FINDING THE BREEZE

This morning the birds are offering a range of gentle sounds and the air brings the scent of clover and warmed beach stones.

Alt text says this week’s photo is two women taking a selfie, and indeed it is. It is Kath and I settling into our seats aboard The Waverley Paddle Steamer.

I think Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn might have ignited my interest in paddle steamers many years ago. And when I found out that a paddle steamer visits Llandudno for a few days each year I was eager to take a ride. Having missed the opportunity to book tickets in the past I made sure I was more organised this time, I bought the tickets earlier in the year and pinned them to the noticeboard in readiness. It’s always a nice feeling to see tickets pinned to the noticeboard and the gap that was left behind when these ones were unpinned has now been filled with a pair of tickets for a Ruby Wax show.

And when the day of our trip on the ship arrived it was just the right kind of weather for it. We had the wonderful cool sea breeze as the ship sailed, and could even turn this into a dramatically cooling, hair tousling experience by wandering up to the front of the ship, as well as glorious sunshine. It gave us a pure day out… one that was not framed by work tasks… and one where we decided it would be lovely to eat out in the evening before journeying back home.

A little visit to the souvenir shop during the journey saw me purchasing a cup with the colours of the funnels on it – I do love a souvenir, and this is a nicely practical one. I have been having my morning tea in funnel colours each morning this week.

This week also marked the 24th anniversary of my first date with Kath. It was a blind date and one I am delighted I went on. I have a couple of poems about that very evening and it felt good to take one of them to the bandstand stage at Oswestry Pride at the weekend as part of my set. It was my third time reading at the event and it felt good at the end of a very hot week to be taking the cool breeze of poetry to the park. Because I wear reading glasses, I can’t always see the people in the audience clearly, and because it’s a park it wouldn’t be possible for me to see the people standing further away anyway, but what I can feel is which poems land particularly well and I’d say this one did.

So here’s my poem from my second collection ‘Welcome to the Museum of a Life’ celebrating the fact that my beautiful wife dropped a pound coin in a bar twenty-four years ago…

THAT COIN

I imagine putting that pound coin in my mouth

tonguing it from heads to tails

and back again.

As you walked in,

a clock somewhere struck eight,

while the minute hand of the one I was eyeing

clicked its thirtieth tick.

Your hair

your skirt

your make-up

your eyes straight ahead

told me

you were out of my league.

Then that fumble of fingers

had the coin falling from your grip.

Your one flaw was all I needed to say my name.

Like a one-armed bandit on triple seven

I rattled out the stories of my life

and still you said yes to a coffee I wouldn’t make

and paused on the bridge over the canal

to kiss me.

I could love that pound coin forever.

Take its metallic tang again and again.

A SLIGHTLY BLURRED MIDSUMMER RONNIE

This morning the air is already warm. It carries strong floral notes and the scent of someone’s freshly brewed coffee.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a small animal in the sky. I say it is Ronnie jumping for joy with a pompom crown. Midsummer seemed to creep up on me this year and a late evening photo seemed one way to acknowledge and celebrate it so off I went to lie on the patio under a waxing crescent moon to capture this photograph.

All in all the week was gentle and quiet. Joys included delivering copies of the group poem to the residents at the housing association, feeling physically better after a recent hysteroscopy, drafting poems about said procedure so that it is set down out of my head, finding out during a conversation with a friend that there might be an audience for said poems even though I thought they were possibly a bit niche, getting back out into the garden.

It’s fair to say I have been on a bit of a go slow. My body has been telling me to take things gently and I have listened and been kind to it. This meant it felt particularly lovely to have sun on skin whilst being physically active in the garden at the weekend. And it also felt good to be reclined in a chair at the end of the day, with a favourite tv programme after a lovely catch-up chat with a friend. It was at this point that I realised I had not brushed myself down fully after gardening when I discovered a crispy yellow myrtle leaf tucked neatly behind my right ear during said relaxation time. It was very weedy under the myrtle so I decided this was giving me the perfect opportunity for some sit-down gardening after lots of the ‘up down heave-ho’ kind of gardening so I bum-shuffled round its base removing the blades of grass that had sprung up. And to be successful in weed removal my head was right in there amongst the leaves.

