Sue Finch

LOGANBERRIES

This morning the air smells of minty toothpaste and traffic. It has elements of autumnal coolness in it as the sun begins to establish itself in the sky.

Alt text is not available to offer a suggestion for this week’s photo content. I say it is Ronnie having a photo shoot with some hotel curtains as background in order to add some interest and depth to some hurried photos of blackberries and raspberries.

In the back garden whilst marvelling at how a great forest of borage self-seeds each year I noticed that the autumn fruiting raspberries were beginning to ripen. This had me spinning me back in time to my nan giving me my first loganberry. I loved this large firm fruit with its clearly hollowed core and the way it brought my favourite taste of raspberries and mixed this with the depth of blackberries without bringing the tartness of those bramble fruits. I loved those hands that offered it to me and the love that always radiated from my nan.

Fruit seems to grow best in our garden these days. But a lot of it has ripened well ahead of time this hot summer. Recently we made a sauce out of the few blackcurrants that hadn’t spoiled in the heat and even though I added sugar and served it with sweet ice-cream it was very tart. Good to have used the berries though and to have grown them ourselves.

We have a number of rhubarb crowns newly planted in different places in the garden and the one in the shadiest, slopiest part of the garden is doing the best so far. In this dry weather it has the best chance of getting the benefit of the sparse rain and not drying out too quickly, and I think it will be well-established next season. There’s something about rhubarb crumble that delights me, and to have it freely available feels like a blessing. These new crowns all come from our neighbour’s garden. We originally split our crown to give some to Jack who lived next door so he too had a ready supply to enjoy and share with his family. His crown really took off (becoming about 2 metres in diameter) and ours did not do so well. When Jack sadly died and the house was sold we asked if we could split his crown again in order to keep the rhubarb going. Hence a number of crowns now dotted around our garden that we are enjoying looking after.

The weekend included our second visit to a yarn show in Newcastle. It is lovely to return to a familiar setting, and to talk with returning customers as well as to meet new people. If you’ve followed this blog for a while you will know I love the conversations that arrive from being in such a setting, and there were many during the days we were there. Here’s a comment I am delighted to set down because it was an instant response that came about after I had read a poem out loud – who’d have thought such things could happen just like that in the yarn world – “It’s like a real one. It’s deep.” That’s a great critique of a poem heard for the first time, and it made my heart sing.

Here’s to conversations, impromptu poetry reading, growing good things and to enjoying fruits when they are in season. I now can’t resist sharing my loganberry poem. This poem was first published by Feral A Journal of Poetry and Art in 2024, and it is one of those prose poems that I simply loved writing because it flowed and seemed to want to take its place on the page in front of my very eyes!

WIKIPEDIA SAYS THE LOGANBERRY WAS ACCIDENTALLY CREATED IN 1881 IN SANTA CRUZ, BY THE AMERICAN JUDGE AND HORTICULTURIST JAMES HARVEY LOGAN

But I tell you that Logan had a paintbrush from a magic colouring book. The kind where the pictures come alive when you brush them with water. Where the dinosaurs are speckled grey and you can just use that one brush and there they are in colour – slightly faded I’ll grant you, but that’s the payoff for not having the mess of paints. I say he bought one of those thinking it would bring back happy memories of his childhood, but that once it was in his hand, he had a different idea. How in his garden he had the perfect long-fruited raspberry. How his fingertips held the memories of berries yielding to his gentle pull, leaving their white cones behind. That he headed out of his back door with that yellow, plastic-handled brush, and walked whistling to the hedgerow where the wild blackberries grew. That he smiled as he tickled the pollen from the flowers. That when he looked at those huge berries on the brambles, he was imagining the combination he could make. How he was predicting the exact depth of colour in his head when he transferred those yellow speckles from the rough-ended bristles to the starred stigmas of his raspberries. I tell you he hurried because he imagined that if he didn’t, a bee might do it first. You say, But it couldn’t have been a plastic-handled brush in 1881.

