Jean

Having posted my poem about me and Stephen King yesterday and heard a couple of comments about it, reminded of the time my husband Steve and I moved into out own home for the first time thirty four years ago. Thinking about the time we spent in that house prompted me to write of our experiences there in my todays strange but very, very true story. Make a cup of tea and sit down before you start because it is quite long.

Jean 

Quite early on in our relationship

Something less than a year in fact

We shared an interrelationship

That called for a degree of tact 

My husband had not said a word

‘Til one night sitting side by side

Stroking the cat while he purred

I said something I couldn’t hide 

“Ever feel that we are not alone”?

I’d wanted to say it for a while

Over time the thought had grown

He turned to me with a knowing smile 

He puffed through his cheeks a bit

“I though it was just me”, he sighed

“You’ve seen her”? Eyebrows a-knit

“Thank heavens for that” he cried 

“Where did you see her, and when”?

“At the top of the stairs at first”, I said

“In the hall, and the front bedroom then,

She doesn’t seem to know she is dead” 

We talked about her in total calm

No fear at all by either of us felt

She did not want to do us any harm

Dazed as to what the past had dealt 

We went to visit the previous owner

He called his wife to say we were there

To see if she knew our mystery loner

Hand to her mouth then the back of her hair 

We described the woman we had seen

Looks went back and forth at each other

“I have to say that it sounds like Jean”

That would be Bill’s poor dead mother 

Photo albums all brought to the table

Silence fell as Rosie rummaged through

This time it was we who were not able

To hide feelings, it was the woman we knew 

We came home with an old photograph

Of Jean dressed just as we saw her

Placed in a sturdy frame, her epitaph

On its final position we did then concur 

We said nothing to anybody else at all

Then my daughter went up to bed one night

Rushing back in, hands against the wall

“A lady on the stairs gave me such a fright” 

The teenager looked at us both and knew

That we knew, that much she quickly saw

What she had seen was completely true

Her outburst loud as she laid done the law 

We should have warned her, a ghost was here

She slowly calmed down and asked at last

“Why aren’t you scared, do you have no fear”?

From one to the other her eyes were cast 

We knew not why Jean was still in our home

And likewise she knew not why we were

She didn’t speak but continued to roam

We stopped in our tracks at a look from her 

A friend house-sat once when we were away

And on our return he gave us a warning

“There’s a ghost in this house, don’t say nay,

Dressed in black as if she is in mourning” 

The only physical thing that ever occurred

Just a little adjustment from time to time

The photo was faced down without a word

No special reason, no comment, no rhyme 

She never bothered or worried us at all

We lived there for years without dread

But suddenly she went away as we recall

Then we heard that her only son was dead 

She was waiting for him or so it seemed

The thought I had firm set in my mind

Her journey to heaven delayed she’d deemed

Not to leave her beloved son William behind

 

Me and Stephen King

During the build up this winter toward the big Challenge for my 75 birthday Charity fund raising for the Chestnut Tree House children's hospice there has been so much extra to do arranging everything in readiness for the summer effort that some things have had to move onto the back burner. One of those things is my book reading. I am still reading but at a slower rate not getting through so many books. That is where Stephen King comes in because I have quite a thing for him, so entertaining, I usually whizz through anything he writes but even HE has been pushed gently aside for now.
www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Me and Stephen King

My love affair with Stephen King

Over many years an on going thing

I chose carefully my starting point

Avoiding him with fear, me to anoint

The Girl who loved Tom Gordon

My beginners edge to cordon

Gentle introduction it may be said

Then soon every third character dead

It’s his writing skill that has me hooked

Now in advance each work is booked

To name a favourite so hard for me

Under The Dome, or Duma Key

Reading Dreamcatcher? It’s a ‘yes’ from me

The Stand, kept me quiet from dawn ’til tea,

11.22.63 what thought provocation

Did everyone share my reading elation?

Complete change so often as with Blaze,

I wish life was longer, reading many more days

Now S.K. ‘s fully accepted in my life

I am coping better with the scary strife

Now the rotting flesh and Shining vapour

I take in my stride my fear I can taper

Bring it on Mr King, you don’t scare me

I read you at bedtime and sweet dreams see

Sharks

This is the one thing thought that really bugs me and has done throughout my entire 25 years of triathlon training and competition. It is my one big fear and I am not ashamed to admit it. I can understand why some people don't ever go in the sea to swim if they have a fear of anything that is under the surface of the water. Swimming over a submerged breakwater can make you jump if it suddenly looms up beneath you when you are swimming along parallel with the shore. Some people don't even like it if they touch a piece of seaweed. Swimming into an empty coke or a piece of driftwood can halt your rhythm for a moment. So why should I not admit that I am afraid of sharks?
There it is, out in the open. I am afraid of sharks.
www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt To donate to the Chestnut Tree House Children's Hospice if you wish, and if you do I thank you.

