Sunday, 24 September 2023

Five Poems by Wendy Webb

 




Strange Meeting

Sat in Pret a Manger

collapsible cup containing half-priced coffee (70p)

flipped open poetry book

time to kill (a bird, not Russian invasion)

Creative Café at Theatre, later

Royally seated – no stairs, no travellers –

elderly gent beside himself

myself/herself/theirself, refuelling…

friendly nostalgia of 94 years:

Cockney born and bred

joined Navy at 16

Shakespeare; Chaucer

Pearly Kings and Queens

Norwich his nowhere place

Retired, apartment in city

activities on doorstep daily

Mid-flow his lady returned

chatting for old England.

Scribbled words, spark, poetry, joy

Writing poetry, are you?

Verse poured out his mouth,

a Tsunami.

Learned at school?

Oh, no. It’s mine.

Creative class awaits no poet…

I did not catch his name.

 



Bee Sparking ashes


It’s Winter Solstice, nothing’s pushing

through the sod, irritating human spirits into pearls

snowdrops stay in bed all year.

Crocus crowns in gold or white or purple

to Candlemas Saint Valentine by heart

            simply waiting time.

Spring Equinox, Narcissi-fresh, lightening sky

pooled idiots admire reflections

many cousin shades of blossom.

Tulip season, jewels breed a crown

human parties spread like wakes

            time to dance.

Beltane flags hoisted, roots spread damp mud

Oriental poppies on strike, Californian wilds breed

            feral orange seeds to earth.

Summer Solstice greens rage on

Delphiniums dahlias, begonias sulk

            Seeds setting, nights draw round.

Samhain preys late Autumn delights

sedums, agapanthus, asters, chrysanths

            hide absences in perennial beds.

Winter Solstice hurries to closure

naked ladies, pyrocantha berries, thorns

            mandrake falls.

Sleep winter warm in vivid hues of stars

full moon, root Yggdrasil’s tree upside-down

Strike Yule flame; spark Phoenix bees from ashes.

 


June’s Cold (Pantoum) 

 

Cold fields are waving likely riotous breeze,

raising vigorous green shoots of barley play,

sounding shimmered glories of summer trees

startling the blackbird of a fresh new day.

 

Raising vigorous green shoots of barley play,

vast fields of wheat all poppy-army bright,

startling the blackbird of a fresh new day.

Mud-grizzled sky releases little light.

 

Vast fields of wheat all poppy-army bright,

café’s Routemaster bus too far to walk.

Mud-grizzled sky releases little light,

I scribble and can only talk the talk.

 

Café’s Routemaster bus too far to walk

hunkered in Swardeston’s churchyard: sun beams through.

I scribble and can only talk the talk:

there’s one who walks the walk, has much to do.

 

Hunkered in Swardeston’s churchyard, sun beams through,

my love/my life ploughs on to find the car.

There’s one who walks the walk, has much to do;

a ‘waiting rescue’ lunch, dream fields afar.

 

My love/my life ploughs on to find the car,

sounding shimmered glories of summer trees.

Awaiting rescue, lunch, dream fields afar,

cold fields are waving likely riotous breeze.

 


Bringing Woodland Indoors/Out (Pantoum) 

 

The sun is shining as it did before,

violent storm’s outrageous dark shored in.

Moon’s left there, without woman to adore,

this howling gale will not raw-peal its skin.

 

Violent storm’s outrageous dark shored in,

wild birds are flitting through the skies like peace.

This howling gale will not raw-peal its skin,

scraped up from dirty bowls that never cease.

 

Wild birds are flitting through the skies like peace,

as yesterday’s old newsprint in the bog.

Scraped up from dirty bowls that never cease

float-floral breeding woodland-tripping log.

 

As yesterdays, old newsprint in the bog,

still papier mâché sculpted into fox.

Float-floral breeding woodland-tripping log,

with vixen/cubs that dreaming soon unlocks.

 

Still papier mâché sculpted into fox,

framed on the windowsill, leads inside/out

with vixen/cubs that dreaming soon unlocks

for memories of moments’ roundabout.

 

Framed on the windowsill (leads inside, out),

moon’s left there without woman to adore

for memories of moments round-about.

The sun is shining as it did before.

 



Sailing into the Storm (Pantoum)


You say that you can’t speak, it’s early, yet

the outboard is attached, the anchor raised.

Latterly, no mobile phone horizons;

supplies are stashed below deck; motor out,

 

The outboard is attached, the anchor raised;

fenders are lifted, placed, crew motor past.

Supplies are stashed below deck. Motor out

into the wide slack river’s open flow.

 

Fenders are lifted, placed. Crew motor past

the riverbank where there’s no signal. Log

into the wide slack river’s open flow.

Drifting, the tide timetable’s skimmed aloud.

 

The riverbank, where there’s no signal/log,

marine craft all at sea; tourists sleep on.

Drifting, the tide timetable’s skimmed aloud;

raising mainsail, ropes tied; flapping wildly.

 

Marine craft all at sea, tourists sleep on,

the bow’s rolled into wind, the jib rope taut.

Raising mainsail (ropes tied), flapping wildly,

reefed in, the ready-about’s… exciting!

 

The bow’s rolled into wind, the jib rope taut,

tacking, then a long reach – leap – downriver.

Reefed in, the ready- about’s             exciting!

No time for mobiles. Concentration’s all.

 

Tacking, then a long reach leap downriver…

moored up beside the windmill’s peaceful dream.

No time for mobiles, concentration’s all,

the red/green channel markers narrow choice.

 

Moored up beside the windmills - peaceful dream –

wild water’s broad and grounded, skimmed to wait.

The red/green channel markers’ narrow choice.

Bridge is lifted. Surge, hold back. Stern visage.

 

Wild water’s broad (and grounded), skimmed to wait,

controlled wild horses, estuaries of holes.

Bridge is lifted, surge. Hold back stern visage;

we say that we can’t speak, it’s getting late.

 

Controlled wild horses, estuaries of holes?

Too late to raise the storm jib, reef in tighter.

We say that we can’t speak    it’s getting late,

you’re skipper on your own now night breaks through.

 

Too late to raise the storm jib, reef in tighter;

latterly, no mobile phone horizons.

You’re skipper, on your own now night breaks through:

you say that you can’t speak, it’s early yet.


Wendy Webb: Born in the Midlands, home and family life in Norfolk. She edited Star Tips poetry magazine 2001-2021. Published in Indigo Dreams, Quantum Leap, Crystal, Envoi, Seventh Quarry, The Journal, The Frogmore Papers) and online (Littoral Magazine, Autumn Voices, Wildfire Words, Lothlorien, Meek Colin, Atlantean), she was placed First in Writing Magazine’s pantoum poetry competition. She devised new poetry forms (Davidian, Magi, Palindromedary); wrote her father’s biography, ‘Bevin Boy’, and her own autobiography, ‘Whose Name Was Wit in Waterr’ (title inspired by Keats’ grave in Rome). She has attempted many traditional forms and free verse. Favourite poets: Dylan Thomas, Gerard Manley Hopkins, John Burnside, John Betjeman, the Romantic Poets (especially Wordsworth), George Herbert, William Blake, Emily Dickinson, Mary Webb, Norman Bissett, William Shakespeare, the Bible, and the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.Current poetry collection: LOVE’S FLORELOQUENCE, Wendy Ann Webb, Amazon.co.uk. (July 2023 link)Love's Floreloquence: Amazon.co.uk: Webb, Wendy Ann, Meek, CT, Meek: 9798850867003: Books

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