So I can now consider myself to be going about my daily business again and it feels good. I even bought myself a cake to celebrate this fact.

There has also been time for reflection and I have taken time to reflect on the same experience through two different lenses… the lens of poetry and the coaching lens. When I write confessional poetry I love the cathartic nature of the setting down and the rawness. I hear the words reflected back and see the human experience of the moment. When I think about the coaching lens I think about the helpfulness of the forward-thinking nature of coaching. How saying things out loud to a thinking partner can be far more productive than listening to the repeated thoughts of an internal voice. Saying things out loud in a coaching space helps with a more efficient and proactive untangling of thoughts, feelings and behaviours. It was the coaching lens that enabled me to swap months of dithering for minutes of action. And it’s the poetic lens that lets me set down the experience for others to read.

And for this week’s poem my thoughts having lingered on being glad it wasn’t a creature behind my ear got me thinking about the summer when I was seventeen and me and a friend were carrying out some scientific research about the insect populations of different small islands. Here’s a poem that sets down that experience:

Classifying The Harvestmen

We were only seventeen

when we rowed the boat

between the islands.

Free to decide what we were looking for,

trusted with oars on the water.

We set our jam jar traps at night

returned for them each morning.

When one island had more harvestmen

than any other creature,

and one island had none,

I was intrigued.

We talked of investigating

predators and terrain

while collating our counting.

We were eager to find the reason,

thought this would earn us our white coats.

On the morning it rained,

I slipped as I got in the boat

for the final time,

knocked every jar over.

We watched all our creatures

scuttling, mingling.

Back at base I knew enough

to lie on the tally charts,

keep our results in line.

But we couldn’t get them all back

to their own islands

and you never told.

DONNING THE T-SHIRT

This morning the sun is hazy behind clouds and the wind stirs the air to bring rich, strong notes of rosemary.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a person standing in front of a brick wall. It is indeed and the person is me. And I am wearing my ‘Association of Business Poets’ t-shirt.

Donning the t-shirt this week was a real pleasure because it meant that I was signifying my readiness to deliver a poetry workshop. The extra pleasure came because I was being invited back for a second visit. My destination… a housing association wherein I have found a wonderful group of poetry appreciators and poets.

My first visit on National Poetry Day last October featured me reading a set of my poems dedicated to that year’s chosen theme of ‘Play’. And during the visit I discovered that the group included people who wrote regularly, people who loved to listen and people who enjoyed the poetry writing exercise I had taken along. A fabulous mix, and one which got me thinking about what we could do together next if I was invited back.

When you have worked with a group of people once you get a real flavour of what else might be fun to do. I felt particularly excited at the thought of working together to create a group poem. This would be an even more dynamic way to celebrate National Poetry Day together because we would then have our own poem to share on the day itself.

In preparation for my visit I put together a set of my own poems on this year’s new theme of ‘Wonder’, and thought about an appropriate writing prompt. This time I wanted to do away with pencil and paper and stay in the moment whilst we were sharing creative thinking time, so I decided to record the offered responses. With the group’s permission I recorded what they were saying in response to different mini prompts. I then took the recordings away so that I could listen and see how the poem itself would reveal itself for typing up. I discovered that three poems were emerging and that the main one was there fully formed in the voice notes. I am so looking forward to recording it with them in October.

As we gathered together this time, I thoroughly enjoyed watching everyone settling in.  Anthologies of poetry were brought to the circle as well as poetry journals and individual poems. I felt lucky to be invited back to this creative community. This small group made up of lovely individuals is a wonderful place to be. It is enabling me to hear the poetry sets I put together with new ears. It brings the joy of spontaneous conversation and laughter. It is one of those spaces that is fully in the moment.

I listened carefully to see which poems resonated most with the group, and this poem, which was published this year by Atrium, was well received. The story of its origin opened up the floor for tales of Snowdon adventures. How lovely to have time and space to share the setting down of words in the fullest sense.

MY SISTER WENT TO LIVE ON THE MOON

After we climbed Snowdon,

my sister went to live on the moon.

And when it was new I paced all day

knowing she doesn’t like the dark.

I am still here on Earth feeling the gravity

and faithfully recording

what the air smells like each week.