Sharks 

On holiday in San Diego, we took part in a sea swim there

We enjoyed it so much that we entered it again the next year

Some time after we saw on the television news where

Another swimmer practising for the same event I was aware

Killed by a Great White Shark, in an attack so rare

So horrendous I could only read the news and stare 

Solana Beach, California, where we had so often been

Thank God, when we swam, Dolphins were all we had seen

Off our English shores we don’t have creatures so mean

We are assured that our water is safe as well as fairly clean

Those who fish here say that Sharks are almost unseen

 And they hardly ever come here to grace our scene 

Only in the height of summer do Basking Sharks appear

Harmless creatures trawling for plankton gracefully they veer

Mouths bigger than dustbins lids out there beyond the pier

Maybe mistake me for plankton in my swimming career

I find the logic of its feeding habit is not entirely clear

A shark of any shape or size would fill me heart with fear 

I have seen sharks when I swimming of a Florida shore

One of the few holiday memory’s there that I still deplore

They were only little but I thought, two of many more

Maybe they were harmless; but present, and way inshore

My confidence and valour doesn’t stretch to sharks, be sure

My fear is meeting such a creature not seen here before

Lashing gales again

August is my birthday month and I am pretty much a sun baby so these constant gales and storm get to be very depressing. I had a beautiful card today from a friend in sunny Florida with lovely spring blossom all over it as a reminder that spring just may turn up in the fullness of time. Thanks for the reminder Tom.

No contest 

As usual I start to feel sad

When summer fades

And I am prompted once more

To think of autumn’s shades 

To make myself feel better

About the winter time

And what was yet to come

In our the cooler clime 

I list the things I like

About the winter days

Not the influenza strike

Not the fog and haze 

Search for something nice

To mark upon my list

Snow is the only pretty thing

I grudgingly insist 

TV shows the winter sport

That’s a treat for me

Ice dancers skilfully cavort

Or a fireside winter tea 

Not much of a contest there

My list is far too short

The cold and rain are hard to bear

Nature should this time abort 

I’m so against this winter test

There is no choice to choose

What time of the year is then the best

Summer wins and you winter, lose

Bad start to the weekend when the alarm went off at a strange fantasy time in the middle of the night. Disturbing me when I am fast asleep can be a big mistake! Clocks have died for this before! Then I got up and walked into the kitchen at 3.30 again at 4.15, 5.30 and at 5.50 I gave up and made coffee.
The one day out of seven when my schedule does not normally start with the 5.25 alarm call. My husband slept on until 7am. He is in charge of the alarm clock and wonders why I am mad at him. I am confused enough as a person without having my new post holiday sound sleep pattern shattered.
Another two sided part of my thinking is that part of me wants to carry on with an active sporting life forever and the other more cautious part of my begs me to take care. This lot of drivel that I have selected today is  'One I did earlier', as they say on TV. In my list it is number 85. and that means I must have written it around early August 2013 It suits my mood of the day. 

She and Me 

You’re not getting any younger I tell my inner self,

She thinks she is about twenty seven I would say

I should try being more sensible, start thinking of my health

Looking at me from the mirror she’s seventy if she’s a day 

It’s the hidden woman who likes running through the trees

The older one must carry her as the wind blows through our hair

The trouble maker hiding still feels the cooling breeze

But doesn’t have the creaking joints and doesn’t have a care 

Oh, come on honey, gimme a break I‘m feeling tired today

Looks like rain is on the way, stay home and read a book

You could loose a pound or three she will disapproving say

My crop pants on and trainers knowing I can’t get off the hook 

Starting with a brisk uphill walk from where I parked the car

Come on sweetie, push yourself, you know you want to really

Let’s do the 10K loop, what d’ya say, it’s really not that far

We’ll feel better when we finish it’s true, I know that clearly 

The me, with all the aches and pains, says again it looks like rain

The other one who’s pushing me thinks it will pass us by

At my age I should not get wet, she thinks that I’m insane

Emerging from woods to clearer ground I see the clouds and sigh 

She has no pity and drives me on up to the hillside’s crown

Oh dear pet, sorry, what can I say, you were right after all

 First gently then heavy the rain falls and the outer lady drowns

 Better put that coat back on I hear the safe inner girlie call 

As dark cloud edges over us raindrops dripping off my nose

Its strangely not unpleasant this summer rain she uttered

That’s ‘cos you’re not the one who’s getting wet I suppose

Soaked now to the skin, not friends with you, I muttered

Back to earth with a bump

The first week after a holiday is always tough and I have only just today got back to thinking that I am ready for work next week, without a backlog of jobs to do. I missed skiing on my Swiss holiday but worked out in the gym every day when Steve skied all morning. I did plenty of walking too and exercised my lungs yelling at the bob and skeleton teams. And, this is a hard thing for somebody who has accepted part time insomnia to the point where it never bothers me, I have slept like a log since I got home. This one then about giving up skiing.

