Day Six

Her Fence Pot – Photo by Paul Brookes

Nuances

Such beauty takes my breath away!
Sitting there, tall and proud,
inviting adoration.
At first glance flamingo pink,
But never be too quick judge!
This amaryllis is rainbow-hued…
Closer inspection tells a greater truth,
Fragrant strands of colour
Blending seamlessly together

At birth displaying gentle tangerine
With inner bell of warmest apricot pink
Toiling majestically upwards
towards the weak light of first Spring….
Much bolder then the shades become,
Blood red tendrils interspersed
With splashes of coral and ruby red

Then all too soon the glory starts to fade
Yet still a nuanced cadence sings its tune;
The withering petals glow defiant crimson
As though they’re holding back a loss of blood
And clinging to last vestiges of life.
This sweet enchantment fills the morning space,
Warms up the chilly draft of March
Sweet memories of this colourful profusion
Will stay forever locked within my soul.

*First published in my collection Where Flora Sings

-Margaret Royall

Norton Conyers

I wonder whether Charlotte visited the gardens,
discovered the door in the wall
hidden like the one to the staircase in the house
that led to mad Mary’s attic.

In May she wouldn’t have seen
blue and white Agapanthus, purple Asters,
a beefsteak fungus growing on oak bark,
heard honey bees sucking nectar

from sedum and lavender.
There’d be no ripe red apples
on the grass, no lemons
in the orangery as there are

on this last day of August. But were they the model
for Rochester’s grounds, the scene
of recovery from a disturbed night,
later a proposal of forbidden marriage?

I wish I had Jane Eyre with me now,
the only other sound water
of the fountain in the ornamental pond.
I wouldn’t feel the loneliness of author or heroine,

or the fear I first felt
when I read of the red room,
the third storey,
the witching hour at Thornfield.

-Peter J. Donnelly

A Clock Watch

When clock parts of the lion’s tooth are blown
apart, I see first and second hand their
fertility flight numbers broadcast sown
gusted chaotic in warm summer’s air.

The exploded mechanism flits over
close cut lawns, weeded borders, neatly
fenced, dips over powerhosed driveways, stir
of cats on rooftops, prey hunting sweetly.

Organic time tamed, all about decay
not growth. Imagine accurate time based
on a gradually emerging way.
However, all things reduce to waste.

Our Dandelion’s blown clocks are seeds.
to be uprooted as unwanted weeds.

-Paul Brookes

Bios And Links

Peter J Donnelly

lives in York where he works as a hospital secretary. He has a degree in English Literature and a MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales Lampeter. He has been published in various magazines and anthologies including Dreich and Writer’s Egg, where some of these poems have previously appeared. Last year he won second prize in the Ripon Poetry Festival competition.

-Margaret Royall

Margaret  Royall has six books of poetry published. She has appeared widely in print, in webzines and  poetry anthologies. She has won or been short-listed in several competitions and her collection ‘Where Flora Sings’, published by Hedgehog Press, was nominated for the Laurel Prize in 2021. Her latest collection, ‘Immersed in Blue’ was published in January 2022 by Impspired Press. She leads a women’s poetry group in Nottinghamshire and takes part in open mic sessions online and in person. She is currently working on a third poetry collection.

Website: https://margaretroyall.com/ Twitter:@RoyallMargaret

Day Five

Wife Garden Potted by Paul Brookes

Aunt Emily Gathers Sweet-Peas

They move with grace, these sweet pea blooms, so beautifully at ease
Skirts ruffled and frilled, like ballet dancers with their dainty moves

Layer upon layer they whirl and twirl among the fresh-blown leaves
You almost hear the brisk swish of the soft pink ballet shoes

A blaze of glory, stunning in their very magnificence
A merry-go-round of prima donnas in the gentle breeze;

So striking are they that her guests pause by the rustic fence,
Drinking in the heady perfume luring in the bees

To listen out for birdsong, maybe hear a white dove call
Just lingering there is heavenly, a Summer treat for all.

Aunt Emily has brought her guests to view the summer show
To pause among the blooms and pick a bouquet of the stems,

As cascades from the neighbour’s fountain shoot up from below
Then bathed in sunlight splash down in the crystal pool again……..

These pink and purple bells foretell the glory on its way,
When myriad dazzling colours will explode around their feet……

The fountain’s leap crescendos as the ballerinas sway,
Her summer guests the first to view this cottage garden treat.

Aunt Emily remembers here a husband gone too young
She tends his plot with love and knows his memory will live on……

Shortlisted Crowvus competition entry, published in Pictures Paint a Thousand Words

-Margaret Royall

My African Violet

It was like it knew
its pot was needed
by the pot-bound spider plant
whose own was required
by the pot-bound ivy;
that I had no more space
for another pot,
though I could have bought one.

