The Glory of the April Woodlands

The Write Night last Wednesday evening was fairly painful to me. Just the waiting really. My husband Steve had come along with me to make sure that I didn't chicken out as I did on the first evening I went last summer. Having waited to read my couple of poems from the start at 7.30pm until after the interval and nearly to the close of the evening, I was in a bad way, since I am an Olympic class fidget. Sitting waiting was sheer torture for me. But anyway my turn eventually came and I did get up and read the two poems that had got the best response from my friends on Face Book. They were All Hail The Stones and When I am Prime Minister. There was a ripple of applause, no tomatoes were thrown and my first moment reading aloud in public was over. Gladly. I am an early to bed and early to rise person and have always been. Steve and I do most of our triathlon training first thing in the morning after the alarm goes off at 5.30am. It was 10.15pm when my name was called to 'Share' as they call it at these functions. I was put off by the lateness and would have to be booked in for the first part of the evening for any future visit. When I first said that to a friend in the swimming pool changing room a couple of days later she told me that it would not be fair to leave once I had 'Shared' because people had waited until I had 'Shared'. I gave that a bit of thought but decided that it merely balanced off the dozen or more people that had arrived an hour or so after the evening had started because, I suppose, they did not want to do their bit too early.

From this mornings wet and very misty morning, comes this piece below out of the sheer joy of the peace and quiet and wonder of  living close to the super woods a couple of miles from my home.

The Glory of the April Woodlands 

Thick misty rain at seven o’clock this morning

Time to leave home for our weekend run

Damp with dewdrops my nose tip adorning

We needed rain and should not be scorning

Value nature study now without the sun 

The greater the effort the higher the prize

When Bluebells bloom and we are blessed

A purple carpet on which to feast our eyes

As slowly to their highest height they rise

Early still and they have not reached their best 

Drawing one’s eyes away to the distant sight

The moving mauve of a million wild flowers

Swaying with a gentle breeze today so light

Above, the canopy of green leaves seems bright

Top lighting the richness of the glowing bower 

Soon to be overpowered by the blueness here

Wood Anemones tremble their wee white petals

Closed, asleep, hoping this misty time will clear

Wait to open its face up toward the sun to veer

Its fate to hide beneath where settle nettles 

Primroses lie around in clusters on the banks

Cowslips and tiniest velvet Violets there

Birds sing their little hearts out to give thanks

As summers engine up to full steam cranks

Winter gone, a country walk or run we can share 

How few see this free gift of flowery treasure

Breathe this perfumed air and let imagination blaze

Take some time to come out here to measure

Time wasted frittering away our moments of leisure

To amble through our woodlands deep blue haze

 

First time for everything

I met a child in the bank yesterday and we had a little chat during which he told me that he was five and a quarter! Kids like to claim every moment of extra age they can don't they? Well at seventy five and two thirds and having started triathlon at fifty, I am once more putting myself up to do something I have never done before! Tomorrow evening, I am going to one of the Worthing's World of Words 'Write' evenings. That alone is not new, since I have been before but to listen and enjoy others reading and singing their work. With a little bit of pushing from my daughter and husband and indeed Melody Bridges who puts these evenings together, I have said that I WILL read a bit of my own poetry. For some reason or other I am very nervous about this. Why? You may well ask, because all my friends know that I normally have plenty to say for myself. However, when I am asked to read aloud I become a stuttering, stammering mess. Explain it I cannot. So. Wednesday evening it is then. 7.30pm in Frasers bar at the Connaught Theatre Worthing. I have been practicing on my husband and a couple of friends have had to suffer and so far, I have not read any of the selected possibilities faultlessly. So wish me luck with my new venture, or come along and throw things at me, that at least would relieve the tension. If anybody reads all of the following you can let me know which (if any) you like best.