IT’S TIN, IT’S POTTERY, IT’S PEARL

This morning the warm air brings the scent of coffee underscored by rich dark chocolate. I stand still to linger in the moment and breathe deeply.

Alt text says this week’s photo is of a stuffed animal in a bush of yellow flowers. I say it is Ronnie ‘pre-cataracts’ ignoring the fact that there are lots of spines on gorse bushes while posing for a photo at The Great Orme. This is also the photo for August on the #LookThere calendar this year. The photograph was taken during my MA when I was exploring locations for my video poems as part of my reading poetry aloud project. The project included putting together a collection of short poems which could then be read by me and by someone else. The idea was to compare the two readings and also address my nerves around reading out loud. It was a fun and interesting way to explore poetry performance, and I have fond memories of bringing the work together and of the people who took time to record my words. Each poem was 14 lines which made it the right kind of length for a quick and simple recording. This also reminds me of the times I would want to improve my skills by reading aloud at an open mic, but thought that choosing the shortest poem possible was the only way to combat my nervousness. Reader, it wasn’t the answer. Finding my tribe and finding my voice was the way forward.

My week has included some lovely opportunities to send and write anniversary poems. I was very proud to have set aside time to write one for L and O, but had counted too many years so they received a ‘tin’ poem when it should have been pottery. The kettle then went on, and I sharpened my brain to compose the correct kind of poem for their ninth anniversary instead. Pleasingly I managed it just in time. The week also included thirty years of marriage for R and S. I didn’t know until I saw a post on social media, but it felt serendipitous because I had been wanting to write a pearl anniversary poem for a while. I thoroughly enjoyed having the right inspiration to be creative right there and then, and I was delighted when the poem was well-received. It was also the first poem written entirely at my newly restored writing desk. There’s something special about writing in a dedicated space, and although I like the portability of my laptop and the joy of having a notes app on my phone and a good range of notebooks that mean that I can take my writing anywhere, I also love the ritual of desk writing. So all in all it’s been a lovely week of gifting words and of extending the number of poems I have created to celebrate the symbolism of different anniversaries.

I walked a lot during July, but didn’t quite get the ‘medal’ on my app because I missed the 30-minute brisk walking target on one occasion. I love the fact that I nearly succeeded and the feeling of getting back into the rhythm of walking. I have listened to a range of albums recently whilst strolling, but I still return to the joy of Mary Chapin Carpenter’s Personal History. For me this album continues to be the perfect accompaniment to my solo walks more than a year after its initial release.

This week I choose to share a poem that was written some years ago, after a boat trip from Whitby harbour which had me reflecting on how courageous my grandad was for all the time he spent on the seas and oceans.

WHITBY’S OLD LIFEBOAT

Last trip round the harbour!

The sailor announces the end of the afternoon.

Grandad would approve –

out on the water, breathing sea air,

catching spray on skin and hair.

Salt water in his veins, not blood,

Nan said.

Or, on another day,

Always down the bloody seafront!

Pushing aside the smell of fish

and the vastness of that water

we paid our money,

expecting a life jacket as well as a seat.

Silently disappointed, we headed out.

The straight route out of the harbour was fine

until Whitby became a postcard.

One minute the waves were rolling over,

offering us their bellies,

the next they were rising solid grey,

lifting us, dropping us down.

They threatened to throw me out,

fill my eyes with seaweed and brine,

send my lover north, my bag west.

My stomach quivered;

I was the wrong kind of petrified.

I wanted to be a breakwater; ancient wood

salted over time,

aged, steadfast.

The old lifeboat was a fairground pirate ship

and I was clinging on:

fixing my smile,

picturing a hammock

and an Arctic Convoy Star.

HUMANNESS

This morning the ground has been dampened by rain for the first time in ages and the air is all roses and rosemary.

Alt text says this week’s image is a colourful background with words. I say it is a page from a carousel created by Maxine Bell for The Association of Business Poets. I also say I love it.