To Ski or Not to Ski, That is the Question 

Skiing has been a great sporting love

Giving more than thirty years of pleasure

The crowded lifts the push and shove

A fun way to spend my winter leisure 

Each year I improved in my ability

I was sure of myself on any run

I grew in confidence and agility

Daily on the first lift up to join the fun 

The energy to ski was not for me a chore

Or standing gawking at the top station

Stunned to silence every time that’s sure

And hurtling down filled me with elation 

I worked my way into higher classes

And welcomed each new skiing test

The latest kit and my new sun glasses

I skied all day with so little rest 

Undaunted by speed as the years rolled on

Thinking then that I would ski for ever

Winter sports had an addiction hold on

I’d miss a snow filled holiday never   

One or two times perhaps in a week

A fall found me tumbling and sliding

I wondered if I had passed my peak

Then rising up again and gliding 

Over the last ten years or so, I found

It felt like I fell a little harder maybe

Sure it hurt more when I hit the ground

The years taking their toll to a degree 

Over the years until the point where

Injuries got worse, took too long to heal

The consideration to ponder there

Was should I abandon my winter zeal 

The choice to be made was if I ought

For a week or two of snow on the slopes

Compromise my year round sport

Weeks recovering and dashed spring hopes 

So I still enjoy a week holidaying in snow

But save myself for my multi sport world

I miss the skiing but not the falls you know

In a swim, bike and run events now totally hurled.

Changing from white to green

After a marvellously restful winter holiday week in the mountains where everything everywhere was white with snow that fell in two bouts of thirty six hour non stop flurries, the train brought us to Zurich where it is dull and green. That set my mind on another journey of thought.

Thinking in Green 

When I think of green I think of

My Sunday run over the grassy downs

A peaceful scene where sheep graze

And of mournful Red Kite sounds  

When I think of green I think of 

The sea and how the movement drifts

Restless pulsing power of the water

And of the ever changing light shifts 

When I think of green I think of

Spring and tiniest flower shoots

That can push through solid concrete

And yet still be crushed by boots 

When I think of green I think of

Summer fronds of the weeping willow

Gentle floating on the slightest breeze

Yet holds firm in harsh wind billow 

When I think of green I think of

Of blue paint with yellow mixed

Two defiantly different shades

Show opinions should not be fixed 

When I think of green I think of

A glass cross I wear around my neck

The colour of faith in my mind

A reminder to my behaviour check

 

Winter Sports Fan

Although I have been triathlete for a serious amount of time, in fact this year will be my 25th season in the sport and I have loved every moment. Both my husband Steve and I are manic winter sports fans mainly following almost every kind of sport done on snow or ice. We regularly take a winter holiday in St Moritz to watch Bobsleigh and Skeleton events and of course the fabulously British Cresta Run. Steve has on several occasions taken a few slides down it himself and we have both taken guest rides on the Olympia Bob run. We are both very noisy supporters of the GB team when we are there. Add to that that we have been to see important figure skating competitions live and that is my very favourite spectator sport.
Today's poem for inspired by watching on many occasions a bobsleigh driver visualising to focus his mind on the task in hand.
www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt  Feel free to donate for the kids at the Chestnut Tree House

Bobsleigh Driver 

He stands alone, eyes softly closed

Quiet in a rowdy winter place

Space man helmet upon him posed

Ready for battle but hidden face 

Power built muscles developed

In mental silence this stolid man

Concentrated thoughts enveloped

Ghostly driving to his ideal plan 

Visualisation practiced and honed

Dependable trusted team leader

Picture first perfection zoned

Not in prayer, and not a pleader 

Conductor’s hands move in a trance

Take each curve and straight

The spirit moves in sliding dance

Fear not considered and nor fate 

Calling only on his own power

Faith placed only in his team

Their strength and skill empower

Each sinew work to it’s extreme 

This preparation for their drive

On wall of unforgiving solid ice

Calm now before they strive

Follow their dream route so precise

Paradise

What a beautiful day in St Moritz today after a day and a half of heavy snow.

