Crossing the gallery threshold

Though the Ellipsiad is about my versifying, I also do a bit of jewellery/metal-bashing and have just got my first piece into a gallery. And so...

Across the Threshold

I step into a gallery

The first time bearing something I’ve made,

To be scrutinised,

And maybe, just maybe, you never know, adored,

It is in fine company,

Trash-can samurai, milk-bottle polar bear,

Knitted doughnuts pastel-sweet,

Jolly drum-fish, log of blue,

Matchstick galleon, table too,

Shower-head pouring electrickle wires,

Quilted embroidery green-man inspired,

Shelves with new novels, collections of verse,

Open-access artists’ shrine,

Walls hung with treasures,

Painted and printed,

Pixelated and sewn,

I leave an offering,

Made of steel, brass and time.

C'mon spring...

On potency and patience

Spring is waiting, bright breath held,

For seasons’ change, time liminal,

As daffodils put forth their golden trumpets,

Fritillaries push curve-necked from the soil,

The first pond-skater skims alone on surface tension,

In sun-flecks, early insects dance,

They know spring’s coming,

And feel the equinox,

Yet chill east winds,

Bring flurries of near-gelid drops,

Finger-aching nips and bites,

Is this the winter’s last late frost?

World Poetry Day

My offering written yesterday during World Poetry Day - didn't get round to typing it up until now...

Market Day

It is Thursday,

The weekly market comes to town,

Bus packed with those retired,

And pushchair-mums

Nowhere to sit and so we stand,

Bags stuffed and rolled,

To be unfurled, enfolding purchases,

Cheap meat, cheap veg,

“Getcher fruit, pahnd-a-punnet,

G’won luv, now ‘ow about

A nice bit o’ beef or pork,

Treat yer ‘usband, treat the kids?”

Next stall over, knock-off brands,

No-name clothing, shoes, handbags,

Mobile cases, pretty colours,

Watch-straps fitted, phones unlocked,

Food for cats, dogs, garden birds,

By the tub or sack in kilos,

Fishing tackle, garb and gadgets,

Bait-box maggots, hook ‘em fresh,

Opposite the smokers’ home,

Stash-tins, papers, pipes and bongs,

Playing trip-hop, dub-reggae

(Pretty much the same all day)

Ersatz runic jewels and rings,

Marks of individuality,

Shipped en masse from far Beijing,

Fishmonger’s van sells local catch,

- Least that’s what he said the last I asked –

Though cod’s not what it used to be,

Stripped, near gone, from boundless seas.

Just by, a pop-up one-pound shop,

Tempts with all manner of low tat,

Then olive-man, oiled morsels from the Med,

Laid out neatly and arrayed,

In jars and bowls, cocktail sticks you use to pick,

And on occasion, if I’m lucky,

The Asian ladies’ curry-tent,

Chapatis and a simple dahl,

Completes the circuit of

Itinerant mercantilists,

So back to buses, bags a-bulging,

Maybe a coffee on the way,

For Thursday is our market-day.

The Great American Word-trip

An attempt at simply putting words in order, and hoping it's evocative through the magic of rhyming couplets...

The Great American Word-trip

Shiloh, Sebadoh,

Appalachian rivers flow,

Mount McKinley, Muskogee,

Snowfields, icefalls, Denali,

Kauai, Lanai, hummingbirds,

Monarchs migrate forestwards,

Arches Park, El Capitan,

Louisiana pelicans.

Prairie, grama, bluegrass, plain,

Crossed by silver Amtrak trains,

Keys and causeways, Everglades,

Burning Man as sunlight fades,

Tex-Mex grills and rancheros,

Downtown, uptown, Broadway shows,

Smithsonian and MIT,

Yellowstone, Yosemite.

Monterey Bay delving deep,

Wolf-packs roam while brown bears sleep,

Anasazi dwelling-caves,

Surfing Californian waves,

Serpent Mound, Route whatever,

Native dance with eagle-feathers,

Mississippi-Missouri,

Levee-breaking, out to sea…

On the transport of a polar bear

Just one of the odd little events that happen if you carry large, unusual items on public transport...

On the transport of a polar bear

I have a big ol’ laundry bag,

One of those in plastic weave,

Long-handled so it drags upon the ground,

The zip is broken (it was cheap),

And so some tufts of fake white fur,

Poke out while on the local bus,

And catch a small child’s glancing eye –

“You’ve got a doggy!”

She exclaims,

(Her mother and big brothers smile)

“There’s a doggy in the bag”,

“It’s not a dog”, I say, I swear,

“It’s a great big polar bear”,

Now, all the many toddler stares,

Are directed straight to where,

By that man just over there,

They see a possibility of ‘bear’.