I guess she knows that when she returns, I am going

to ask her what it smelt like there

each Monday morning

I google to see how long a moon day is.

I wonder why I never learned this at school,

but I guess they didn’t expect sisters

to be going to live there then.

There are different answers, but it’s clear

a day is almost an earth month.

She’s been gone three weeks now.

So for her that’s not even a day,

but to me it feels like a lifetime.

I imagine her happy when it’s full.

Her with her big smile

and that laugh as real as the time she said

we should go to the park

and dangle bacons on sticks to catch the carp 

the men in tents are always trying to catch.

But now I am confused whether she will even know.

All I can do is wait for unclouded nights

strap on my head torch

and wave and hope.

I don’t even know if she went there

because she still believes in the Man in the Moon

or to get away from me.

A PERSON FLYING THEIR HORSE ON THE BEACH

This morning the sun is warming the rained-on ground and the green scent of plants is rising in the air.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a person flying a horse on a beach and this description absolutely delights me. It gives me the perfect title for my blog in a week when things that have happened don’t really make great titles. It was one of those weeks which I thought would be summed up well by a photo of Ronnie not quite in shot as he jumps for joy (it was very windy and he kept blowing off course). I have other photos of him completely in the frame where the sky appears beautifully blue, but this one represents for me that wonderful human balance of finding joy when life sprinkles in a few obstacles.

The photo was taken on my birthday during a visit to Rhos-on-Sea for some ice-cream. Being at the coast and eating ice-cream are on my list of fun things I like to do, and birthdays are definitely the kind of days for choosing which fun things you want to do. I was feeling a little under the weather so we planned a simple short stroll after taking a Ronnie photo and before ice-cream perusal. Half our stroll had us remarking on the joy of the feel of sun on skin and half had us laughing as the rain soaked us through. Luckily the ice-cream parlour has comfortable seats and friendly staff so we had plenty of time to enjoy a treat and dry off. Later in the evening we enjoyed a delicious meal out at a local pub and managed to save room for birthday cake as pudding when we got home.

The bits of the week that wouldn’t make such great titles for this week’s blog originate from a couple of medical appointments I have had, including one on my birthday which wasn’t on my list of fun things to do on my special day. And the joy in all of that has been the expertise and kindness of the staff. I was heard to describe a procedure as refreshing when it involved the introduction of saline. There was much laughter when I was told that no one had ever described it in that way before.

So that’s me learning not to be the person who puts up with symptoms that I don’t need to and channelling my dad who always said if there’s a strange noise coming from the car’s engine it isn’t going to fix itself. So here’s me being a grown-up and getting my engine fixed.

And here’s a poem from Magnifying Glass which captures a moment from childhood when I was stung for the first time…

STUNG

If it was a wasp

it stung once and fled,

if it was a bee

I didn’t see it die

I stood naked

gazing at a splinter;

a black spine centred in a pink circle.

I pushed my stomach out to watch what next,

alone and naked in a field I saw it

redden concentrically as I stared.

I held out my arms to the summer air

let my lungs expel their cry.

FORTY-TWO BLUE MOONS

This morning the air brings the rustle of rain soon and the vague scent of vanilla biscuits.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a person holding a book in front of a bookshelf. Indeed it is, and that person is me and the book that I have temporarily removed from its space on the shelf in Waterstones is Welcome to the Museum of a Life published by Black Eyes Publishing UK. And the fact it is written by me, and it is there makes my heart dance a little happy dance.

In my ponderings this week I thought about blue moons, and I found out that maybe the blue moon at the end of May meant there have been forty-two blue moons since I was born. And whether there have or there haven’t this ‘fact’ along with the realisation that I hadn’t got a blue moon poem in amongst my moon poems inspired me to get writing. I donned my ‘Poetry in Business’ t-shirt and started to draft. I rather like the poem that formed in this moment of creativity at my new writing desk and so I will share it here for you my reader/listener…

BLUE MOON

The second full moon in a calendar month

and I want to write you a poem.

I want to tell you this will be the 42nd

blue moon since I was born.

But I am not entirely certain

the number is correct.

And even if it is, I know

just one blue moon in the future

will change everything.

Instead let’s walk together

when it rises.

Let’s linger under the light of it

marvel in the fleeting moments

that can be counted on.

