My gift to you.
Poems for you to enjoy.......
Lady Chatterley lay like a special offer
on the supermarket floor
by the door.
Exposed, akimbo, unexpurgated, unabridged,
but certainly not unadulterated.
Modestly clothed in a lavender cover,
she looked for all the world like a virgin.
In another world, Lady C,
you would have been modestly robed
in a plain brown coverlet.
Stealthily passed from furtive satchel to discreet desk,
revealing your charms
through pages dog-eared by intent.
All passion spent,
you now come free
with Classics Monthly
exposed for all to see,
the F word slotted neatly
between the TV Times
and Woman’s Weekly.
Oh, Mellors, where are you?
a prose poem by Mya Roberts
Born from freshly melted glaciers, the white-crested waters of the Cheakamus River gurgle, churn.
Living, beautiful, yet cold.
Cold, very cold.
Sedate start, gentle flow, deep clear waters of the Paradise valley run. Imperceptibly the river quickens, becomes crumpled and creased. White water tips and tumbles the surface, gradually transforming crystal sharpness into glacial-silted milk.
Sapphire sky backdrops emerald forests of cottonwood, red cedar, hemlock, Douglas fir: yet distant mountains are snow-clothed and magnificent. Glaciers creep downwards. Glinting silver ribbons of waterfalls lace the chiselled mountain-sides.
Waters twist and coil through a panorama dominated by awesome Tantalus Mountains and unmistakable peaks of Alfa, Omega, Mount Garibaldi. Sheer cliffs cut down to curdling currents where deep slits and caves’ inky portals are etch randomly into the cliff face. Water fowl hint at their presence and, overhead, birds sail. But the dominant music, the omnipotent sound, is the gushing water.
‘Eagle on the right.’
Perching high in the womb of the cedar, the unmistakable white head and black folded body of the bald eagle. And beside it, another. Oars up, breath held, we pay silent homage.
A bridge traverses, and beyond it boulders have jostled themselves into the river, creating a great drop - our taste of the might of the Cheakamus, daring us to collide with the rocky outcrops and nodding tree trunks as they puncture the river’s surface. The Cheakamus is growling, soft green, opaque as we swirl in its exploding maelstrom. Frothy, creamy tongues lap and spray our damp glistening faces. Elatedly we bounce, dip, dive.
Too soon the river’s rage diminishes. Gradually our world ceases to swirl.
Then - on a small isthmus of grass-sprouted shingle fingering into the lazily churning river, a beautiful deer stands, head raised in attentive watchfulness. She has been drinking at the water’s edge and now hesitates. Deciding enough is enough she gently retreats to tangled forest safety.
We drift downstream. Torrent becomes flow. Milky green reverts to crystal. The surface of the river is a thousand sun-specked diamonds.
Closing my eyes I see a gushing river, a downy deer, snow-dressed mountains and spiraling eagles, all etched against the brightest blue sky.
A few websites you may enjoy:
The Guernsey Sweater: https://letricoteur.co/
The Guernsey Eisteddfod https://www.guernseyeisteddfod.com /latestnews
Guille-Allez library https://www.library.gg
Guernsey Literary Festival https://guernseyliteraryfestival.com/
Isle Madam Historical Society http://imhs.ca/
Cranthorpe Millner, Publishers http://www.cranthorpemillner.com/
Jacci Gooding, Author: https://jaccigoodingauthor.wordpress.com
Pippa McCathie, Author : https://www.bookbub.com/authors/pippa-mccathie
The bit near the end to awaken your inner writer .......
Haikus: I’m very fond of a Haiku.
Of Japanese origin, it is traditionally a three-line poem composed of five, seven and five syllables. To include a season of the year is conventional, as is a reference to the weather and to life and nature. The senses should be engaged and verbs kept to a minimum.
What is a haiku?
Haiku is a single breath
that breathes with rivers.
Now I give you one finished haiku, and two incomplete haiku. The second haiku lacks a last line (five syllables) and the third haiku lacks a second line (seven lines), and a last line (five syllables).
Where all the brown leaves
have fallen dead from the tree
see no dance nor glee.
Bearing in mind the traditions of nature and the senses, have a go at finishing these haikus.
Night. A star looks from
the water. He touches silver.
_ _ _ _ _
Visitor from the sea,
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _
I hope you enjoy engaging with your creativity.