier poem to capture this memory but here it is again. The idea is to contain the memory in a central image- the spider.
PATERNAL GRAN
She was sat on a stool and remembers
clipped wings and stalemate
Outside in coop-sized yard siblings
Squeal Tig-Tag-I’m out, you’re in
Inside spider in widow weeds
And off-white pinny spinning
Throbbing web, invisible thread
Snapped
And Noose descent, shadow
Spread, and waiting.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Wednesday 7 September 2016
Winding the Skein
My mother bought wool by the skein
great looped coils of it, too loose
to be worked with needles.
My outstretched hands, a skein looped
distance between them, anchored the hank
while she pulled, first from one hand
and then the other, ladling the wool
into balls, unravelling my yarn dressed hands
that tilted up and down, swaying to and fro,
forwards and backwards to her rhythm.
Firm but not taut
Loose but not free
If I missed a step
the skein would tangle
and I would have to let go.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
great looped coils of it, too loose
to be worked with needles.
My outstretched hands, a skein looped
distance between them, anchored the hank
while she pulled, first from one hand
and then the other, ladling the wool
into balls, unravelling my yarn dressed hands
that tilted up and down, swaying to and fro,
forwards and backwards to her rhythm.
Firm but not taut
Loose but not free
If I missed a step
the skein would tangle
and I would have to let go.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Wednesday 24 August 2016
Feminine Curiosity
Legend is littered with stories of women punished harshly for their feminine curiosity; Lot's wife, Pandora, Psyche, Eve. Here is the story of one who got away with it ....by the skin of her neck
The Youngest Daughter
She fell in
love with his fine houses,
a deal of
silver and gold plate, and over-
-looked his blue-tinged beard and his appetite
-looked his blue-tinged beard and his appetite
for
beautiful women.
And when he
left she followed
the little
back stair-case to the forbidden
closet where she stood
in clotted blood.
closet where she stood
in clotted blood.
The fallen
key she could not clean
with any
amount of soap or sand.
The silver sabre
dangled
over her head
over her head
bowed in prayer. And it took
a long
while for the cloud of dust
to spit out arms
to the rescue.
while for the cloud of dust
to spit out arms
to the rescue.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Tuesday 23 August 2016
No ideas but in things...
"No ideas but in Things." William Carlos Williams
Part of my course is to write a So Much Depends Upon Poem after the style of Williams!!
Here goes from an earlier short story of mine.
Part of my course is to write a So Much Depends Upon Poem after the style of Williams!!
Here goes from an earlier short story of mine.
So Much
depends Upon A Real Umbrella
So much
depends
Upon
An umbrella
with a
pointed
ferrule
A long
shaft and
twelve
stretchers.
A real
umbrella
An older
Man
Sure
to know.
The bird
From my
cupped
Hands
Its beak
No longer
frozen
in fright
Must have
felt it
and took
flight
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Saturday 20 August 2016
Cinquain
http://www.irish-art.com/db/showimage.php?id=3583
Am studying the art of the Cinquain.-a variation of the Haiku.
It has 5 lines of 22 syllables:2,4,6,8,2.
I rejigged this piece already written as Haiku into the cinquain form.
Look at the drawing which inspired it by using the link above
and hopefully the poem will make sense!
Boxman 2
Hunkered
on splayed hands, his
stripped bone-white foetal-curve
earth bound, heaven bent, knot of bone
and prayer
OR
On a more familiar theme.
The sound
of wings hitting
Velux attic window
panes turns out to be the mundane-
the rain.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Am studying the art of the Cinquain.-a variation of the Haiku.
It has 5 lines of 22 syllables:2,4,6,8,2.
I rejigged this piece already written as Haiku into the cinquain form.
Look at the drawing which inspired it by using the link above
and hopefully the poem will make sense!
Boxman 2
Hunkered
on splayed hands, his
stripped bone-white foetal-curve
earth bound, heaven bent, knot of bone
and prayer
OR
On a more familiar theme.
The sound
of wings hitting
Velux attic window
panes turns out to be the mundane-
the rain.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Friday 19 August 2016
First Love
It's fun to think of those TV series you used to watch decades ago- the intensity of the feelings!!!
I was in love with several of the Old-Time cowboys and wrote a letter to Maverick!!
So the recent sighting of a bow-legged man brought some of it back to me....
Deeply indebted to the Theme Song.
First Love
The swaggering sight of a bow- legged man,
his knees shouldering nonchalance,
embodies for me more loss than gain.
1960 and Bronco Layne tearin’ across
the Texas Plain.Hollywood studio sunset
behind him, his bowed legs arching the earth.
I was in love with several of the Old-Time cowboys and wrote a letter to Maverick!!
So the recent sighting of a bow-legged man brought some of it back to me....
