Shelter

My Mini Tri Challenge has been going well and fund raising shows that since the total raised now stands at £3665 and that is very pleasing. Number 23 was completed this morning which makes it 30% done and that is very satisfying too. Fingers, eyes and legs crossed, I can report that I am feeling fine apart from a being little bit more tired than usual and that I am starving hungry most of the time.
The two offerings today are the result of my attempt to stick out a whole evening at poetry and book reading evening last night. It was originally set to be in a theatre and was changed then to a studio and finally to a bar in the theatre. I don't go in bars very often but that is not to say that I don't enjoy a glass or two of wine with a meal. This evening was on a sweltering summer evening in an upstairs room into which the sunlight was pouring. There was a room full of people that I did not know and I was alone. I thought I was going to pass out and make a scene but thankfully I made it to the interval when I made my getaway. By the time I got home I was sweating in an unladylike fashion, my ears were ringing horrendously and I was glad that Steve presented me with a large strawberry ice cream to cool me down.

Panic 

Panic

Floods my being

Hearing the buzz and seeing

The group of people gathered there

In the theatre bar to where

I now feel I have mistakenly come

By my normal measure and rule of thumb 

Panic

Almost has me on the run

There is no way I will find this fun

Torturous feeling have taken hold

Hidden at the back not comfortable in this fold 

Panic

In case somebody comes over to talk

If I see one coming I’ll run not walk

Stay for a while and give it a chance

Dare I look up and catch a glance

 

 

Shelter

I am just a child

Not much more than a toddler

Where I sleep is in what they call

The front room.

My bed almost fills the room,

An old standard issue iron air raid shelter.

Upstairs I have a room where I can play

My toys are there

The bed is not made up, bare.

Once I am bathed

And in my flannelette nightie

Mother pulls the blackout curtains

And lights the gas fire

Turns it down low for a while

She must turn it off later

When she goes to bed.

Sometimes I hear the siren

It goes off in the night

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor live next door

I hear them through the adjoining wall

He shouts very loudly to his wife.

“The bombs is droppin’ mother

Have to go down to the shelter”.

“What d’ya say”? She shouts back

Her voice all trembly.

“The bombs is dropping mother,

THE BOMBS IS DROPPIN’.

The bombs were dropping.

My mum and brother

Have come downstairs

They get in bed with me

We all cuddle each other

That bit is nice.

My dad isn’t there,

He is a soldier,

A sergeant in the army.

He comes home sometimes.

I wake again and they have left

And its quiet.

 

 

 

 

A View on Sunday

Today is the start of the second week of my 75 Mini Triathlon Challenge, this was day number 8 and also, at the turn around point of the 12 km bike ride which is the end of Lavinia Drive it meant that 10% has been completed. I feel pretty happy about that, a marker passed. Beautiful day for it the only slight glitch was the man in the pool who had failed to understand the meaning of the words 'Public Swimming Pool'. He was a large man and did breast stroke that reached over one lane wide and insisted in having that entire area to himself. The three of us swam 1000 metres front crawl in a space that was one slim person's body width wide. We call this 'Lane Rage'. We did not make a scene. We passed each other in sideways slithers peacefully co-operating and leaving him all the room he wanted. The bike and run went very well, the beautiful day being appreciated by swarms of people all out early walking, jogging, biking and even a paddle boarder all making the most of such a wonderful day. Coffee followed watching the swans showing off their brood of six fluffy grey cygnets.
  

A View on Sunday 

A simple lush meadow looks somehow

Un-blemished by a horse or a cow

This sunny mid July morning

Strikes me to a halt my thoughts forewarning. 

There is a tight, thick, round stand of trees

Shaped like a cottage loaf looking at distant seas

Peacefully posing centre stage they pause

As if receiving audience applause. 