I have spent a lot of time this week thinking about the helpfulness of staying in the moment. My brother was always wise in telling me not to worry about things that haven’t happened yet, and I always aim to carry this snippet of wisdom with me. It is one of those pieces of advice that is quite handy to tune into when things get busy or overwhelming, and elements of this past week have indeed felt rather full.

It has also been one of those weeks where my energy has often appeared at different times of day. This has meant for example that I have seized the moment to wash my windows at half past nine at night even though regular readers of this blog will know that I am a big fan of getting out of bed and completing the task while still pyjamaed and then enjoying a satisfied ‘job completed, time to get clean’ shower! I guess as my nan used to say: “A change is as good as a rest”.

During a bit of down time, Kath and I went to visit an excellent exhibition at Chester Cathedral called Threads Through the Bible. It was wonderful to see each of the panels displayed there and to just lose myself to the beauty of another person’s work. Afterwards, since we were right there in Chester, I thought I would pop into Waterstones to see if they had stocked my book because it had been a few weeks since I went in to ask if this was a possibility. I was delighted to see it on the shelf and a little disappointed that I hadn’t had the foresight to wear my Poetry In Business t-shirt there for my photo. After all, being a founding member of the group is spurring me on and is nicely mixed in with my promise to myself to be 10% braver. It still makes me chuckle that when I was asked in a podcast interview recently, “Where can people find your books?” I also heard my own echoing question of, “Where can’t people find your books?” and the answer to my question was “Waterstones in Chester” and I recognised this would have been a much better answer to the first question! So, there’s that one rectified for now and I hope whoever buys this copy of my book thoroughly enjoys exploring the poems.

If you like poetry and you haven’t yet been to one of Louise Longson’s Last Saturday events I can highly recommend them. I was a reader there this week and was delighted to be asked to take part. It is one of those events that I love whether I am reading or listening, it is a perfectly timed event at just over an hour long on the last Saturday of each month and it always brings together a good selection of readers. Each of the evenings is themed and this time we were celebrating National Creativity Day. It feels like a treat and a challenge all at once to select poems for a theme and this is the kind of thing that I love to do. Here’s Rapunzel which I shared at the event on Saturday:

RAPUNZEL

Rapunzel: A Fairy tale first published 1812 by the Brothers Grimm in Germany

rapunzel: lambs lettuce (Campanula rapunculus)

Only ever iceberg now

and always from the fridge

I peel away the outer leaves;

two, three,

sometimes four have to go

before it is pale enough for my taste.

Then, eight wedges

crisply cut

are my bland supper.

Frigid, he says.

He does not know what it does to me

that you are not here to take the milk.

Salty tears trickle down my neck

souring the moisture

that leaks from my breasts

each time I shift in the chair.

I knitted you a purple blanket,

grew it each evening after dinner

twelve weeks of moss stitch

to wrap my precious baby.

I never got to see you in it.

He took you on the darkest night.

I hope he wrapped you well

kissed you

before he handed you over.

He should have gathered us both up, you and I,

run us far away

he should have built us a castle

of thickest stone,

moated us in.

I listen for you crying in the night,

think I hear you

as the clock strikes the even hours.

When at last I sleep, I see you.

There’s the most magnificent tower

standing against the clearest blue sky.

The grey bricks are your dress

sea glass glints and winks,

embedded in a mortar Empire line;

says you’re beautiful now.

And there’s your face at the highest window

smiling before your mouth opens.

I think you are going to call me mother

instead you sing

sending notes travelling

like unencumbered birds soaring.

I listen for you crying in the night,

think I hear you

but I don’t

because I swapped you for lettuce.

And he let me.

FINDING THE SHAPE OF THE GARDEN

This morning the air is warm. It carries a hay-like scent and is tinged with floral notes.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a close up of flowers. It is indeed and it is a photo taken this very morning as the rose blooms begin to open for the day.