The fresh new layer seems to have back lit the whole area. Steve and I sat outside for a snack lunch in baking hot sunshine which is such a contradiction to the huge mounds of fresh snow everywhere. My love of this lovely place prompted my today’s verses. Feel free to pass them on to anybody that might make a donation to the Childrens charity I have been banging on about.

www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

 

This Side of Paradise….. St Moritz 

For over three decades our winter sports destination

And we have tried many others, of that be assured

The Upper Engadine valley a Shangri-La location

And in architectural style immaculately matured 

My love and I first visited as skiers on vacation

By every ski lift, to blue, red and black route lured

Our hearts stop at the grandeur of mountain formation

Our skis outside Swiss chalet style cafes are moored 

Horse racing, polo, sleigh rides make a fine rotation

If to energetic ski-ing your thought are obscured

All on a frozen lake, the St Moritz re-incarnation

Any lust for the brilliantly bizarre immediately cured 

Olympia Bob Run, strangely born of British gestation

Now international participation is firmly secured

The worlds best sliders, athletes from every nation

Now even from Panama a team of four procured 

What alternative is there for your soul’s elation?

Eating regional food out, is for pleasure endured

Or night clubs galore for a holiday flirtation

This side of paradise, walks breathtakingly toured

Reflections on a nightmare

This morning it was snowing fit to bust and I was doing a workout in the well equipped hotel gym. Something on the TV in the corner reminded me of the time early last summer when I had my arm in plaster and the opposite leg in a hospital boot contraption. That was when I started writing poetry again (Always been a bit of a poetry geek) as a form of therapy and found that the time I spent slathering my anger and frustration into all sorts of verse really made me feel better. Today effort is an insight into my bizarre state of mind when a world class fidget was told to rest!
www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Make my day 

One more week until the wretched plaster cast is cut away

It’s a lethal weapon Mel Gibson would be able to handle

To help him win the fight, bashing a tyrant down to slay

Tie up or otherwise incapacitate a dreadful vandal

Leaving our hero free to fight the thugs another day 

It’s like having a great heavy log wrapped around my upper limb

Tom Cruise as Jack Reacher would weald it like a crow bar

With stealthy step he’d karate chop the seven brutes in front of him

Leaving them dead, dazed or dying on the street or flung before a car

Fearless fighting of foreign foes falling like flies though chances were slim 

In the old days Clint would make the best of such a handy rammer

Eastwood would crinkle up Dirty Harry’s sexy eyes

Skilfully levelling his 44 magnum, fingers drawing back the hammer

Ask yourself do you feel lucky?  The punk at his feet helpless lies

My plaster cast would add weight to his fetching glamour 

It might give Bruce Willis a few pounds of extra muscle

A real He–Man where the bad guys all Die Hard he’d say

Still with a wicked smile in a sweaty fist fought tussle

‘Welcome to the party’ or more famously ‘Yippee ki ay’

The bullets, blood and flames in the final victory Hustle 

Arnie wouldn’t even notice the insignificance of a broken arm

 Everything in his path the famous black harrow can hack back

Crushing, crashing careening with every kind of harm

And in the end like Schwarzenegger says ‘I’ll be back’

He and me might have been seen in the same school of charm

Fairy tale journey

Time for the winter holiday once more. Same resort every year for many years. Steve and I enjoy the magical journey we take to get here, feeling that our holiday started once we were on the train from Zurich. Switzerland I such a beautiful country and the ride on the little red train from Chur to St. Moritz has to be seen to be believed. So in honour of the pretty trip comes todays ditty a true labour of love.

Fairy Tale Train Ride 

No more magical journey could be made

Chur to St. Moritz through a winter glade

Not the worlds longest railroad ride

By far the most beautiful you will decide 

A single track line of more narrow gauge

Through pristine alpine villages of great age

In perfect harmony with the landscape

Scenes change faster than a hand shake 

Primordial Alps rise in age old splendour

Gasp with awe then your heart surrender

The little train chugs on up the valley route

No simple snow scene as it gives a tiny toot  

Not just for a train spotter this amazing dream

To overcome isolation was the builder’s scheme

But this two hour ride is up there in the greats

Every particle of the soul with joy elates 

A fairy tale ride not found in imagination

Nought along the way to summon negation

The Albula Railway is as real as real could be

A treasured part of life just once a year for me 

Found in the canton of Graubünden in Switzerland

A track winds where a hundred bridges stand

Animals, trees and a thousand scenes alfresco

A World Cultural Heritage site states Unesco 

Tunnels every few miles while the train circles round

Still little known, not in general knowledge found

In travel features, the Landwasser Viaduct tell us why

Towering over sixty metres high, a train ride to the sky 

It seems my little secret is still safe for a while

Thinking of this amazing ride always makes me smile

Of this breath-taking journey I will never ever tire

Until the day, when satisfied, I finally expire!

Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing,bzbzbzbzbz

Today I have been rushing around like one of those fly's, you know the sort, I'm sure.
Appointment with my 93 year old mother in laws doctor to sort out some problems with her meds.
Then home again to wait for the nurse who is to take a blood test to check her Warfarin levels. Trying to pack ready for our holiday and setting up in the office at work for the new guy coming while we are away. Flitting hither, Flitting thither... thanks G & S!
Thanks too for everyone on FB who has 'Liked' my barmy poems. What I would 'Like' or rather, need or hope for, is the odd little donation to drop in! Yes, we are all busy and yes, we are all strapped for cash but from what I know of my FB friends, they are mostly better of than families with a child in a hospice. www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Me and the Blue Arsed Fly 

One of Gods creatures that I find most horrid

Is the common Bluebottle, so annoyingly paced

Common, because it is so commonly chased

With a passion to kill it, most torrid. 

I see a lot of myself in the life of the Blow Fly

Rushing at breakneck speed everywhere

Hither and thither and once more back there

And mostly not at all sure quite why 

Folk seem to find us both such a pain

With the speed, the noise and the fluster

Back and forth, in and out, our energy muster

Getting nowhere fast as if we’re insane 

Too much to do and no time to think straight

We buzz incessantly, each taking the lead

Causing in turn what neither of us need

An outside force swatting us down with hate 

We are both far too fat, that’s another thing

And we move so fast we loose focus

You see where I’m heading with this hocus-pocus

To a meaning in life we all need to cling 

The pair of us hoping the end won’t come yet

As we press on regardless of theme

Doing our best with hope and dream

Pray we do nought that we live to regret

Thanks

Many thanks to the kind folk who donated yesterday.
I have been slaving over a hot computer in our office today, so little time, places to go, people to see.
Yesterday's efforts are also shorter so have added a tiny extra.
To donate: www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Swans Floating on Floods 

A swollen river three times as wide

Footpaths lay drowned just beneath

O’er summer meadows swans glide

Their regal daintiness disaster hides

Natures gift of inheritance bequeath. 

Storms, wave on wave of heavy rain

Leaves quiet flooded riverside fields

Like porcelain candy bowls deign

Over temporary lakes the swans reign

This wetlands kingdom newly yields.

 

 

Vase of White Flowers 

The sure presence of white flowers

In a vase without pretence

Filling the thoughts of floral bowers

Of blossom petals in perfumed showers

Shown as classic evidence

 

The Water Spider 

The subject was:

The Water Spider

As in front of the TV I sat

Such details about

This little glider

My attention was

That of a Gnat

 

 

 

Charity Fatigue

Charity Fatigue 

Actually I do feel like a beggar from time to time, in fact when I mentioned to an acquaintance recently that I was taking on a challenge for charity this year she said,

 “Oh not again, you’re always collecting, I have got charity fatigue”! Well I have just looked it up and it appears to have been in 2010 that I last had a charity stint. Apart from a collecting box in our office that we offer to people who get me to send emails for them or give them some wrapping materials or take in some goods, or something else to beg or borrow. This is why this choice as today’s little ode.

So if A. You are not suffering, ‘Charity Fatigue’. Or B. You like the poem a little bit; this is the link for the effort I am making to help children with life limiting illnesses.

www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Or if you would like to see a few more of my humble scribblings, as an insight into my strange little mind (I think we all agree about that). www.dafbelt.blogspot.co.uk

Beggars 

People seem to ignore beggars on the whole

As they wander past the down town shops

A beggar by a doorway or propping up a wall

How few of us even look’s at them, or stops 

“Have you got any spare change please”,

They ask, holding a cup, a pot, a hat, in place

They can see you are loathed to touch them

That much is written all over your uppity face 

The argument against is always the same

They’ll only spend it on drugs or drink

Isn’t that what you say to yourself?

Isn’t that what you deep down think? 

What if, when it comes down to it, it’s true?

What if your whole fifty pence goes in a trice

With the rest he has gleaned that day

And spent on continued ruin against all advice 

Understanding this widely held attitude

Is totally beyond anything in my mind

Don’t tell me you’d choose to be this man

Beg in the street, a bottle in hand to find 

Nobody aims to live that sort of way

Once a life has turned so horribly sour

You don’t choose to smoke dog ends

Or pizza from a waste bin devour 

Is this really what you think is true

Or could it all be heavens simple test?

Help a man or woman get through one day

Are you so much better or he worse than the rest?