The formal group stand surrounded

By the greenest green crop bounded

Like a huge theatre set here

As if a principle dancer would appear 

With thick dark green trees

Only hinting at a waft of breeze

Diminishing to the bluest blue sky

Quietly in wait as they grow so high  

Standing like waves stepping out of the wings

A still vista yet bursting with life it springs

Slow to depart, so perfect is the scene

The strange sad drama of the verdant sheen

Calm

Having just waited for a while the thunder and lightning to stop!!!!!
Sea swim to start of tri this morning. Experimental route. Usual club swim start out to the basket, then out to the new buoy that has been placed to mark the outer edge of the brand new Shingle Bank that nature built during the storms last winter. So in case anybody else is wondering. No you cannot stand again at that point. Current running enthusiastically. On approaching the beach, we noticed that somebody had formed a word on the shoreline using Cuttlefish, we thought at first that it said Denmark! Blimey I thought that current WAS strong. But it was the name of another swim club- Aardvarks. Then on to the bikes. Got totally drenched again and sang several verses and choruses of Singing In The Rain. Slowly stopped raining during the run. Mini Tri Number 7. Done yesterday, number 7. starts in an hour from now.

 

Calm 

Wanting the sun to shine all through the day to sunset’s glows

Passing from day to day as smoothly as a ballerina’s glissade

An evening of your favourite music shows

An opera, Tosca, or Carmen’s highs and lows

Waiting for something calmly is much more hard. 

More likely to ponder it when in an absent minded state

We realise the world at large is a far from ideal place

We know that for certain such is fate

Art is merely therapy soothing away troubles brought of late

I see too soon that we all dread the final place to which we race.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Out of the Woods

Well, after all the dreaming and planning this fairly big Challenge of mine it is finally underway. The project was a year in the making and I have been accused of being totally insane on a good number of occasions.

Today is Day 5. Of Daf's Mini Tri Challenge. There were times when it seemed impossible but after the first few are now in the bag, I am starting to feel happier about the whole thing. The first couple of days were sunny and pleasant but then on the third day it was a little colder and it rained. The weather on day 4 was seriously bad and though I put my bike shoes in the airing cupboard over night they were still damp earlier today but I consoled myself by thinking about the guys doing the Giro D'Italia that I watched for the duration and it seemed to rain most of the day, most days, as well as climbing into the snow up huge mountain passes. So my efforts are humble in comparison. 70 Mini Tri's to go.

All of my efforts are a way of celebrating the fact that although I am approaching my 75th birthday I am also in pretty good health.... maybe a few pounds overweight but otherwise quite sound. All this is for charity www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

This poem comes from my struggle last year to get back to fitness after a fall out running that left me in plaster for a while. We all have times when doubts fill our heads but like the weather recently things do change and its possible to focus again and move forward.

Out of the Woods 

Into the woods in fates dark sight

A less than easy path to take

Hidden there through fear and fright

Shadows sew a fiendish mistake

The cause and blame are mine outright

Acknowledged and unwelcome keepsake

Doubt careening uncontrolled, finite

What way, what way, what way retake 

Secret emotions held in tight

Slipping behind all standards fake

What ill disease has brought this blight

False impressions outward make

Terror tearing past contrite

In disorientated confidence quake

Lost and helpless lonely plight

What way, what way, what way retake 

Menacing phantom stands in limelight

Is it real this tight coiled snake

Despairing search up in starlight

Or can I from this nightmare wake

Take courage dragging soul to fight

And from the embers fire make

Take strengths firm hold to make all right

What way, this way your path remake 

Summon less feeble spirit bright

Come destiny flooding a smoother lake

Forge back the darkness push back the night

Pull back, the empty reserves forsake

All cowardice in banishing excite

Responsibility is mine for pity’s sake

Out of the woods and into the light

Pride in this victory is wide awake

 

Archangel

Archangel 

Will there be an angel above to watch over me

As I pursue my continually active path

Will my angel be pleased with what in me they see?

Will my enemies ever see my guardian’s wrath? 

My angel knows me well but I can only dream

As to how my heavenly partner would appear

Do I fit in with the almighty’s well planned scheme?

Or do both God and angel think me very queer 

Ultimately I am left with a freedom of will

Making the best of each branch of life’s tree

Just try my hardest my dreams to fulfil

As I launch myself onto an earthly Grand Prix 

Hold on in my mind to what I think is the theme

Now ride the waves and heaven help me steer

If I’m wrong let the angel send a warning beam

And check the reins for a path more austere 

Demeanour be approved as I ride adventure’s sea

Protect me with your sword held high in goodwill

Your armour glinting as I run before you free

Send me your warnings via a plucked wing quill 

Angel tresses of gold reflect in sunlight gleam

Mighty wings wafting my spirit with good cheer

Pray for my safety and find it in my celestial team

With perseverance push and hope the way is clear  

Fight for success ‘til the end of the mission see

Gather interest now from my training hours drill

God give me strength I ask on bended knee

Push on doggedly my focus kept on icy chill 

The Archangel rides on inside my poor soul’s sphere

And has my back as I feel each tender muscle scream

Then at last the end is in sight and to the finish veer

To complete our work that so many think extreme

Neighbourhood Knickers Thief

My mind is a fluttering thing and this poem was born when I passed a garden with a line of washing  pegged out to dry. It sparked memories of something that happened when I was a teenager. It freaked me out for a while.