Deeply indebted to the Theme Song.
First Love
The swaggering sight of a bow- legged man,
his knees shouldering nonchalance,
embodies for me more loss than gain.
1960 and Bronco Layne tearin’ across
the Texas Plain.
behind him, his bowed legs arching the earth.
And for one
charged moment I become the gal
who kissed
him once, then kissed him twice.
Then spent
her days dreamin’ of shoes and rice.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bronco_(TV_series)
http://www.lyricsondemand.com/tvthemes/broncolyrics.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bronco_(TV_series)
http://www.lyricsondemand.com/tvthemes/broncolyrics.html
Wednesday 17 August 2016
School Lessons
There is
always some sadness in learning.
When we
were nine we embarked on a tour
of the Thirty –Two Counties, Sister Joseph's tipped cane
of the Thirty –Two Counties, Sister Joseph's tipped cane
pointing
the way. At Belfast Shipyard inauspicious
clouds
gathered over the half-built Titanic:
A cross-channel steamer at a high rate of speed
ranging her
on her moorings, parting her long fore and aft
springs,
causing the wire hawser to fall suddenly on one
of the
scows on which several men were working. If only
they’d
heeded CP from Harland and Woolf Ltd- they’d have known
she was
jinxed. She was ship 401, and by the time the cane had drilled-
home the
fate of all of her predecessors our ship was running
out of steam.
We took a north-westerly route, navigating
the
coastline as far as the Giant’s Causeway , but
it was there
that our
engine failed. No crank of cylinder across the Border
and into
the Free State .
We had to settle for the Six Counties.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
https://nmni.com/titanic/Design-Build/Harland---Wolff/Belfasts-Titanic-Shipyard.aspx
https://nmni.com/titanic/Design-Build/Harland---Wolff/Belfasts-Titanic-Shipyard.aspx
Monday 15 August 2016
Makeover Poems
Am following a course in poetry online with http://creativewriting.ie/ and this is one of the exercises.
Apart from the "how to" aspect... the challenge is to rejig a poem you have already written
so you may have read an earlier incarnation of this one in a previous post.
How to gut
a fish or edit a poem
First you
have to lay the subject flat
and cut off
head and tail.
No mercy
for extraneous indigestible
matter. Make
puncture wound at anus, cutting
through
paired pelvic fins, slicing
the thin
abdominal wall, incising
the ventral
surface along the horizontal
until you
reach jaw.
Let spill
the guts and blood and slime -
A delicate
flick of knife at dorsal fin
turn the
spine of your knife against
the grain
of the scales, and flay
until you shed silver.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Saturday 13 August 2016
Directions
Can You Get
There without a Smart Phone?
Yes, if you
measure distance in roods and furlongs anyway
and don’t
need to know where you are going
exactly or
how many milliseconds it will take you
to get
there, and if you are content to sojourn up
and down
boreens and by- roads and have to double
back again,
discovering vistas not tagged or flagged
on your Memo,
if you can allow yourself
to get lost
from time to time, if you have
all the
time in the world.
It helps if
you are stoical.
It helps if
you are patient.
It helps if
you have a Samsung SGH T199
and no Sat
Nav
and no other
choice.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Tuesday 9 August 2016
How To Crack a Crab or Edit a Poem
How to Crack a Crab or Edit a Poem
Immerse in hot water.
Boil, steam
or braise until pink.
Remove unwanted
parts by snap-
ping. Pry
open apron and lose
it. Twist off
the shell and extract
the core, the heart, the body meat.
Avoid the mallet
and discard
the shell, the
tendons, the juices
the extraneous
bits. And there
you have
it, finger-picked clean,
a
cracked-crab or poem
on the very same theme.
on the very same theme.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Monday 8 August 2016
The Followers
We spread
like a stain,
following a
rumour, compelled
by a wound
of our own making
and yours.
Your forefathers,
like us,
crested the waves,
following
the Northern Star
in quest of
a new beginning.
You met
them with the same
curses and
barbed wire fences,
bureaucracy
and necromancy.
But they
persisted, their stain
seeping
into you, making you
who you
are. Like them,
our course
is set, our maps charted.
Whatever
the weather,
we are
making for the High Seas.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Sunday 7 August 2016
Walkers
My friend
measures her steps-
Units per Minute-Speed per Kilometre
Her morning
amble punctuated
by App-Speak-Ratings. Oblivious
to all but Rate-Ratio.
Another one
rambles, declines
inclines,
prefers snail-speed
and lumber.
Ear cocked
to the
wind, extending his wing
-span to
embrace virtual flight.
I follow my
dog, sniffing
at every
tree trunk, meandering
through
meadow-sweet, rolling
in suspect
matter from time to time.
Tail up,
snout down, lolling it.
Which type
of walker are you?
