Saturday, May 31, 2014

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

Friday, May 30, 2014

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

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

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. 

 

 

Thursday, May 22, 2014

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.

Saturday, May 10, 2014

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

Friday, May 9, 2014

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
 
 
 
 

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

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.