All Hail the Stones 

All Hail the stones, that’s what I like to say

Whenever a journey takes me along that way

The Neolithic site has such magnetism

The difference in theories a mighty chasm

Standing there more than five thousand years

Each time I see them my eyes prick with tears

Where lies a more impressive prehistoric site

Who died in the building and what of their plight

Mystery shadows the move of the sarsen stones

Surely not for a graveyard to fill with bones

Architecture introducing tongue and groove

The mortise and tenon theory they also prove

Maybe brought there by barge facing rude waves 

That jaw dropping feat brought about using slaves

Rolled into place on stakes by a servile hoard

What methods to raise them then were explored

Ropes, A-frames, massive counter balance weight

Oh to have seen these giants hoiked up straight

Long ago lost in endless time the reason why for

No expert historian sounds entirely sure 

What was the idea or purpose or why on earth

Blood spilled in construction must have worth

As a coronation place for ancient tribal kings

To worship stars or primitive idols with wings

Now the most popular modern interpretation

Why the stones were brought to this destination

Most generally accepted as a place of worship

Thought up by an ancient entrepreneurship

Pre history astronomers with the solstice aligned

Stones mystically to capture each equinox designed 

Circle within circle around a central pagan altar

First computer worked out in a priest’s secret Psalter

Predicting eclipses or for magnetic healing

Strange affairs beneath a star studded ceiling

When the last lintel slotted in to its position

A sacrifice made of blood curdling precision

Did bare feet feel the tremor of an earthquake

A religious healer raises a cross or a snake

Like pushing a plug into electrical wall socket

A button pressed for firing an intergalactic rocket

I favour the romance and wide screen type drama

Stonehenge forever blessing England’s panorama

 

Children Wishing 

Five happy children looking skyward wishing

Each holds a big balloon on a length of string

Each bright balloon up in the air a-swishing 

Children born over time of my patient stitches

My choice their looks and what they bring

They represent ambition not a life of glitches 

Things don’t always happen as you dream

My universal group of kids play on a day in spring

No thought of the future or a later theme 

Hair in corn rows, pigtails or flaxen waves

Laughing, shouting, playing happily as they sing

None of them quarrel, nobody misbehaves 

One girl in a spotty dress with puffed sleeve

One wears a t-shirt and skirt as to youth they cling

A ginger haired boy in jeans doesn’t want to leave  

From my imagination stitch by stitch they grew

Life has pressures and danger to bring

Work and not hope gives success to the few

 

Leaving Home  

A strong willed child to say the least

And a little on the naughty side

Facing mother with her brow creased

My dad’s amusement he tries to hide. 

Sent to my room I protest still

“I’m going to leave this beastly home

You don’t love me, you never will”

I hold my dolly, her hair I comb. 

Dad say’s “Wait a minute duck”

Leave’s the room, pads up the stair

My case, my money box, he say’s “good luck”

Let us know when you get there.

 

When I Am Prime Minister 

The day when Prime Minister I become

Leadership fairer and much more sage

Will make new laws and change will come

For the young and those in older age. 

Plain bad manners and rude words

Will be absolutely and completely banned

Guilty ones sent out to live in wild herds

Guarded only by the Almighty’s hand. 

When much too much, are ones is earnings

Weekly charity work will be enforced

There will be monthly town centre burnings

Of rapists and paedophiles endorsed. 

For spending years in invalid caring

This investment will be compensated

Replaced will be the rags they’re wearing

Nurses, for just rewards rightly nominated. 

Lesser crimes still will not pass free

Pavement blocking shoppers admonished

They must endless footage of themselves see

Staring into space as if astonished. 

Cold caller menaces who a phone call place

The very plague of these modern days

Will be dispatched by rocket ship into space

Hurtling on into the suns burning rays. 

Vote for me should you like these words

Rather than a much more sinister minister

Laws as loud and clear as Beethoven’s chords

Oh yes we can, when I am Prime Minister.

 

 

 

 

Declaration of intent

Declaration of Intent

 

She had always said,

As she sat in her chair

Or propped up in bed

That she would live

Until she was a hundred

That is what she said

 So frequently to me

It filled me with dread

That she could still be there

As I aged too you see

She would loudly declare

For any that were there

To get it in their head

That she would not be dead

For years yet so if

You thought she would be

Better become aware

She would still be fed

And cared for in her bed

Still more care to give

With ten more years to live

So imagine my surprise

Now she is not alive

I believed her when she said

How long she could thrive

That she would survive

‘Til she was a hundred years

Yet suddenly she was dead

And eyes so full of tears

 

 

The Presentation of the Rose 

It became the custom over time together

To make a gift of the years first Rose

Having suffered all of winters weather

When another chance of rebirth arose

 

To step firmly forward and try again

Not an olive branch but a simple rose

Close confinement can become a pain

To start again in each spring I chose 

Faintly veiled offering of renewed peace

I watched it growing my pretty Rose

She pained as infirmity would increase

A sacrifice from me to her I suppose 

Taking the single bud up to give

Minds last weak fight to keep my Rose

Past moods and hurtful words to forgive

Her elderly last resort effort to oppose 

Giving and receiving done with good grace

The glorious beauty of this newest Rose

Hope temper can take a slower pace

As one heart gives love and another froze

 