Saturday 6 August 2016
The Cleaners
We do not
send promotional literature
usually.
Usually we turn up at any kerb
unsolicited.
We have no licence
to operate
in your area.
Unpermitted
we rummage, haul away all
that is
salvageable. You do not
always see
us. You do not always
want to. When
we are done rearranging
your excess
you are secretly
pleased.
Sometimes you see us and pretend
not to. We
thrive on dung hills and skip piles
ignore EU
regulations and local County Council bye-
laws. You
could be deemed complicit
in our
offence, your offence
too.
Unprosecuted, uncontrolled, untraceable
we will
return at any time to any kerb
Copyright
with Cathy Leonard 2016
Friday 5 August 2016
Virtual virus
Have witnessed the development of an alarming phenomenon since my last post.
Am sure you have experienced it too....
Perhaps you are even one of..... them!!
Virtual
Crusaders
Geotagged,
the park has become
a portal.
It has morphed over-
night into
jousting arena
replete
with mobile-device- mounted
knights and
virtual monsters.
Public
space, private space, any space
co-opted,
besieged, overlaid,
laid claim
to by free gaming app crusaders.
Could
myspace or urs be the next
Stop-Gym-Portal?
Copyright
with Cathy Leonard 2016
Friday 1 July 2016
WaVeS
For Marie-Helene
Sun-driven they come
Line upon broken line they roar
Plunge,lift and soar
Throw themselves spent
Upon the shore.
And for Stephen
I might
Step into you
If you let me...
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Sun-driven they come
Line upon broken line they roar
Plunge,lift and soar
Throw themselves spent
Upon the shore.
And for Stephen
I might
Step into you
If you let me...
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Thursday 30 June 2016
Raidho-The Journey is the Destination
A favourite rune of mine....
http://runesecrets.com/rune-meanings/raidho
Raidho- Ready
The place is here
And you're already in it.
Thorax split and heart open.
You're ready to fly.
Then Fly.
Simply spread your wings and do it
For there's nothing stopping you.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
http://runesecrets.com/rune-meanings/raidho
Raidho- Ready
The place is here
And you're already in it.
Thorax split and heart open.
You're ready to fly.
Then Fly.
Simply spread your wings and do it
For there's nothing stopping you.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Tuesday 28 June 2016
Making choices
On Parting
"Protect the garden," you say,
"from the wild that might err there."
You hold yourself tight in parting
I give you Brigid's Cross
to help you find your way.
And you show me this painting
Given you once in lovemaking -
A Medieval Maiden on a white horse
its nose close to the canvas, shirking-
The future blank, you say.
You will have to choose
between a Crone's prayer.
and Maiden's aspiration.
You may have to let in the wild, lover.
You may have to let in the wild.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
"Protect the garden," you say,
"from the wild that might err there."
You hold yourself tight in parting
I give you Brigid's Cross
to help you find your way.
And you show me this painting
Given you once in lovemaking -
A Medieval Maiden on a white horse
its nose close to the canvas, shirking-
The future blank, you say.
You will have to choose
between a Crone's prayer.
and Maiden's aspiration.
You may have to let in the wild, lover.
You may have to let in the wild.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Monday 27 June 2016
Love
love
I think about your long back and low hips
Your sleek-snake walk.
The slight curve of your shoulders
As you stoop to kiss
Me, dressed in pink rose petals.
Earth's heartbeat pulls you down to core
That blazes up in you and sets me alight.
Petal by petal you swallow
Flames of your own making
Until I am whole again
Inside your belly.
Where I am a circle
And I am healing you
And you are a circle
And you are healing me.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
I think about your long back and low hips
Your sleek-snake walk.
The slight curve of your shoulders
As you stoop to kiss
Me, dressed in pink rose petals.
Earth's heartbeat pulls you down to core
That blazes up in you and sets me alight.
Petal by petal you swallow
Flames of your own making
Until I am whole again
Inside your belly.
Where I am a circle
And I am healing you
And you are a circle
And you are healing me.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
Friday 24 June 2016
Lus Mor -Foxgloves
Foxgloves.
They grow wild along the highways and byways of Ireland this month- so if you can't get out and about - why not buy one in a garden centre.
Digitalis Purpurea. Heart healer medicine. Biennial. 75 blooms on one stem.
They multiply every year...there's a name for that..
But they are deadly if you eat them.
So children beware.
http://www.wildflowersofireland.=Foxglove
Beware
I picked several once from a stony path.
Fledglings. Some thrived. Most died.
They prefer the wild. But a glimpse of
a cottage garden lush with them, I tried again-
Half reared ones this time.
Lus Mor - big plant, Foxglove, Fairy Thimble.
Your tall spikes rising, your parted lips opening
to a dark spotted throat mouthing
your mute warning to the passer-by
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
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