The Bank Holiday Weekend at the end of May always signals garden time to me. Peering out tentatively during the cold, grey days leading up to the weekend I saw a garden with the features of Sleeping Beauty’s castle – long grass in the borders, brambles weaving their way along the back path, and dandelions making themselves right at home pretty much everywhere. I was eager for sunny days to spur me on. I also realised I hadn’t been spending much time at all out there apart from my visits to the compost bin and to put out the washing every now and again. I appreciate both these things, but they don’t make my heart sing as much as cultivating a good garden space or indeed of sitting outside enjoying the feel of the sunshine. Mind you, I am very proud of my compost making abilities. I think my sense of smell helps here as I can tell when it is in need of an extra helping of cardboard, and when it is in a state of perfect balance. There was a time recently when the worms themselves were celebrating their home by rising up into the lid to greet me when I took down the latest set of peelings. A whole writhing lid full that when I was little would have given me the creeps but now brings a sense of pride and wonder. I thanked them for their good service and took pleasure in the fact that there is a whole ecosystem at work right there based on kitchen waste products making a perfect soil enricher for the future.

My heart jumped for joy on Friday when the sun came out and stayed out and I felt invigorated to make a head start on finding the garden’s shape again. Time spent outside in my own patch has been restorative in many ways… the satisfaction of seeing how our favourite plants have grown, making room for them to flourish without being overshadowed by grasses and the more invasive plants, that sometimes when digging and pulling weeds that’s the only focus for my brain, sitting out in the sunshine with a cup of tea to take in the view.    

When I flopped in a chair after my gardening extravaganza I noted that I smelt of rosemary from having been right in underneath a newly flourishing bush to free it from the tangle of grass and some kind of rampant oniony plant. When the oniony plant first appeared in the garden I thought it was lily of the valley. I soon discovered that the two scents couldn’t be further along the spectrum from each other, but it was very pretty so I let it gap fill little knowing that it was planning to take over! It fascinates me to see what likes to creep into all the spaces. Two years ago I planned to tame the ground elder with mint and now have minty roots making their own extensive underground map so that is sort of working out and I do love the smell of it when I excavate the bits that have gone too rogue.

Here’s to sunshine gladdening hearts, and to spaces that bring pleasure.

Here’s A Garden Pond from Welcome to the Museum of a Life. This poem was recently commented positively on when my wife shared it on her ‘Threads’ page. It captures a moment in time when I was little and wandering through someone’s garden only to be fascinated by a pond…

A Garden Pond

I had never seen so many shades of darkness.

Difficult to distinguish

dark, dark brown from burnished black.

I was happy there

staring.

My reflection stared back

rippled.

I wanted to kiss it.

I already knew there were countless shades of green –

pure lime green,

dark army green,

fairy tale frog green

the endless mixing in of yellow.

A snail with an algaed shell

moved as if in outer space.

I was close to gripping it.

Then I was right in there

amongst bouncy pond weed, 

straggly ribbons of leaves

and those shades of brown and black in close-up.

Oh, the depths of it.

I was so cold amongst the stale green smell

but happy.

They shouldn’t have ripped me from it

just to wrap me in a stranger’s dog blanket.

Rough wool held me silent

all the way home.

The air had chilled me to the bone

grey dog hairs stuck to my lips.

SITTING IN THE MUD

The first bird I hear as I wake this morning is a wood pigeon; the promise of spring in its echoing tones. In the damp morning the cheerful chorusing of many birds is welcoming the day, and the air brings the scent of rosemary and twigs.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a beaver in a muddy puddle. I say it is a capybara sitting in the mud at Chester Zoo. I photographed it during a visit back in 2015 and the photo came to mind this week after a conversation with a wonderful friend.

Part of our conversation centred around the importance of being able to sit with someone when they are in the emotional equivalent of a muddy puddle. I loved the analogy… being alongside the person, acknowledging that it is indeed a swampy place, sitting with their thoughts and feelings for a while without rushing them to get out, without offering to try to solve it… bringing presence not solutions… simply being there with them in that muddy puddle.

I love a metaphor and after our chat I spent some time thinking about the times I have sat in muddy puddles of my own as well as the times I have meandered off my path to sit with others in their puddles. Those puddles have held a lot. Times of pondering, times of deep thinking, time to respect the need to be still for a while, times of silence, time to figure out the feelings and what is needed right now.

And then there’s the joy and refreshment of stepping out, showering off the mud and being back on the path. I think there is also something here about knowing when being in the muddy puddle on your own is helpful and when it would be really good if someone came to just sit there a while with you.