Neighbourhood Knickers Thief

 

Questions 

What possesses a man to even begin think

Of becoming a neighbourhood knickers thief

Was there always inside his mind, a little kink

Or did he dream that girl had passed him with a wink

He never asked her out so what caused his grief 

Was he such a failure with young and pretty girls

Did he think the way he was treated wasn’t right

Was he just fascinated with her dark brown curls

A glimpse of petticoat as wind caught a skirt in twirls

Did he see her legs as off the bus she would alight 

Did the fantasy start when he’d had a drink or three

How long did he pine for her before he made his plan

Why did he never ask if one evening she’d be free

Was he scared she’d turn him down if he made that plea

How old was he this strange obsessed young man 

Did he live nearby, somewhere near her home

Close enough to see her knickers on the washing line

Mustn’t that have been what made his sick eyes roam

Hiding in dark corners still as a garden gnome

Thinking quiet thoughts that caused his eyes to shine 

A line of pretty panties dancing in back yard seclusion

Temptation approached from a long dark alley

No longer could anyone prevent his sad intrusion

Pockets stuffed with knickers bring reality to illusion

Privacy was then his to feel and use his precious tally 

Answers

The Face of Christ

One day last week after on a day of showers and sunny spells, my husband Steve rang me from Waitrose in the town centre. he told me to go outside at once to see the strange cloud that was hanging low over the town. He took a photo in case I missed it but I was thunderstruck by the weird shape. It started as though it was a tornado that might touch down but then it just hung there for quite a while. This poem is the result of me standing looking at it until after ages the image was slowly lost. Should you like the poem  please send a donation on my fundraising page.
www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

The Face of Christ 

A heavy storm cloud formed over our town

At first glance just a thunder storm to come

My eyes squinted, my brow formed a frown

There was a split, a change closer to the ground

As it approached this huge cloud so glum. 

The mind is a funny thing and in the form I found

Incredibly, the face of Christ and no mistake

My jaw dropped and my eyes saucer round

An image so huge, so clear as to astound

My heart beat faster a deeper breathe intake. 

I couldn’t believe my eyes, my pulse in full thrumb

A smooth line forms the crown of His hair line

Long locks sweep down, a head of hair to become

Full beard wisps away and into nothingness succumb

The sad face looks down who turned water into wine. 

My eyes show my mind an image of Christ divine

The shape holds fast the image does not break

Whilst transfixed the face and eyes toward me incline

A fearsome sight either mine or fine design

An impression of heartache I cannot shake. 

Believe what you will but I know what I saw,

The man forced to wear thorns as a crown.

You may choose to accept or loudly guffaw

Yet still this image my soul won’t ignore

In our firm held beliefs we sink or swim or drown. 

 

 

Someone Else's Head

I have a very busy weekend coming up since Steve and I are off up to Ellesmere for an Olympic distance triathlon that is the first qualifier for the World Triathlon Championships in Edmonton, Canada on September 1st. The next day we have an open water swim at the stunning Eton Dorney Lake venue where last weekend we did both The BTF Sprint Championships and the next day was the open version of the same event Put on by the amazing Human Race team. Thanks guys. We did those two as a warm up to the big charity 75 x 75 Tri's Challenge that will keep us both busy from June 1st until August 14th which is my 75th birthday. By the end of the 75 Tri's, in aid of The Chestnut Tree House Children's Hospice, it is hoped that we will both be in a stunning state of fitness and ready for the Worlds two weeks after. Of course we may both be completely cream crackered and have to spend the two weeks resting and mending!

If you like this poem please donate to the charity because that is what it is all about. The training the events the challenge itself and the freakin' poetry too. So Let the moths out and Show Me The Money..... Please. You can see the painting it refers to by google-ing Norman Rockwell Girl Reading the Post, it is priceless.

