Cataloging life and poetry

According to one source cataloging includes alphabetize, arrange, tick off, rank, stream, a pecking order, pigeon hole.

Love the last one, imagine indignant pigeons waiting while I place half finished poems into holes along the white cliffs walk way.

1-DSC09114   Pigeons pause on the cliffs   20-P1030909

Cataloging life 

Consider seriously if the scripts about gnomes living in a wood are ever be a going concern or for that matter to ‘Lizzie with love.’

Set out colourful packets of seeds into tempting rows.

Put all the pictures and handmade bits and bobs the grandchildren have ever made into three boxes, one for each of them.

Plan when to read files of mother’s writing including  letters from her wartime lover.

Think about singing don’t actually sing – just think about it.

Stop slipping into endless obligations say NO and another LOUDER NO.

Decide when to finish Nicky’s book about Pasta.

Make sure you messenger all the grandchildren at least once a month.

Go through your whole wardrobe decide who you are and stick to it.

Don’t write poems dancing naked in the bathroom as suggested by Matthew Dickman – stay curled up in bed.

Ancestry and Paper Chain from ‘The Puppeteer’s Daughter’

Ancestry

My people were
in the rag trade
their trademark
a thimble.
Granddad had
a fruit shop
his trademark
a black cash box
and constant cough.
An ancient uncle
mixed pigments
for Windsor and Newton
and studied the great masters.
Gran’s folk came
from gypsy stock.
fortune tellers
and dreamers.
Dad had a dance band
during he war
and played for radio Milan.
My mother lived
by her needle
and cooked
the lightest ever
Victoria sponge.

Paper Chain

Snow falls like flakes of memory
tucked under a warm blanket

cheeks pinched with cold
the window a filigree frost

rough sawn logs stacked in the grate
a comforting casserole in the oven

the smell of honeyed baked apples
stuffed with raisins

“Gales in the Herbides snow expected
to continue in the Highlands’

Mr Crick the newsagent hanging a single
dusty paper-chain in his window

Busy sparrows in a flurry of snow
spinning on the bird feeder

Mrs Kettle in her cottage with her goat
and cat huddle together to keep warm

The letter
‘We are sorry your great aunt died
two months ago, we are sure she would
have liked your letter returned herein.’

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This entry was posted in Becoming a poet, Cheer yourself up on a dull day, Creative non fiction, Finding my feet in Brighton, Nature - birds, Photography, poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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