Thinking about presence then got me thinking about its different forms – being with someone and keeping them company in difficult times, the presence in a coaching room that allows someone to think forward, or the impact of being in the presence of art or performance. All enriching and restorative in different ways and perhaps it is the very mix of such things that is of ultimate importance.

Here’s to sitting in the mud with someone when they need us to. Here’s to all the people who have ever sat with me in my mud. And here’s the first poem I wrote at my new desk. I mentioned it in last week’s blog, and it feels celebratory to share it here now. I love the fact that I love my new desk and that the first poem written while seated at it is a love poem… 

THE PLOUGH

I can almost rely on my ability

to find The Plough in the night sky.

My brother taught me to stand in the darkness,

let my eyes adjust.

There I discovered patience

and a pure silence

which held so much.

Did you know

every time I take you outside

to stand with me

under that steadfast saucepan of seven stars,

I am saying I love you?

I am telling you

my love feels as big as the universe

that I want our days to close with wonder.

THAT’S NOT MINE, MINE’S CRISPY…

This morning the wind is moving things in gentle swirls and beckoning in the drizzle; it brings the scent of rosemary and grass as the birds chatter unseen in the hedges.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a selfie of two people. I say it is me and my sister walking under a storm cloud. We are decorated by ‘thunder bugs’, and both wearing black hoodies. She kindly washed mine for me after the walk and when she handed it back to me later on, I declared, “That’s not mine, mine’s crispy.” And that’s when I learned the difference fabric softener makes to one’s washing! (And a little google of thunder bugs tells me that another name for them is ‘thrips’ and I rather like that so will be adopting that into my language.)

No blog writing took place on Bank Holiday Monday, but as a gentle nod to Singing As The Darkness Lifts, my sister and I went out to smell the air and confidently declared that it smelt of air! She often tells me this when we talk on Mondays, she knows I will have recorded the scent of the air first thing in the morning, and in those conversations she often tells me matter of factly that where she is it just smells of air. Now I too have smelt that very smell alongside her. A long drive home then treated me to time with a much-loved playlist, and, as the sun began to set, the heady smell of rapeseed pollen under a wide sky.

It has been a time of moments recently. Stillness. Patience. A buzzard on a fence post. Applauding a flyover from a heron. A rainbow in a storm. A 5p found on the ground at a motorway service station. That tyre pressure light. Seizing the moment to drink tea on the settees of family and friends. Asking for a drink in a coffee shop by using its advertising tagline to see if the person taking the order laughs.

And a new writing desk. Sometimes I spend too long flicking through my phone, but recently it led to a serendipitous moment when I saw that a friend had a writing desk for sale. Mine was old and faithful, and it always surprised me just how much I could get done in such a small space – so many poems and videos and meetings and essays and coaching sessions. It was originally gifted to me many, many moons ago by a neighbour of my grandparents and has easily fitted into every place I have ever lived. It has been well and truly loved and as it retires I tip my hat to just how well it has served me. And now into service comes a new beauty, with space aplenty. This then reminds me of that time we were asked to bring something to show which was important to us when I first started my coaching training. Being a little nervous at starting something new I had everything ready, but felt the urge to double check before the meeting started. I felt a little bit clumsy and fumbly (and everything was crowded into a small space) and as I reached for the glass paperweight to check that it wasn’t dusty before I shared it with a group of new people, I knocked my hand on my laptop screen and promptly dropped my show and tell object into my glass of water. I do like to be ready for things before they happen, so my heart beat a little bit faster as I dipped my hand in to retrieve it and hurriedly wiped it on my jeans to dry it off. At least that solved the dust problem, I told myself as I took a deep breath and clicked to join the meeting. 

I am pretty confident that my readiness will be easier where I now sit so here’s to finding the space we need for the things that bring us joy, and for appreciating the old and the new!

This past week I was keen to find out what kind of poem would be the first to be written at my new desk (and when it would take shape). Pleasingly it was a love poem that flowed. They are quite rare for me and come with a little fanfare and sparkles when they arrive. Whilst thinking about the act of writing poetry ‘Rescuing the Giraffe’ came to mind. I read it this week at Crafty Crows and will also share it here. It’s a poem about finding a giraffe in a crack in the ground after an earthquake. It might also be a poem about writing a poem. It was originally published in an anthology by Yaffle Press after being longlisted for the Yaffle Prize in 2021 and it then went on to be included in my second full collection of poetry Welcome to the Museum of a Life.