It was my oldest plant,
it came from the Topiary Tree,
never failed to flower
or grow new leaves,
wasn’t fussy where it was put.

It seemed to like the corner
of my bedroom under the window
until this winter, when it no longer drank
its weekly water, its once broad leaves
grey and withered. Anything but pot-bound,
its roots had disappeared.

I spent years thinking
It was an African primrose,
but it seems it may have been
a violet after all. It lives on
through the spider plant
now adjusting to the still damp compost
it fed, in the terracotta pot
a cordyline came in.

-Peter J. Donnelly

Lawn Cutting

Wife likes our lawn to be cut in straight lines.
A mute boy next door in fascination
Keenly watches the geometric times
I reach the edge, marks the delineation.

He has a toy lawnmower of his own.
Sometimes his mam kindly allows him grip
her hands on their mower, grass mown
by both, her feet follow his as they strip

the wildness out of their lawn. His toy won’t
cut grass but safely glides over its length,
so he stamps and bawls when his world don’t
conform to his straight lines, because it’s bent.

My wife says “Better” to our short shorn lawn.
We all want the wild to be uniform.

First published in Glomag, November, 2021

-Paul Brookes

Bios And Links

Peter J Donnelly

lives in York where he works as a hospital secretary. He has a degree in English Literature and a MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales Lampeter. He has been published in various magazines and anthologies including Dreich and Writer’s Egg, where some of these poems have previously appeared. Last year he won second prize in the Ripon Poetry Festival competition.

-Margaret Royall

Margaret  Royall has six books of poetry published. She has appeared widely in print, in webzines and  poetry anthologies. She has won or been short-listed in several competitions and her collection ‘Where Flora Sings’, published by Hedgehog Press, was nominated for the Laurel Prize in 2021. Her latest collection, ‘Immersed in Blue’ was published in January 2022 by Impspired Press. She leads a women’s poetry group in Nottinghamshire and takes part in open mic sessions online and in person. She is currently working on a third poetry collection.

Website: https://margaretroyall.com/ Twitter:@RoyallMargaret

Day Four

A May Blossom

Rewilding

Fingers gnarled by time’s relentless curse
tremble as she rips the packet open

Mary, Mary, pick up your willow basket,,
it’s time to make your garden grow again!

Seeds rattle, jangle like forest creatures’
sudden chatter, fierce raindrops after drought

Mary, will you sow sweet meadow flowers
in wild profusion as you did as a child?

Seeds spill out, jewels sacrificed from April’s crown;
a chain of broken gems cascading, scattering…

Time waits for no man, Mary, be quick now,
Swoop like a magpie, make your garden grow!

They hit the cobbles, roll into far flung crevices…
The eager soil receives sustenance

Oh Mary, nothing good will come of this!
They say that you are too contrary, girl

On scissor hands and groaning knees she grubs around,
gathering up her grains of cruel dementia

How will your garden thrive now, Mary?
Nature alone cannot turn weeds to flowers!

A frisson of guilt travels down her crumpling spine
Somehow she must rewild this cottage plot

Oh Mary, Mary, soon it will be too late,
Call up your pretty maids to plant and sow

She wrings her hands, fumbles with her apron strings,
slumps against the door jamb, all hope spent.

*First published in my collection Where Flora Sings

-Margaret Royall

Lament for Lemon Trees

I hate to slice a lemon
and cut through a pip

that’s green inside.
It’s like cracking an egg

and finding the foetus
of a chicken. But the seed

would have sprouted,
the chick would not.

I think of the tree
I could have grown

like those that touched the ceiling
at Elmfield Gardens,

had to be left behind,
too tall for the new house.

-Peter J Donnelly

De-Rewilding

Wife says I must clear weeds and thorned nettles
from beneath our leafy Sycamore tree.
Long tendrils with large leaves test my mettle.
I fetch long loppers, clip back the crazy.

Thankyou to these large tough rigger gloves rip
out the spiked plants, uncover a smaller
Sycamore that needs pruning to its tip.
All the propellers have sprouted taller.

Not a tree hugger I apologise
to parent tree for uprooting it’s young
lopping off its limbs, being garden wise.
I tame it’s wilderness, curtail its sum.

My excuse is I am never on trend.
Older I get harder it is to bend.

(from My Many Acts Of Random Wildness)

-Paul Brookes

Bios And Links

Peter J Donnelly

lives in York where he works as a hospital secretary. He has a degree in English Literature and a MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales Lampeter. He has been published in various magazines and anthologies including Dreich and Writer’s Egg, where some of these poems have previously appeared. Last year he won second prize in the Ripon Poetry Festival competition.