Since becoming a founding member of The Association of Business Poets I have thoroughly enjoyed the thinking that has been involved. As a group we have been able to meet online and spend time working on our values. This is an area that is of huge interest to me. When I started my coaching qualification in 2023, I loved the sessions centred around thinking about personal values for life and work. I had not focused in on this with such intensity as an individual before and it taught me so much about me as a person, and about how I find balance and joy. For The Association of Business Poets, a facilitated session with our CEO, Kate Jenkinson, and founding members enabled us to reflect on our individual values and then on the values for this newly formed group. It brought back memories of productive coaching sessions where I discussed and rated my personal values with colleagues whilst working on my Level 7 Coaching Diploma. What also shone out was the importance of holding our own values separately from the values of a newly formed organisation. Of course some will feature in both these sets, but when you’re working as part of a group you are thinking about the entity of the group. There’s some great thinking right there in all of that. There is something particularly special about work around values and vision in an organisation for me because whenever you give something of yourself to this kind of work you are setting down something in the present that is also fully for people in the future. For me that’s a wonderful feeling of paving the way for others.

Humanness is one of the values that we have decided upon, and just look at the words that surround this value… I hope they make your heart sing as much as they do mine. I didn’t use this term as one of my values three years ago, but I am pretty sure it’s going in my personal top five now. Look how beautifully it goes with poetry and think how wonderful it is when it is also evident in the world of business. I can’t think of a better way of ensuring that the people you work with give the best of themselves and recognise their own value than by having humanness in the mix.

Descendant from my first poetry collection Magnifying Glass seems an apt choice for this week’s poem, and if you’re in a sharing mood I’d love to know what you are descended from or what values are most important to you.

DESCENDANT

I am descended from smugglers.

I hold the darkness of tunnels inside me;

hushed voices, past midnight, alert my ears.

I am descended from strong-armed men,

the readers of the sea.

I am descended from those who roam.

I hold the restlessness of wild words;

dawn hours tempt me with their with offers of peace.

I am descended from storied women,

the tellers of old tales.

I am descended from the unknown.

I hold onto sunsets, dark dreams

and forests.

Reckless whispers ride my thoughts

the essence of my being.

POEMS TO MATCH A TEATOWEL

This morning I have to wait for the cool breeze to blow towards me. When it does it brings rosemary and grass. Before that the first scent hanging in the air is curry powder and spices, and I remember clearing the out-of-date jars and stacking them in the recycling box by the front door.

At text says this week’s photo is a stuffed animal in the air. This is true, but I also say it is Ronnie jumping for joy and somersaulting on the promenade at Prestatyn. It is also a celebration of a moment in time and the sea in all its churned up grey-brown glory.

A coastal walk to blow the cobwebs off is always on my list of self-care things to do, and this week’s trip to the seaside did the trick. I like walking in my local town, and I like walking in the forest nearby, but there is a particular joy to walking at the coast that delights me. The fresh air, the sound of the waves and the ever-changing view as the tide comes in or goes out offer the kind of refreshment that reaches mind, body and soul.

My brain felt as though it was crammed full of ideas this week as I set about writing some new anniversary poems. I have always loved my anniversary tea towel which shows me the traditional symbol for each wedding anniversary, and I have enjoyed choosing specific presents over the years for my wife that match these. However it was when I was asked to write a poem for a husband to give to his wife on their jade anniversary that I became determined to do more anniversary poetry writing. I was flattered to be asked and to be recognised as a poet who could turn their hand to such things and I crafted the words carefully. This then got me thinking about using poems as small gifts or for cards for people I knew. They were well received, and I felt myself at the beginnings of a slowly evolving project. I recently had the opportunity to bring the jade poem to a different couple, and then when I was working on a different poem last week I had the idea that it would be super cool to have written a poem for all of the anniversaries. A great idea, but when I slowed down a little I realised this doesn’t exactly tie in with the way I write. I need time and I had to shake off my feeling that I wanted them all done in the next couple of days like a set of Pokémon ready to be collected. And of course there is more to it than preparing the poems. On my website each digital download sits behind a ‘label’ and it was making these labels that sent me into a whirl of believing I sort of knew how to do it, asking Kath to remind me how to do it, doing it successfully and then needing to change a background colour and promptly forgetting how I had done it! All that kept me amused for quite some time and perhaps that puts into context why a walk beside the sea was the perfect treat this week.