Rescuing the Giraffe

I count the tangled legs; make it six,

one head, so I count again.

This time I make it a knotted four

its eyes are fixed on mine

as if I was its mother.

But how do you retrieve

a giraffe from an earthquake crack?

And then what do you do with it?

The trees are bare

and I feel unqualified

for this emergency act.

I am sure its skin will feel like suede

and those hot chocolate eyes implore.

You are a poet, you owe me this, it says,

so, I sit on the edge

reach down my hands

pat its gentle rump.

It is all muscle under that thin, soft skin.

I stroke tentatively.

Don’t bite me, I say,

and the giraffe is offended.

OK, what I mean is

it might be uncomfortable

while I sort out your legs.

It barely makes a sound as I work.

Released feet scrabble to find their place

on the jagged sides of the hole.

It is ready for the haul.

My arms cradle its stomach,

leaving the legs to dangle,

and I have him rising.

He is as unsteady as the day he was born;

skidding like a skater on their first rink.

But finally, he is up,

shaking off confusion

and I am seeing the size of our shadows.

THREE TIMES A YARN SHOW

This morning the air at home does not smell of sheep. My eyes are bleary and perhaps this means my sense of smell has not yet awakened, but the first thing I am noticing is what’s not there. And that is the scent of sheep in fields on a farm. Having spent the weekend at a lovely B and B just outside Builth Wells in the beautiful countryside maybe it is just my brain reminding me that I am now back home with a new set of memories made.

Alt text says this week’s photo is “two women smiling at the…” and I am guessing it was going to say camera but instead there are those three little dots. So perhaps it is waiting for me to say: the joy of readying for a yarn show, or the thought that this year while Wonderwool Wales celebrated its twentieth anniversary I was celebrating the fact that this was my third time there being with Kath on her stand, or the way you know you are going to find conversations that make you smile when you spend time with people in a showground. I would say it is all of that, and also the recognition that taking things one step at a time brings elements of calm and satisfaction.

The same stand space for each of the three years enables us to be reliably right there for our regular visitors. It also helps me to know which way I am driving the car and which way I need to walk to get to the things I need. It’s a large site and my sense of direction is a little askew at times so knowing where I am going is super reassuring for me! And as I type this I realise how lucky I am that Kath draws up the plan, gets everything ready, and knows how to pack the cars so that it all fits in. I can copy this once I have seen it, but I would struggle to do this from scratch.

We have developed the art of being steady in our set up and we both know that we will be physically tired that evening. We also know there is likely to be a time when it feels like hard work and we need to pause to drink more water and stand still to stretch our backs out before completing the job. Last year I was training to walk up Snowdon and I realise I haven’t been quite so determined with my walking since then. I don’t need another mountain to climb at the moment, but I think I have just reminded myself that my goal could be to walk myself to better fitness that will hold me in good stead for everyday things! If you’ve ever noticed that your favourite jeans feel a little too tight or tying your shoes seems a little bit too much of a bending effort then you will probably empathise!

Being at a yarn show with hundreds of people is a complete contrast to my one-to-one coaching or the times when it’s just me writing poetry, but there is also a lovely cross over with my values of being helpful, listening to people and taking time for reflection. And this week while simply being in a showground I have felt the lovely tingle of tears of happiness in my eyes when recounting moments that have brought me pure joy in my life and listening to other people tell me theirs. I have laughed a lot and remembered to stay in the moment because after all it is the moment that counts. Oh, and I remembered to still myself and say thank you when complimented by a stranger so that I actually got to feel the complete glow of how that feels.

Here’s to finding the ways we laugh with others, supporting those we love and being ourselves in the moment.

Graphene, from my first collection Magnifying Glass, is shining in my mind as a great poem with which to end this blog…for the wonder of celebrating the shine and the marvel of being human.

Graphene

Perhaps, before their pencil, in that building

it was in me – that flat form carbon atom;

hexagonally honeycombed
undiscovered and waiting.

And before that, did it come from a star?