-Margaret Royall

Margaret  Royall has six books of poetry published. She has appeared widely in print, in webzines and  poetry anthologies. She has won or been short-listed in several competitions and her collection ‘Where Flora Sings’, published by Hedgehog Press, was nominated for the Laurel Prize in 2021. Her latest collection, ‘Immersed in Blue’ was published in January 2022 by Impspired Press. She leads a women’s poetry group in Nottinghamshire and takes part in open mic sessions online and in person. She is currently working on a third poetry collection.

Website: https://margaretroyall.com/ Twitter:@RoyallMargaret

Day Three

-Margaret Royall

Galanthus

Their common name reminds us
of real drops of snow
which their blossom tells us
won’t be here for long.
They make us think of spring, rebirth,
relieve our January blues.

I only hope they are right,
that they won’t be killed
by the thing they say
is almost over,
like the daffodils that nowadays
often flower before them.

Yet we cannot blame the blooms
for deceit which we have caused.

-Peter Donnelly

Weed Garden

flourishes better than a flower garden.
Hardy and profligate they prosper.

I must deflower my garden.
Wrench out rose, lily, carnation and bluebell,
Encourage daisy, nettle and thorn.

Expand my mindset.
Weeds have beauty too.

Less flowers to pull out.
Weeding time is repurposed
to flowering time.

-Paul Brookes

Bios And Links

Peter J Donnelly

lives in York where he works as a hospital secretary. He has a degree in English Literature and a MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales Lampeter. He has been published in various magazines and anthologies including Dreich and Writer’s Egg, where some of these poems have previously appeared. Last year he won second prize in the Ripon Poetry Festival competition.

-Margaret Royall

Margaret  Royall has six books of poetry published. She has appeared widely in print, in webzines and  poetry anthologies. She has won or been short-listed in several competitions and her collection ‘Where Flora Sings’, published by Hedgehog Press, was nominated for the Laurel Prize in 2021. Her latest collection, ‘Immersed in Blue’ was published in January 2022 by Impspired Press. She leads a women’s poetry group in Nottinghamshire and takes part in open mic sessions online and in person. She is currently working on a third poetry collection.

Website: https://margaretroyall.com/ Twitter:@RoyallMargaret

 

 

Dr Sara Louise Wheeler

has Waardenburg Syndrome Type 1, a genetic condition which affects her physical appearance as well as her hearing. She writes the column ‘O’r gororau’ (from the borders) for Barddas Welsh poetry magazine and her poetry, belles lettres and artwork has been published by Unique Poetry Journal, Dark Poets Club, Fahmidan Journal, Cloverleaf Zine, and 3am Magazine. Sara is currently writing an autobiographical bildungsroman opera called The Silver Princess, funded by Theatr Genedlaethol Cymru. Originally from Wrecsam in North East Wales, she now lives on the Wirral peninsula with her husband Peter and their pet tortoise Kahless.

 

*******

Excellent video from Taking Flight Theatre Company

Arachne Press in their project “Stairs and Whispers”

created a whole series of poetry written in British Sign Language all available on Youtube. they have kindly allowed me to quote some examples:

Presented as part of Stairs and Whispers: D/deaf and Disabled Poets Write Back (Nine Arches Press, 2017, edited by Sandra Alland, Khairani Barokka & Daniel Sluman)

Find more BSL poetry here: BSL poetry – YouTube

Another useful link is to the British Sign Language Poetry Playlist by Kate Lovell: https://disabilityarts.online/playlist/british-sign-language-poetry/

other useful links:

https://deaffirefly.com/bsl-poetry/

British Sign Language

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/disability-40670284

https://www.signbsl.com/sign/poem

http://www.bristol.ac.uk/media-library/sites/education/migrated/documents/iconicity.pdf

What Lies Beneath (BSL, with captions and voice over)

Ailbhe’s Tale by Lynn Buckle

Ailbhe’s Tale – National Centre for Writing

Day Two

 

A forgotten Bicycle Lives Again

It leans against the old summerhouse,
rusty wheel spokes a nod to its former
glory days as champion of forays into nature.

Wilted bouquets overhang the woven basket:
Withered lilac still murmuring lines from
summer sonnets, sweet pea symphonies with their

spectral arpeggios, rising and falling in the breeze,
like gusting leaves across manicured lawns,
chasing away the dreariness of seasonal depression.

Birds sing full-throated, their daffodil chorus
echoing round the orchard garden where
hedgehogs wake and snuffle in the musty woodpile.

At full moon new life throbs through the crippled frame,
sounding the bell in time with the hooting owls,
beckoning fairy folk to mount the saddle, take a ride.

They fly down in the bells of virgin snowdrops,
Filling the basket with crocus and lesser celandine,
Speeding to the woods in search of early narcissi

Wheels carry them to Seven Oak Wood, where youngsters
once dismounted to drink from the spring – then on to
where honking geese splashed in the chattering brook.

