Culm Valley Writers: March 2013

I Remember …

… Jack Frost`s spirographs inside my bedroom window: beyond lay the monochrome, muffled moors.

That day a flurrying helicopter came to take our pinch-faced neighbour to hospital; a what-a-lark soldier delivered bread – and then was gone into the sun-leached sky.

It was 1963 and my four-years-old self had forgotten the summer.

First Dance

I went to my first dance,

wearing a dress of midnight blue

flecked with tiny silver threads.

glasses left on the dressing table,

I was a blind Cinderella

waltzing in a forest of dark

suited boys in pale shirts,

blurred and never

to be recognised again.

© Valerie Taylor

I remember the magic of birth.
I was 30, you were new
A black haired, blue eyed beauty
Your brother’s first visit, Papa weeping.
Dopey finger and Ice Cream Queen
Too soon a city chick
Fun, friends, fashion in between.
Now you’re 30
Happy birthday, our beloved Alice!

© Helen McIntosh
All rights reserved

I remember

I remember when
together
we ruled the world
danced high on rainbows
built castles in the clouds.
No need for words;
we knew the way,
knew where utopia lay.

Where are you now?
What do you see
in fireside flames
that dance delusion in your mind?
Do you remember me,
still here
together yet alone.

© Sheila Rogers
All rights reserved

Venice

I remember Venice:

February froze

under summer skies.

Old buildings, honey mellow,

peered, like Narcissus,

into the Grand Canal.

Carnevale crowds thronged.

In St Mark’s Square

a monstrous screen blasted out Queen.

Saunterers

whose gorgeous costumes

and bejewelled masks,

concealed all flesh -

more mannequin than man.

Impossible to tell

saint from psychopath.

A SMUG PONY

My name is Magic

I champ at the Bit

But my libido’s tragic

Only 11 hands high

Moor No more

A change is nigh

Refills my manger

Cleans my tack

Stranger & stranger

Didn’t hear a sound

My ears were pricked

Spread-eagled on ground

Poem for Austria

From Africa I came.. as a wild Vulture

To a land that sourced mankind's culture

Let the church bells of Austria continue to ring

So I can hear the mountains sing

Let the music of Beethoven resonate around me

Whilst the images of Klimpt will always surround me

Let trotting racing last for ever

If only to restore a Kayser's pleasure

Let Austrian medicine, to the world bring

So my shoulder has no further use for a sling

Let the beauty of Baden come alive

So my memories of you will always survive

Let me always remember the Austrian people

In the way I can picture St. Stephan's steeple

Oh Austria, I can feel your incredible zest

My Name is Magic

A face turns towards me,
uttering my three special syllables

teeth press lips for the initial consonant,
then - tongue caresses vowels, lingering on ‘l’.

soft tone, resonant singing,
ringing through my ears,
warming my brain.

My name sounds,
the sun radiates
spinning circles
around my heart.

Harmony.

My Name is Magic

Fickle human: the girl who named me adored me, left for somewhere called Uni.

When she returned it was with a boy, whom she stroked and kissed. They rolled together on the bed where once I held court.

“Shoo, cat!” he said.

Later, I sourly marked where they had slept.

What's in a Name....

Hi, I'm Sheila. Not just any old Sheila,

not your Steal-my-Thunder from Down Under,
your Tease' em with Grief on the Barrier Reef,
but a cool, classy bird from the Upside of the world.
Yes, Sheila: Irish for Celia, from Latin Caelius
which, of course, means Heavenly.
That's me.

My name is magic

It calls me:

‘Helen!’

But sometimes it calls you too –

Are we the same?

What’s in a name?

It’s female, suggests origin, class and age.

And it defines who I’m not –

Like Fifi Trixibell or Tiger Lily.

Now, there’s magical!

Culm Valley Writers

Pages

Monday, 25 March 2013

I Remember …

First Dance

The birth day

I remember

Venice

A SMUG PONY

Poem for Austria

My Name is Magic

My Name is Magic

What's in a Name....

My name is magic