Maybe it was once inside you.
You are a study in graphene:
cleaved graphite, harder than diamond,

stronger than steel.

Exceptional.

SLOW DOWN

Screenshot

This morning the air is filled with the scent of grass and the sound of birdsong. A blue sky is welcoming the day, and promising warmth soon.

Alt text tells me this week’s photo is a road with words painted on it. It is indeed and it is a photo of what I call the country road where the words SLOW/ARAF are painted. I walked to this area yesterday to take a photo for today’s blog, but the words were very faded so I am using a photo which I think I took during my lockdown walks. Slow is a timely reminder for me right now.

Having talked recently about how important it is to balance self-care and to notice what you need, it almost surprised me that I wasn’t listening to myself. (I say ‘almost’ because I definitely heard the whisper of, you need a couple of early nights!And instead of acknowledging the whisper I chose to ignore it. So my thinking went a bit like this… Feeling a bit more tired than usual? Push on through. Ocular migraine? Have some water and then carry on computing. Unmotivated to prepare dinner from scratch? Bung something in the oven and add peas, and oh yes, carrots because that’ll ramp it up towards the five a day.

And the message from the universe came when said carrots were getting peeled. And I was rushing because I just wanted it done because then I could…uh oh! I temporarily mistook my left index finger for a carrot and managed to potato peel its tip. The fact it was THAT finger made me feel a bit wobbly so after I had rinsed it and hidden it under some firmly gripped kitchen roll, I chopped the carrots nice and small so they would be done in the same time as the peas, and then got Kath to pop a plaster on it to seal it back down so I wouldn’t see it. (THAT finger being the finger I once had an ‘axecident’ with.)

In the morning it looked a little sad when I removed the plaster, but I showered and nothing much happened except it was a little sore. Magic healing, I thought until I hit it on the basin when cleaning my teeth. And then the world went a little narrower than usual and much blacker.

Thank goodness for a wife who bounces out of bed on her only lie-in day, a local minor injuries unit and the kind and gentle nurse who helped me clean it up, applied steri-strips, popped a bandage over it, and told me I wasn’t making a fuss.

So this week I will be re-establishing the joy of focusing on one thing at a time. I will also be remembering to pause for stillness when I can hear that I am carrying a whole conversation of thoughts around in my head. I will be taking time to think about what needs setting down, and what it is that I need to pay attention to. And for an easy and quick reminder, I will be binning all the shoulds. They are definitely not helpful with their not good enough, critical tone. I will instead be thinking about my coulds and exploring their potential benefits and how they match with my wants rather than giving myself a hard time.

And if you see me peeling carrots in the future you will probably notice that I am intentionally quite mindful about it. Here’s to the art of zen peeling and listening to what we need.

I do of course have times when I truly revel in the way my mind can ask lots of questions and go off at different tangents in response to each one. So for this week’s poem I am choosing to share again one that I wrote after tidying my desk one evening. During the day I had been coaching and had also reviewed a list of coaching questions. I wanted to organise my workspace and spend some time with my own creative writing to unwind. One of the questions on the papers I was filing away was: ‘What would you like to achieve?’ This question continued to echo in my head after my desk was clear so I used it as the title and set to writing…

WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO ACHIEVE?

A gold medal pings into my mind as the question lands between us in the silence. But I can’t say gold medal because I don’t know exactly what I want it for. My mind pictures me standing there at the award ceremony, bowing my head forward a little in readiness for the presentation. The ribbon brushes my hair, and I feel the warmth of the fingers of the woman transferring the medal as her hands knock against my ears. My head is cumbersome. People with cumbersome heads shouldn’t be getting medals. The applause suddenly feels false, and I didn’t even hear the start of it. I need to hear the beginning of the congratulatory clap. I need to be in the moment. I change my wish. I want a gold medal that fits easily over my head. No, I know what I want… I want a head that fits through the gap in a medal ribbon without causing a kerfuffle for the person handling the ceremony. I want it all to look flawless so everyone remembers me standing on that podium being given a medal. Given, that’s an interesting word. Medals are won not given. Not in a tombola, one in a hundred chance kind of way. You earn a medal by setting a goal and working on it. Over and over again until you are the best you can be. There’s that question again, What would you like to achieve?