Before
I turn off the light, after we have turned in for the night, I read for a
while, poetry mostly.
If
I think I need calming down after something dark, like The Black List that we
are watching on TV together
and
is quite troubling, well I find it so, then I want something friendly that I am
familiar with.
I
have loads of poetry collections that I keep at grabbing distance from my side
of the bed.
One
that encourages people to learn well know poems by heart.
Another
that has a well-known poem from each day of the year.
Then
a copy of The Nations Favourite Poetry and one called The Poetry Pharmacy;
where
you can find something to sooth your condition, whatever that may be from
heartbreak to anger.
The
Fire of Joy by Clive James, is warm and cosy to snuggle up with I find.
The
others held in a handy within grasp positions, are some collections by some of my
favourite poets.
Robert
Frost comes nearest with Seamus Heaney next to him.
Then
over the past several years since my lovely daughter press-ganged me into Instagram,
which she thought was more suitable for me than Facebook, I have stayed happily
in a whole world of writers, all far superior to my own scribbling.
They
seem to however, allow me space in my own little split world.
My
husbands Antiques shipping business.
The
sport of Triathlon that I still hold dear and hope to get back to events after
an enforced Covid break.
My
scribbling which is something I have always loved since my school days and my
teens when I have lots of pen pals.
Again,
the poetry group that met in our home once per month was also put on hold with
lockdown.
I
never quite got to grips with ZOOM so this is a huge hole in my life.
The
last meeting was held on March 8th 2020.
It
is true to say that without my Instagram contacts, it would have been misery
without hearing seeing and listening to the poetry of others.
I
have bought some of the books that my favourite Instagrammer’s have published….
Like I need more poetry books.
It
seems like madness but I have enjoyed some of them enormously and thank them
for putting a ‘Like’ of my posts sometimes, when I am not in the same league by
miles.
The
last one I bought was by Luke Emsley who has the handle I_3_m_s_l_ 3_ y.
That’s
a fun one isn’t it. Having read his IG posts I saw that maybe I had a dual use for
this book.
I
must explain that remark.
I
love to write my diary blog a few days per week and I do write poetry myself,
though not as often as I did before lockdown.
I
also like to play with the poetry of other people.
I
want to get to grips with the patterns and every now and again I will, as a test
exercise, try to write something out of my own head but in the exact pattern of
the professional work.
I
am stuck in tradition myself I just LUUURVE sonnets.
For
the most part having been enthralled with poetry at school and was part of The Speech
Choir (and the other choir too).
It
was an optional extra after school and my parents were never home from work
until much later, so it was ideal for me and kept me out of trouble of course.
My
mother forced me to wear my hair in ringlets for a start, so I was a target for
teasing, though I could stand up for myself to anybody apart from my Mum.
She
had a hefty slap without using something else if she wanted, whatever was to
hand.
So
back to Lemsley.
A
big smile spread over my face when I flicked through the pages of the book when
it arrived, it felt so soft in my hands.
Loosely
Tethered Venom: Volume 1 is the title.
The
cover has velvety surface and the pages were pleasing too, bright white, solid
and smooth.
I
know…. sad little woman aren’t I.
Nice
lines, nice shapes, and plenty of space for me!
The
poetry sings out good and loud, even shouting off the pages.
The
book is full of the emotion of somebody not very happy with the world.
Well
there you are, I want to be affected by the lines I read.
It
fills the bill for me, but more…….
It’s
my book!
I
paid for it.
It
is in my home.
I
can do what I like with it.
And
I will write and draw what ever the pages challenge me to dare to try.
I
don’t turn the corners down though ever.
It’s
modern poetry, something I don’t do that much, chained as I am to what Mrs
Thomas taught me.
My
first strike was to a poem called Disconnect.
I
liked it at the first read and several more.
I
read it to my husband and he like it too and he doesn’t like stuff that doesn’t
rhyme.
So,
sorry Luke if this makes you mad. Let me know and I will take it down from my
diary page.
I
will not remove it from the Page in the book that was yours but now is mine.