 

Light at the end of the tunnel

My BlogSpot has been inactive for a very long time.  This came about for a couple of reasons; the first was that I had embarked upon my 75 x 75 Mini Triathlon Challenge and it pretty soon became apparent to me that if I was doing a small triathlon every day for seventy five days there would not be much time for any other hobby activities. The 1000metre swim/15km bike/3km run was enough to keep me busy bearing in mind the rest of my busy life; working and caring for Steve's mum. The Charity tri's that raised well over £6000.00 for the Chestnut Tree House Children's Hospice near to my home and business. The fund raising worked well and got plenty of publicity that helped the fund raising enormously.

The final day was my 75th birthday on August 14th last year, 2014. on that day lots of my friends came down to the sea front either join me for the last one or to stand and shout encouragement on the promenade in Littlehampton. Even my original GB team manager Ian Pettit came done to join me.

Once that was over, my main focus landed on the lead up to the ITU World Triathlon Championships in Edmonton Canada just a few weeks after my big challenge. My husband/coach Steve flew to Edmonton on August 28th and the Standard Distance Age Group Triathlon Championships were held in Hawrelak Park on that bank holiday Monday September 1st.

Transition opened at 5am which meant that the older age group women then had a four hour wait in a very cold park before our wave start at 9.08am. At the race briefing it was stated that competitors could not put on a coat for the bike and take it off for the run. Any coat should also have been transparent so that the national tri suit colours and the athletes number could be seen.

I did well in the race and I think in all honesty that it was partly due to being a Brit! I did not have a coat anyway, or arm warmers. It was cold. It did rain. And at 75 years and 17 days I was wearing just my thin lycra GB tri suit. The older women from the USA somehow managed to get away with wearing their track suit coat, that was not transparent and also should have kept it on for the run. Good job their team manager! So I was thankful for being a hardy soul from the UK since I won my age group 54 MINUTES, not seconds, ahead of the next woman in my age group... which makes me 2014 World Champion in the 75-79 age group. Steve and I left chilly Edmonton the next day for a few days holiday in Quebec that we loved to bits. A few days after that race in Edmonton, the race organisers posted a photo of the event van standing there in a couple of feet of good looking snow.

By the end of September when autumn began Steve's 94 year old mum was definitely seeming to move into a serious decline. I will not go into the manner of the decline because it was too unpleasant to rake over again. She became very frail by the end of October and November was seriously horrid for her and those caring for her. She had three trips in to hospital in rapid succession and the third time was a stay in Worthing Hospital, where she was so kindly looked after for the last five days of her life.

People just don't know what to say to you when a parent dies. A lot of people said," Its so hard, even when you are expecting it". I was not expecting it. Mother had told me endlessly through her life that she intended to live to a hundred, and I believed her. It was hard. She had lived with us in our home for twenty two quite difficult years and ten years before that almost together with us since she was in an adjoining cottage with a shared garden. She was in fact a freaking miracle since she drank spirits, smoked most of her life, ate whatever she like and would not be fed healthy food, never did any exercise, stayed up half the night, slept in late.

Even though we were not always the best of friends, I did my best to look after her, do my duty if you like. I did pretty much everything for her, washing, ironing, shopping, cleaning. It was me she turned to with any difficulty, me she asked to help as she became an invalid, me she called out for when she was feeling ill.

It has taken me a surprising amount of time to get myself together and back into a normal life, with hobbies in, for it was my mind saving poetry that disappeared completely for months. Without my sport, and my husband keeping me training, which is an everyday affair; swim-run one day, bike the next, no days off bar those that muscle their way into life. So were it not for that discipline and being the main office wallah of our Antiques business, I might never have drifted back into my writing.

Still There 

Still heard

Now and then,

A movement

A knock, a soft bang

The feeling is strong

 Bump the skirting board,

As she skittles along

Sitting on her walker

So dangerously. 

Urgent pace

But still

Sloth pace

In reality.

A force of will

Late night route

To the bathroom. 

A sneeze

A word

Hello-o, hello-o!

So used to the sound

From the years and years

She was around.

I hear her yet

Her voice

Her chair,

Up, up, up

Then down, down, down

She fails to operate

Control of the chair.

Never left

In the ‘Up’ position

Set for what or where?

Appearances?

Her decision. 

The thousand times

She woke me up

From my early night

And her, the late bird

Hello-o, Hello-o

Every noise a house can make

Now she is gone

Another take….

Or is she?

Will she ever be?