Somebody Else’s Head 

It is not a secret, some things are well known

I love Norman Rockwell, that much is set in stone. 

There is a book brim full of his inspired works

And my own copy by my bedside quietly lurks. 

My bedside collection, is saved for an insomnia night

All other times these books just raise my bedside light. 

When ‘the wide awakes’ strike, I silently browse through

Time to spare at last to select a favourite one or two. 

Girl Reading the Post, painted in nineteen forty one

Sheer genius, this commercial piece is still such fun. 

A teenage girl’s body, scrunched socks and fluffy mitts

A magazine models face held where her own neatly fits.

 

Engrossed in more adult information than she knew

Scruffy shoes will be replaced with her education new. 

A young girl sits holding someone else’s head

A new reader by Mr Rockwell’s clear idea’s fed.

Swim trilogy

Tomorrow will mark the year since I had the annoying accident that left me with three breaks, foot, arm and hand, on opposite side of course. it has been a struggle back to fitness but I am feeling ready now for my big 75 Mini Triathlon Challenge. These two training poems might help with your swimming.

 

Open Water Swimming 

Try to breathe without lifting your head

Keep flat and breathe to the side instead

Relax in the open water that you meet

As you roll your body and kick your feet 

Give yourself to the water and its silky flow

Keep the rhythm and timing long and slow

Make sure you calmly settle your breathing

In regular mode hand movement wreathing 

A paddle action in your mind evoke

Be sure to fully exhale with each stroke

Keep to your own comfortable pace

Don’t swim too fast as if it’s a race 

Keep flat in the water let your body roll

From side to side with confident control

Breathe in and fill you lungs to capacity

Slip through the water with cool tenacity 

The water will like strong arms your body hold up

Stretch forward and turn your hand into a cup

Catch the water pull it back and through

Take it past to your hips and away to strew 

Don’t be afraid of the strong current moving

You will soon find swimming peaceful and soothing

You don’t hold your breath as you skim along

Movement and rhythm become the sweetest song 

Breath exactly the same a walking in the street

Propelling yourself with arms legs and feet

Every repeated stroke performed so gracefully

With strength the body is exercised gratefully

 

Swim with Hiawatha 

Here’s another swimming visualization

This will last through the set to its full duration

You are Haiwatha’s birch wood canoe

Your arms are paddles you know what to do

Smooth as smooth travel along the river

Sharp as an arrow and slim as the quiver

It helps a bit if Hiawatha’s song you recite

Fire the soul with a poem and the spirit ignite

“By the shore of” (it all comes back to me)

A waterway called “Gitchee Gumee”

Course you won’t know all the words, who would

Just a few lines here and there is good

Try the tempo of this famous poem

Smooth as wine from a jeroboam

Fabulous pace to swim for a while

Makes a change and lends some style

“By the big sea shining water”

Minnie Ha-Ha that lovely daughter

If you cannot swim to so sweet a pace

Then hide your face in shames embrace

 

Swim Muse

None of my swim mates will be surprised by this one since they all know that I get through my swim sets  by distracting myself by listening to music in my head. I find it eliminates any tedium and makes the time pass nicely. This is using pure imagination and not swimming with ear buds in.

Swim Muse 

The call against swim training I have often heard

Lap swimming is just so absolutely mind numbing

Not for me, nor ever was, you have my word

I have an established mental trick of thumbing

Through my favourite singers with each a song

That fits the rhythm of my training swim stroke

So all my training doesn’t seem to take so long

My imagination comes with sound and I evoke

Songs from musical shows that I have loved

And hear every honeyed note and silken word

The handsome leading man so long by all beloved

Emotions to the corners of my heart transferred

Starship

Its all been a bit hectic getting back into office work mode this week and my muddled old brain has reflected on my poetry subjects. Too much to do, places to go, people to meet, working trying to keep up my sports training and still a 93 year old waiting at home for attention with blissfully, not a clue about the real world.

