Stamps of the World [Revision]

 

Why does Portugal love Snoopy? Why 

do such a  lot of other countries love cats? 

Silly questions!  I love Snoopy and cats.

Mt Fuji makes sense for Japan.

Are flowers / birds / fungi national? 

What about lobsters? Bats?

I’m more used to monarchs (British)

notables from history (Australian)

images of public events.

In the middle of my childhood

when I started to be serious 

(before I turned teenage frivolous)

Grandpa  decided I’d collect stamps 

like him; spent hours sitting with me

to explain their stories, their geography.

I didn’t care about small squares of paper.

I wanted books. It was books, not stamps,

brought messages, showed me the world.

Who uses stamps now? We email, we text.

But books continue to bring me mountains, 

flowers, animals, cartoon characters …

(Earlier version) 

A Crow Calls

There’s a crow calling

outside my front door

this clear, sunny day 

in mid-winter. I look out. 

Oh, he’s a big one, fat

as a lump of coal

but rounder.

He bursts from the tree

at speed, to follow the harsh 

cry I can only just hear

of another, further away.

His bright yellow beak 

shines against that mass 

of solid black.

Then they are gone, both.

Down the hill to other

houses? Or into the near

patch of forest? Different 

birds, more melodious, return 

to my yard; warble. 

(But I like crows.)

Let the poems ...

Let the poems come to you,

not you chase them.

Not how I’ve played it

all these years 

following prompts. 

If, would they be 

fewer but better? 

(But he didn’t say how

the poems might come.)

Between the Headstones

I looked so hard

to find my name

in the annals of Poetry,

in vain. ‘Let this be

a value judgment upon you,’

said an echoing voice 

which I privately labelled 

Doom.

And it would have been

so easy to turn away. 

But I remembered 

that when I began

I wanted only

writing instruments 

and a beating heart.

I feel to find if it still beats.

Options

Reading poems of thought 

not passion, I wished them

both. 

In my own life 

passion always won. 

Yes 

I talk past. 

I’m 84. Passion now

is a matter of the mind. 

Arguing with the Nature Spirits [Revision]

Hey woman, hooray for you!

You’ve left us a nice bit of mini-jungle 

here within your small back yard. 

We do like to be left some suitably 

untouched, wild spaces – especially now 

when, all around us, foolish folk

allow the wilderness to diminish.

We fear it will all disappear too soon.

I understand that greed for wilderness.

Yet if I allow the weeds to continue

rising unchecked in rich proliferation, 

soon I’ll have the whole snake nation 

sunning here, nesting here, as the weather 

warms and draws them out from hibernation.

Oh no, we’ve seen you do it before: 

you’ll get that kid from over the road 

to come again, to prune and pare,

weed widely, crash through and slash 

all the tall stems and grasses, 

until at last – wanna bet? –

there’ll be nothing much left,

and some of us will be out on our arses.

It’ll be me out if I don’t please the landlord 

with some attempt at suburban order: 

a border here, a mown lawn there, while I grow

sweet European flowers to be weeded, watered, 

pruned and generally molly-coddled. I need 

to keep this rented roof over my old head.

We’re looking for good weedy plots with lots 

of room, lots of thick growth. Too much neatness 

makes us needy! So, OK, you rent; which means

appeasing your landlord’s conventional silliness. 

But must you till every small corner? Must you

cut and cultivate so fully, so tidily, so prettily, 

so politely? Why not leave us just one little bit?

What if we promise to chase away snakes?

[Earlier version.]

Learning to Swear Better [Revision]

‘Lonely?’ they asked, ‘Now 

that you’re on your own?

Get a pet’ they said. 

‘A faithful dog

or a sweet little kitty.’

But no, I went out 

and bought a parrot. 

I thought it would be

the ideal companion:

communicative. 

I thought I’d teach it

to talk. Ha ha to that! 

It must have had

a previous owner. Or, 

maybe the pet shop man …? 

No. This bird could only

have belonged to a pirate.

Talk about language!

I could just see him sitting 

on Long John Silver’s shoulder.

The first time

I dropped something

and uttered a mild ‘Damn!’

he went to town,

as if it was a cue.

Astounded by that stream 

of colourful invective,

I didn’t have a clue 

what half of it meant.

But it sounded amazing. 

And you can find 

anything on Google,

even the worst words. 

Next time I listened closely,

looked them up and learned. 

Now I’m a pro!

It’s fun living alone –

except for my parrot, 

who teaches me 

all the best words.

[Earlier version.]

Conflict [Revision]

Two you’d think should be allies –

who need to live together 

in mutual support, symbiosis, 

in give and take, ebb and flow, 

in response, adaptation 

… in balance.

Earth silting over,

piling up, drying out, being shovelled, 

rearranged by hands and machines,

becoming inhospitable to water;

earth discharging its garbage –

being made to discharge its garbage –

to crowd water, to infect water.

Water overflowing –

overflowing the sky in enormous rains;

overflowing the seabed, which

no longer contains it; overflowing

rivers and streams,  roaring

to crash over fields, against bridges,

through houses, to inundate and alter

the lives of all who live on the earth.

A conflict deadly for us 

who need both earth and water.

[See earlier version.]

Revising this one meant losing the form it was originally written in, in favour of free verse. 

Sharing with Poets and Storytellers United at Friday Writings #135: Less is more.

Why I Like Living [Revision]

… although I think my cat does it better. Still,

as I can’t be her, I can at least enjoy her –

that sleek, soft fur, and the long low purr

she gives me when I stroke her after she’s 

just awoken, or at any time really. And then, 

I like the scent of roses – to stoop to them, 

low; breathe them in, deep and slow. 

What blessings are our noses! Without those 

versatile organs, we’d all be losers. 

But as one door closes, another opens: 

the seasonal flowers must die down 

now, in the slowing of autumn, before 

being reborn. Yet I can’t be forlorn 

when every new cloud thrills me with beauty,

or when the moon shines full, or I grab a mango

and taste my fill. 

My friend sends a video of her afternoon,

in her new home, peacefully gazing at rain

through her picture window; in the background

Tony Martin and k.d. lang singing – bringing

her own pleasure over the streets and houses to me, 

where I’m alone and now no longer alone. Though

the tone of the day might seem subdued, yet I feel

I could rise and dance a fandango, springing

from my chair to whirl in the air, flinging wide 

my hands; or segue to a tango, imagining arms

that I have known, fond arms, holding me, bold 

and tender, shouldering a kind share of my cares. And 

if all I can do now is call on memory, still how I like

to dream and remember.... Yes, I like my living,

I like my loving: all that I’ve done, and all that as long

as Fate weaves, I will.

[Earlier version posted 13 April '24.]

Sharing this with Poets United for Friday Writings #147, my own prompt: What soothes you? I didn't write this for the prompt, but it contains various things which soothe me and make me feel better whatever the circumstances: being out in nature, my beloved cat, music that I like, good friends, lovely memories ...