The joy of camping?

Reaching for my enamel mug of cold coffee,

I spy the corpses of midges kamikaze.

Only a few succumb to death by drowning,

the other thousand in tent seams are hiding.

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My air bed deflated, I can feel the hard earth,

tent pitched on an incline, of sleep there is a dearth.

Feet higher than my head, I’ve slipped right down the bed

so I try reversing all the bedding instead.

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I am woken at four by a loud dawn chorus,

disgruntled, exhausted, my headache enormous.

I wake with my right arm and leg frozen with cold.

Five degrees last night!  For this camping lark too old.

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My knees stiff and achy from cooking on the floor,

grains of sand in all our food walked in from the shore.

Local stinging beasties have decided to meet

in our tent, spreading the word our blood is so sweet!

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Shouldn’t have had the wine, need to “spend a penny.”

Raining outside, I can find only one wellie.

And just when I’m settling into much needed peace,

the kids next door start fighting.  How I wish they would cease!

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And though you might wonder why do this and complain?

To escape this world’s clamour, I’d do it ALL… again!

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To ALL my WP Friends:

It is rather “sheepishly” that I post this poem today…having been off the WP radar now for a number of weeks.  At this time of year when everything is growing so quickly, life takes on a rather frenzied and overly full flavour and I become conscious that there are never enough hours in the day to achieve and fulfill all that I would hope for.  We are now at the height of the gardening season so busy, busy, busy.  I also have been engaged in much organ playing and away camping…twice!  This second poem on camping, as opposed to the more aesthetic, previous one, is my end of year humorous offering to the local Writers’ Group!  The theme was to write something funny!  Also, I just wanted to say, I AM still here, not disappeared, bear with me, I will catch up with your recent blogs as and when I am able.  In the meantime, I wish you all happy and sunny Summer days!!  🙂

 

 

Pentametric Poem

My long lost friends have found me once again,

from distant days of paper, ink and pen.

Of wooden desks disfigured and abused,

of English teachers, quirky and bemused.

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Of Shakespeare, Chaucer and pentameter,

iambic flow, idyllic childhood days.

Close friendships forged, rekindled love affair

with enjambment and Summer’s carefree rays.

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In poetry caesura plays it’s part,

like bosom-friends no longer in my heart.

Life’s challenges have pierced me with their dart,

Yet Art and Music, Words, a salve implant.

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The chiming convent bell, a memory

of morning prayers, spirituality.

Shared, embraced, in warm camaraderie,

as boarders share a false security.

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Fear not, my friends, for all is not yet lost,

full circle I have run and now I fly.

These treasures past, re-kindled not yet tossed

aside to die, but resurrected high.

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As Winter’s cold lethargic fingers fall

and frogs with croak return to pond to mate,

Depression’s veil dissolves to Springtime’s call,

As spark ignites my soul to germinate.

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Apologies for the “Rogue” line not true to the iambic penametric form : “shared , embraced, in warm camaraderie”… !

1967-1972 : I was a Boarder at the Holy Family of Nazareth Convent School, Pitsford, Northampton.

Pentameter : from the Greek and is a poetic meter. A poem is written in a particular pentameter when the lines of the poem have the length of 5 feet…where”foot” is a combination of a particular number ( 1 or 2 ) of weak syllables and a strong syllable.

Iambic pentameter : is a commonly used type of metrical line in traditional English poetry and verse drama. “Iambic” refers to the type of foot that is used, known as the iamb, which in English is a weak syllable followed by a strong syllable. Iambic rhythms come fairly naturally in English and iambic pentameter is the most common meter in English poetry. Shakespeare used iambic pentameter in his plays and sonnets.

Enjambment : In poetry the continuation of a sentence without a pause beyond the end of a line, couplet, or stanza.

Caesura : A pause in a line of poetry that is formed by the rhythms of natural speech rather than by metrics. It usually occurs near the middle of a poetic line but can also occur at the beginning or the end of a line.

 

Pond Pondering

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In the blinking of an eye and the warble of the warbler,

The pond puts on her splendid, bespoke summer clothes.

Silently and secretly simmering and smouldering,

Frogspawn explodes…a hundred detonations

Prompting Nature’s touchpaper  to awaken

And light the dormant creative spark within.

A living, loving electricity, leaping and jumping,

Rekindling and lovingly revitalising

All that it embraces in it’s path,

And igniting with glowing colour and radiance

All that it touches.

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I sit…

In stillness meditating and pondering,

Pond watering and quenching my soul’s thirst,

Such hallowed, such sweet, sacred beauty.

Acers, their blazing glowing countenances vying for attention

Whilst they guard this sublime and special spot.

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Each tree budding and emerging hesitantly,

Tentatively checking for potential frostbite…

In succession, one by one and bit by bit,

Like a finely honed firework display

The pond is suddenly and magically surrounded

By clouds of wispy, delicately denticulated leaves,

All bowing and swaying in homage

To the rhythmic design they carry.

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Ammonite-like and tightly curled,

New fern fronds unfurl from hibernation,

Eager to expand and grow and uncurl

So they can stretch their fingers to the sun

In graceful prayer and adoration.

Robed in majesty and electrifyingly dazzling,

Kingcups open their petals in worshipful chorus,

Blazing a flaming, resplendent rhapsody.

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Senses tingling blissfully at such brazen-faced beauty…

And heart filled with gladness and joyful gratitude,

Knowing this small corner amongst concrete, slab and monoblock

Provides a heaven, safe haven for God’s precious creatures.

Lush, green postage stamp oasis affixed to stark envelope desert.

Indeed I am blessed to be a garden care-taker.

Long may the voles live beneath the waterfall…

And the frogs rustle the heart leaves of the Marsh Marigolds,

Resting after the exertions of frenzied Spring courtship,

Surveying the pond’s surface, long tongues at the ready…

Zen-like they wait for an à la carte dinner to alight and settle!

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Long may the little family of mice live under the path,

Scampering out when they think no one is looking,

Helping themselves to dropped offerings from the bird table.

Long may the elderberry tree with sand-paper bark

Provide a giant scratching post for grateful neighbouring cats!

Long may I  breathe and walk and be here now…

Feel the sun on my skin, the wind on my face,

Hear the blackbird at twilight and the sparrow at dawn,

And be given the grace to feel every living particle pulsing

With love that is life itself!

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Apologies for the profusion of photos; the plan was to swamp your senses

with a feast of form and colour so that you might get a feel

of the sheer lushness of the pond and garden at this moment!