What memories come flooding back as the bicycle revels
in magical flight through moonlit woods and meadows!
Released from years of hurtful neglect, it lives to serve again.

*First published in my collection ‘Where Flora Sings’

-Margaret Royall

Death of a Crassula

The last houseplant
to be killed
was the succulent –
a jade, or money tree,
I’m not sure which.
I knocked it onto the carpet
when I carried my duvet
through to the lounge
to change the sheets
on my bed.

Past its best,
perhaps pot-bound,
maybe dying anyway,
I picked it up,
fed it with more compost.
Its leaves fell off
like hair
of a cancer victim
whose chemotherapy
hasn’t worked.

As I dropped it in the dustbin
like snuffing a candle
or switching off a light
I thought, maybe it’s kinder
to end its misery
as we put down a cat or a dog,
than let it die a long slow death.
It’s remembered by the cutting I took, now
growing in the copper pot on the sideboard,
nestled between a geranium, an ivy.

-Peter J. Donnelly

-Paul Brookes

Bios And Links

-Peter J Donnelly

lives in York where he works as a hospital secretary. He has a degree in English Literature and a MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales Lampeter. He has been published in various magazines and anthologies including Dreich and Writer’s Egg, where some of these poems have previously appeared. Last year he won second prize in the Ripon Poetry Festival competition.

-Margaret  Royall

has six books of poetry published. She has appeared widely in print, in webzines and  poetry anthologies. She has won or been short-listed in several competitions and her collection ‘Where Flora Sings’, published by Hedgehog Press, was nominated for the Laurel Prize in 2021. Her latest collection, ‘Immersed in Blue’ was published in January 2022 by Impspired Press. She leads a women’s poetry group in Nottinghamshire and takes part in open mic sessions online and in person. She is currently working on a third poetry collection.

Website: https://margaretroyall.com/ Twitter:@RoyallMargaret

Sissinghurst at Midsummer

A veil lifts between earth and sky,
Revealing a lush green paradise,
its mullioned windows thrown open
to the gardens….

Mood music captivates:
Harp song through tall grass,
bees crooning in lupin throats,
swallows darting overhead.
The ambiance is relaxing,
sight, smell and sound seamlessly
fused together in a heady symphony.
Bouquet of rose, lavender and herbs
tease the sharpening senses.
Crooked chimneys peer down onto
exquisite garden-rooms blooming
with a riot of colour.

Oast houses nestle in the shade
of the castle tower.
Along paved walks bemused statues
observe the constant parade of visitors,
all curious to experience this romantic
idyll created by Vita and Harold*….
An enchanted corner of Kent, wrapping
visitors in a cloak of midsummer magic.

*Vita Sackville West and Harold Nicholson, creators of Sissinghurst gardens

First published in my collection ‘Where Flora Sings’

-Margaret Royall

Cactus

Tiny white flowers
appear overnight like snowflakes
falling on holly or Christmas trees.

I dare not come close
to see if they have a scent.
Each spine is like a spindle,

its branches the towers
of a castle in a fairy-tale.
I feel like Sleeping Beauty

or should I say Snow White,
reluctant to take the proffered apple
as if knowing it was poisoned.

-Peter Donnelly

Daisies

Pluck all on the lawn, turn my back and more
appear. I should poison them all, be rid.
But, I do not want to open the door
of making our cats ill, which is sordid.

Whenever a child dies God sprinkles earth
with Daisies. Freya’s favourite flower.
I would slaughter innocents for the worth
of a pure lawn. It’s within my power

to purify the green destroy yellow.
I deem, dictate what’s a weed and what’s not.
Perhaps, I should rewild a bit, allow
Daisies in only one part of my plot.

Delusions of grandeur, an obsessive
space manipulator, an oppressive.

-Paul Brookes

Bio And Links

-Peter J Donnelly

lives in York where he works as a hospital secretary. He has a degree in English Literature and a MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales Lampeter. He has been published in various magazines and anthologies including Dreich and Writer’s Egg, where some of these poems have previously appeared. Last year he won second prize in the Ripon Poetry Festival competition.

 –Margaret  Royall

has six books of poetry published. She has appeared widely in print, in webzines and  poetry anthologies. She has won or been short-listed in several competitions and her collection ‘Where Flora Sings’, published by Hedgehog Press, was nominated for the Laurel Prize in 2021. Her latest collection, ‘Immersed in Blue’ was published in January 2022 by Impspired Press. She leads a women’s poetry group in Nottinghamshire and takes part in open mic sessions online and in person. She is currently working on a third poetry collection.

Website: https://margaretroyall.com/ Twitter:@RoyallMargaret