Go Elsewhere For Poetry

Go elsewhere for poetry. I cannot perform to rules and styles. Usually my poems rhyme. When I was at school that is how we were taught, and that is how we were able to learn the work of the poets. Of course, I read pieces of prose that touch my heart and mind and I will think 'yes this is beautiful, truly poetic.'
Last Thursday, we drove up to the Lakes, coming home via Coniston Water. It had been raining most of the day but the showers cleared and the sun came intermittently through the clouds, turning sky and lake to a luminescent blue. So here is my attempt to avoid rhyme!
Poets sigh their blossoming thoughts
With words flowing from the heart
Yet straining to achieve the impossible
To outdo Wordsworth’s golden daffodils.
Blue heaven with white wispy hair
Sheds light in diamond clarity
On ripples whipped by a breeze
While whispering through green leaves
I hear Creation’s own poetry —
Nature’s ode to Coniston Water

Death of a Bluetit

He flittered in the sunshine
And twittered in the trees.
Ate seeds with his little family
And glided on the breeze.
He gave us so much pleasure
Through weeks of winter snow,
But now we’ve found him lying dead
Just how, we do not know.
We’re grateful for that little life
That brought us so much joy,
A short life but a worthy one
That death cannot destroy.

A Watery Break In Derbyshire!

We have just returned from an eight day break in Derbyshire. We had rain most of the time but clear spells when we managed some walking — the woods at Chatsworth (always a delight), the path in Dovedale (heavenly riches) , the nature reserve at Carsington Reservoir (a perfect haven), and the last section of the Tissington Trail (easy walking and a joy for cyclists), We visited my sister and took her to the lovely nature reserve at Attenborough (about a mile from where we lived many years ago — mentioned in my book of childhood memories, When Phones Were Immobile and Lived in red Boxes). And we visited my husband's sister for tea (at Matlock), and joined both his sisters plus husbands for a meal at the Grouse and Claret at Rowsley.
We came across a fantastic log in Dovedale, 'chissled' by nature, which reminded me of a poem I wrote recently. I decided to put it here with the photo of the log plus one of me with my sister. Although we are not a bit alike, one might say that both my sister and I have been similarly sculptured!

Nature’s Sculpture
By Gladys Hobson

Like twisted log tossed on the beach
each groove and knot
forming nature’s sculpture.
If mind is open it can reach
a story true
of life and death —
crafted in lines bold and free
in hollows and grooves
and swirls and knots:
a distorted body —
a soul tormented?

Or is the story nature tells
far from what my eyes do see?
For beauty lies within the heart
and sings a different melody,
Those crafted grooves
that make me shudder
were earned by life’s experience.
Each tells a story of its own
yet builds into a perfect whole.

Again I look into the mirror
unafraid of what I see;
for nature’s sculpture so defined
is beauty of a different kind.
I am who I am —
yes, this is me.

The Joys of Teaching

I retired from teaching some years ago but it seems not a lot has changed since then, except more red tape is involved.
I was trained in primary school education and my forte was the teaching of reading and writing — especially creative writing. In this some children excelled. Before writing stories it was normal to start with an activity to get their imaginations stirred. One in particular was hilarious! We were in the hall doing a bit of imaginative drama. It started with movement to percussion: shadow movements, lunge - retreat — pretend sword fighting without touching etc., until they had a store of movements to carry out a dramatic scene without hurting each other. I had them practice in small groups and then perform to the rest. One slid off the stage like melting jelly. The headmaster heard the whoops and yells, and dropped by to see if all was well! I think he was actually impressed that they were so active but well controlled. Apart from movement and music, we would use other mediums too Some great stories were written and a number of the youngsters (8-9 years) went on to write stories that filled an exercise book - some of them pirate stories. And the desire to write continued. I would arrive early and let the eager beavers into the classroom to get half an hour of story writing done before the bell.
Later I changed to Secondary Comprehensive education, teaching art and needlework. Older children are more difficult to motivate but we did get some good art done that brightened up the annexe - at least, a letter of thanks from the head, as well as the pride of the youngsters, made the hard work worthwhile.

The Joys Of Teaching

They come in the night, and daytime too —
Dreams and nightmares of many a hue.
We shake them off with laughter jolly
But most of the time we’re off our trolley!
In confident voice we teach what we know
And try to hide what we don’t want to show.

We stand at the front and spout the lesson
And hope to be able to last the session.
Some kids are angels and want to learn;
There are also those who are ready to spurn —
All that is taught, but still is our hope
That none of the kids will end up a dope.

We sit in our chair and read out the names
Of all our pupils ready for games —
Not the sort you play with bat and ball
But who’s to win, and who’s to fall
In the battle of wits they play with their teacher —
Jim’s taunting of Miss is a favourite feature.

At least terms are short and holidays long,
And sometimes surprises come rolling along.
Young Jimmy is offered a place at Oxford
And Marlene is nursing in USA Botsford.
Some are employed, most are at college,
And not one is inside — eating his porridge!

This poem is included in Northern Lights, stories and poems from the North of England ISBN 978-0-9548885-5-8 Visit Magpies Nest Publishing for free extracts from this book and others.
Visit my other sites to read short stories, reviews and articles: Wrinkly Writers and My Space/Gladys Writes (you can hear me read stories on this one too)