Starship Captain 

Thoughts pass through my head

At the speed of the Starship Enterprise

Ideas and life theories speed on through

Some are useful, some ill advised

Planet by star, link by twinkling link

As though to intergalactic travel

Meteors almost brush in a light year

Throwing debris clouds of space litter gravel

Hiding whatever it is I fear

As deeper into deep space thought I sink

Hurtling through what life throws at me

Where my head goes as jumbled thought I think

 

Nightmare 

It sometimes feels as if the walls are moving in

Increasing restrictions, struggling for air

Time evaporating, the endless chore list

Are these thoughts imaginary or really there

 

One of Those days  

It’s been one of those days

You know the kind

Running around in a circle

Plays havoc with the mind

There are a thousand ways

To try to work a miracle

An average woman cannot find

Time to get the whole list done

The eyes begin to glaze

Work away and nothing won

Making calls and answering the phone

Writing down a note

Wish there was a chilling zone

That would get my vote

 

 

 

 

Mourning

It is approaching the anniversary of the day that my sister rang me when I was on my way home from a holiday with the sad news that my brother had died. After a family death you carry on as one has to with life and you think you are getting over it until the first anniversary comes along when it hits you all over again. It also returns your thoughts to other loved ones you have lost.

 

Sibling Visit 

My brother visited me unexpectedly last night

It was a such lovely surprise to see him

There was a cricket match at a local sight

And I was happy but tears start to brim

Over, with the sheer joy at this visitation

I knew some of the other players by name

I ask why they didn’t say or give an indication

That he had planned to show up at the game 

He looked happy, smiling and summer tanned

And said he had missed me since the day

When we last met to sit and chat about bland

Ordinary things and crack a joke in the old way

On waking though, I knew why he came to me

To let me know that everything was good

Between us, I wished that we could be

A sibling pair again as we together firmly stood

 

 

A Death in the Family 

When it comes, it is never truly expected

We live in hope that we have more time,

Ever since the illness was first detected

Words are mentally unheard like in a mime. 

Awful news that was in disbelief received

Understood slowly like seeing the Cheshire cat,

Learning to live with it in mental depth believed

Swirling; with confusion brewing in a ghastly vat. 

Unforgivably aching as we wish that it would end

One not at the bedside avoids by absence, grief.

Pain when our  father is to his heavenly father sent,

A stranger’s words speak in error of blessed relief. 

The torture of the last weeks, days and hours

With nought to do but sit, pray and wait.

Weak ones cannot watch; their cowardice cowers,

In stoic acceptance the dutiful stay for the touch of fate. 

Thoughts morphing into the next, time just to borrow

Too painful now, denying tears their natural path,

When suffering ends, then begins true sorrow

With a family death and the crushing aftermath.

 

 

 

Easter Meaning

A recent exchange in the changing room of Littlehampton Swimming and Sport Centre after the usual 38 x 100 metres set, is what started the ball rolling in the direction of the responses left here.
Hope everybody had a wonderful Easter celebration.

Easter Meaning 

Times have changed and memory clearly faded

Gone is every shred of the lessons that were taught

One friend asked why the day is called GOOD Friday

To tell his children as chocolate eggs they sought

Because Christ died for us, say people who still pray

Why isn’t it Bad Friday, the retort came sounding jaded

So what are Bunnies all about? What’s that to do with Jesus?

Without parental teaching belief is all for naught

The scriptures won’t stay clear unaided

And Easter story will not feature in a solemn high day

For folk living their lives this way it very well will please us

The simple connection with rebirth will remain this way

That we are born again in Christ and in a bright light caught

After He dragged that rugged cross in humiliation shaded

 

 

 

The Shingle Bank

Presented by mother nature as a gradually increasing change in the off shore sea scape, is the spectacular new shingle bank off Littlehampton. The winter series of storms were responsible for depositing this quite startling change in the low tide scenery. I can't believe that the local papers have not yet as much as shown a photograph of it. Surfers should love it I would imagine.

Shingle Bank 

Startling in the novelty of natures newest creation

An island like shingle bank, materialised off the beach

Born of an endless series of storms that hit this nation. 

Winter weather breathing out hell and damnation

Took its toll, the poor sea defences to breach

Sea road savaged, shingle strewn each tidal rotation. 

Repeated stormy seas became visual fascination

With gale upon gale wicked winds would screech

Plotting to mark this year in sorrowful negation. 

The river flooded ceaselessly in endless duration

Waters rising on two fronts as tempests preach

Of permanent change now in base foundation. 

As spring days changed winters tedious narration

Off our shore nature gave an announcing speech

The gift of an amazing shingle bank, new in formation. 

Should we think of this phenomenon as salvation?

Or fear an encore another year as history does teach

Is this misreading or is the meaning lost in translation?