Meet Me In Marigolds

The Post-it note has a smiley face,
and it’s a race between emotions –
notionally: pleasure, beckoned by
the sight of your handwriting,
the way you fail to dot your every i.
‘There’s nothing else it could be!’
My smile stretches, sly and sweet.

Next: anticipation, a wave of adrenaline
spiking through the morning fugue
with images of rising to the challenge,
followed swiftly by the warm reward.

And then: contention bells in my head,
dread lurching to the fore;
for all the sweetness of imagination
there’s more, broadening the view of
victory to see us… where?

Are we in a field of fleshy flowers,
a barely-veiled metaphor dotting us
with pollen?
Hardly.
You’re neither hardy nor hearty,
usually eschewing outdoor pursuits,
pressing your suit in more… suitable locations…

Okay. Maybe we meet wreathed in blossoms,
top-heavy under some local post,
in-joke harking back to spy movies
and classified ads and brown-paper-wrapped
bad little habits in seaside retreats…?
Better.
But still not there yet.
Betting on landmarks seems foolhardy
in a city thronging with history.

This is a brutal test of my affections.

Next I consider: who am I missing?
Is this the name of one of your many associates?
Am I to approach a list of barely-retained
strangers to say: ‘Hey, is my… um… there today?’
stumbling and mumbling over names and titles,
bright with embarrassment and everything
we’ve never said?
You’re off your head, babe.
Hey, maybe we should call it a day?
This pressure’s getting heavy…

And then it hits me and I
dip my head, grin, slip to the sink,
rummage in its undercarriage and
come up golden.

Snap.

This is going to be one dirty weekend.

Back in late 2010, a poet named Tim Clare upped the ante on his annual poem-writing challenge, and set the stage to write 101 poems in a day. He asked for suggestions, and I ventured the title of this piece. He did it proud! I’m now the kind of person who runs poetry workshops, it turns out, and, when I’m faced with people who’ve done my standard prompt for a poem (“Lemons”, if you’re interested), I tell them: “Pick a book off the shelf and open it at a random page. That, or you could try ‘Meet Me in Marigolds’.” Very few have taken me up on that, sadly. By the time it got to late NaPoWriMo 2017, starting to run out of notions, I thought it was time I put my stanzas where my stylus is. Or something. Anyway, this is what happens when I’m being fussy about other people’s prompts - random story poems. It will be making an appearance in the Whimsy section of Spectral later this year.

“Well, it won’t take long to draw this!” I thought. Feeling this especially true after I blasted so fast (for me) through drawing the kingfisher for Monarch. Oh well! It took me a long time to be happy with this one, and I think it’s pretty good now. Always difficult to tell, writing these so shortly after finishing drawing, when I’m still in the stage where I think it’s very flawed in every way. But the creases look better than anticipated in places, and I’ve decided that It Will Do.

Monarch

There it is!
The branch startle,
the ice-pick dart,
the plunge and struggle.

There!
The sunset breast,
the test against gravity,
blue-muscled.

There! Oh, there!
Water spray light-caught,
fraught on a sleek line,
defining history.

You missed it.

This piece was written in January 2017, and I honestly couldn’t tell you why. It’s been used by me as a quick piece for the Allographic open mic “Chaos Round” (where, for an unspecified amount of time an unspecified number of poets dash to the stage – physical or virtual – and give us tiny poems, fragments of pieces, mysterious fillips, then retreat) a few times, and, as they say, I just think it’s neat. As a child I did a lot of birdwatching, even had my own binoculars, and I’m still that person who’ll stop on a walk or stare out of a car window at interesting avifauna (sometimes to the consternation of the people in the passenger seats, it has to be said…). I have, however, never seen a kingfisher in person.

A common kingfisher, drawn from a picture by John Bridges

This was a lot of fun to draw, but took me significantly longer to get around to starting than I’d have liked, probably because it seemed so very daunting a prospect to do justice to. However, once I’d got going, it took me significantly less time than anticipated to draw. I’m clearly learning… However, the source photo cropped the tail, so I’m very much hoping I did it justice!

Look out for this and its Lesser Spotted friends in Spectral later this year!

Amber

You take my flesh in hand and start to score.
You press with gentle force to mark a seam.
You know the path, you’ve traced its route before:
this armour guards a softness, lush as dreams.

This task takes patience, time, and outright skill;
first layer gone and now the harder part:
a thin, tight membrane keeps you from your fill,
so lift the bitter, taste my sweeter heart.

The air sings, tartly, beckoning your tongue;
and busy fingers blush, juice running free.
Impediments are done, the feast’s begun;
my core surrendered, you devouring me.

The fresh scent lingers, memories kept real;
ripe flesh is worth the challenge of the peel.

This sonnet was written as part of #NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) 2017. It's one of my traditions to try to write a #sonnet every April. This has since shifted as, 2019, I often write 7 sonnets every February, as part of the #28SonnetsLater challenge. You can see previous attempts of mine during NaPoWriMo on my dedicated blog. And this sketch is another colour piece! I'm clearly enjoying the challenge. Usually later in the process than with black-and-white sketches, it must be said... 

Ceci est seulement une orange

Sentinel

The sky shifts over the
skirling hills,
the wilful wind sinks,
and my shadow
slips to drink.

You have discovered me
again, and my vows are
renewed –
memories echo in me
as you carry me home.

I am the beckoning,
tectonic,
pinning spirits
to now, from then
to ever.

Not for me the gorsedd –
eisteddwch,
tawelwch yn canu;
listen and remember
under the bell of sunset.

I hide, unmoving shape-shifter,
one note in
the song of ever,
sipping from the sky
until you come again.

Sentinel is about the standing stone in the Brecon Beacons (a national park of rolling hills in South Wales) called Maen Llia. It’s said that the stone sometimes goes wandering down to the nearby river to drink at sunset... This piece was originally a commission for an elderly Welsh gentleman who came by our Poetry To Go stall at RHS Wisley’s Arts Festival and wanted a poem for this feature, describing in achingly evocative detail how the stone appears as if from nowhere when you walk the Beacons. The piece appears in the Nature/ The Sea section of Spectral next year.

Another foray into colour. Not easy, this one, but I’m glad I persevered! I was particularly taken with how the paths and scars on the hill are echoed on the menhir at this angle.
Source image from Wikipedia: Photograph by Immanuel Giel

Compound Rhythm

We have tried to fit you in,
lumbering you with familiar names,
shamelessly labelling you:
plodder, late-comer,
wobbly moss-beast.

Sky-divers, galaxy-striders,
depth-riders, you can leap
from sauna to ice bath,
without shrinking,
in the wink of an eye.

And foolishly, we write rules
that don’t apply to you,
radiating cool, defying filing,
to stride, pioneers hitching wagons
to a new star, taking the next slow,
sturdy steps into ubiquity.

Clio of the Depths

I have cast off weight to glide,
lost light in the undersky.
Where my cousins plod,
I rainbow arc,
backlit swiftness,
sleek among the butterflies.

Close to grace, I open,
lotus-like,
a fine fruit,
toothsome,
its bruised flesh threshed
by my winnowing maw.

Gorged, I sheathe my
glass scimitars, and
weave into darkness,
seeking further sweetness.

This piece was written in October 2017, from an Allographic workshop about animal poetry with Robin Lamboll. Sea Angels are, essentially, marine snails that ditched their shells a long time ago to glide through the water with their "wings". (Well, sort of – read the Wikipedia article for more details...)

Look out for this and its Lesser Spotted friends in Spectral next year!

I enjoyed drawing this - the first time I've used colours since I started drawing last year. Source image by Alexander Semenov.