We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage / And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die, / We Poets of the proud old lineage / Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why ... (James Elroy Flecker)

15.3.24

Relief from Summer Ailments


Here it begins, my seasonal agenda,

just for myself, unknown to most of you.

It has the constancy and repetition of devout

ritual; it’s a descent from dire peak to safe plateau.

I desist from drops and medication as soon as the warm

fades, and pack away compression stockings – it’s Autumn!



Form: a ‘broken acrostic,’ with the letters of the acrostic word (the true title of the poem) appearing at ends, not beginnings of lines.





For Friday Writings #119: Strange Springs at Poets and Storytellers United, Magaly invites us to write on strange Spring rituals. But it’s Autumn in Australia, and I’m currently most interested in my own personal, very welcome ways of marking the change of season. (Actually I can’t do either just yet, still too early – but soon!) 



7.3.24

Love Letter to a Favourite Companion














Wrap yourself around me

in a warm and tender embrace!

Enclose me, enfold me, 

keep the cold world out!


Not only protective,

you’re also good-looking. 

I love your shape, your colour

(not insipidly pale like me).


When you’re with me,

cuddling close, I feel 

more beautiful myself.

I walk more proudly.


It’s been a long and faithful,

happy partnership. True,

I’ve sometimes flirted with others,

but none had your depth or breadth.


You’re different from them all. 

You’re more complete. Solid,

not frivolous. And you stroke my skin

delightfully, but you never tickle.

 

We’re both ageing now.

I only hope that you will be 

the one to outlast me, and stay

to hug me gently at the end.



Photo: Mirror selfie of me wearing my beloved ruana wrap.


Written for Friday Writings #117: Sensual Clothing at Poets and Storytellers United.








22.2.24

‘Through discipline comes freedom.’ (Aristotle)

 

‘Oh, every poet knows that!’ I thought at first, seeing this presented as a writing prompt.


But I dunno. It’s true that constraints, such as the strictures of particular forms, can lead to better ways of saying things than one might have found without them – but that’s not quite the same thing as freedom.


It’s true, as poets know, that so-called ‘free verse’ isn’t really free. It has its own requirements, which must be taken into account; it isn’t just chopped-up prose. Sometimes it’s even harder work than formal poetry.


When it comes to the whole of life, it’s the same: there’s no real freedom – not big, overall, absolute freedom. We have some degree of freedom, depending on the legal system where we live. It’s true that the discipline of staying within the law allows for the freedom to live our lives without hindrance – well, except for the hindrances of poverty, social class, health problems, natural disasters, wars, the criminal actions of those who break the laws…. But mostly we can go about our business fairly freely because of the imposed discipline of the law.


We internalise this from an early age, with the help of parents and teachers, so it becomes self-discipline. We just don’t do things we’ve been taught we shouldn’t. (Until we do. Temptations happen to us all. Small infractions we may even get away with, though it’s not guaranteed.)


So freedom is limited, by social agreement. But within that agreement, self-discipline (one might argue) is what gives us our freedom.


Nah! Me, I’m exceedingly undisciplined. I don’t break laws but I lack self-discipline. I just spent most of two days listening to an audio book.*


What gave me this freedom? Old age.


I get the Age Pension. I don’t have to work. 


There are things I need to do, such as household jobs (but the heavy ones are done for me via an agency) and book marketing (but I can defer that for a day or two).


What about lack of exercise limiting my health? Hey, I walk around the house. Anyway, lifelong athletes often end up as unfit as sedentaries like me, if in different ways.


Truly, what freedom I have lives in self-indulgence.




Written for Friday Writings #115 at Poets and  Storytellers United.





Form: essay.  OK, that's not a poetic form nor is this a poem. I gave myself a year to play with poetic forms, but this month I and many others are practising haiku and/or senryu every day, to prompts, for NaHaiWriMo ...  and I thought it was a long time since I wrote an essay. Given our P&SU word limit of 369, I guess you could call it a mini-essay.



* The Other Bennett Sister [i.e.Mary Bennett] by Jane Hadlow.

LONG! Over 18 hours! (I love a good long read. Or in this case a listen.) Also she gets the Austen tone and language down perfectly, and includes some wonderful tongue-in-cheek literary and other allusions, as well as telling an enthralling tale.