Thinking of the properties of some metals and precious stones while writing this week set me thinking about the poem I wrote early on in my MA. It featured in A New Manchester Alphabet, and because I asked my brother to tell me some facts about graphene to enhance my scientific knowledge before I set to work it became a love poem for him. And because I have shared this poem on my blog recently, I will also include a poem about 316L stainless steel (also not on the tea towel) which was first published in a Molecules Unlimited Anthology.

Here’s to all the poems that celebrate moments and love.

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.

L Stands for Low

316L stainless steel – a love poem

They say you can’t be easily damaged

that you can be bent into different shapes

and forms.

But before they take you to the sea

they need to consider

how submerged you might become

and whether you will let yourself

be rinsed by the rain.

CRUSHED LOVE HEARTS

This morning a cool breeze feels like a refreshing contrast after a super-hot weekend. It brings with it only the smell of smoke.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a person taking a selfie. It is indeed and it is me taking a selfie in front of part of Kath’s stand at Wolverhampton Racecourse. I was looking to see if I could find a good angle for our pre-show photo while she was having a wander round, and I rather like this picture so I kept it!

This show gave us the hottest temperatures for a show set up that we have ever seen, and I could definitely feel the importance of staying hydrated! Lunch at shows is always peanut butter in rolls – easy to prepare wherever we are staying and a nice simple protein hit. Often there are chocolate bar snacks in the lunch bag too. I always used to have one of these in the late afternoon when things were getting quieter on the sales front, but this was not a sensible option this time given the temperatures so I decided that love heart sweets would make a satisfying alternative. I like the little sugar burst on my tongue and I enjoy the little messages (although I am not so keen on the emoji faces, but I guess they have adapted to the times for a younger audience than me). I also like the random eating of them without even reading them! In a bid to share the love during the show, I attempted to do what I used to do when I was young… crack a tube in half to share with a friend… reader the tubes these days do not snap so instead I handed over an interestingly mangled tube with some very crushed sweets in the middle.

Kath and I saw a ‘wild Tiffany’ at the show… Tiffany is one of Kath’s shawl designs, and it was lovely to see someone wearing it in beautiful shades of bluey-green. Seeing Kath’s designs in the wild is a particularly lovely part of yarn shows, as is hearing the compliments about Kath’s patterns. All this mixed in with a range of conversations with interesting people keeps each show fresh and different. I never know who I’m going to meet or what the conversations will be about, but I can guarantee there will be much to keep me amused and entertained even when I am looking after the stand on my own. I love these snippets of time and they are a great contrast to my one-to-one work or my very quiet poetry writing. I do sometimes think about taking something of my own to do in the quieter times, but actually it is rather nice just to lean into those moments and to be still and quiet surrounded by colour and pattern and collective creativity. And I chuckle now at the newly pivoting Sue three years ago who didn’t feel like they had a clue about this world of yarn shows that Kath inhabited, and who certainly didn’t think it was possible to look after the stand for afternoons at a time. And now here I am ready, willing and able!

Here’s a poem I wrote some years ago about that feeling of not fitting in…

Clapping

You can hear your own clapping

louder than anyone else’s.

You are not matching the rhythm

of anyone in this room.

Soon they will be looking at you

willing you to stop.

You try to change the way

your hands hit one another

but you cannot unhollow the sound.

A BANDSTAND HAT TRICK FOR A SKYLARKER

This morning the air smells of summer. It is warm and brings fuchsia and clover. It is the kind of air that hugs you as you step outside.

Alt text says this week’s photo is of a person standing in front of a microphone. And it is. My gratitude to Neil Henderson for capturing this moment in time where I am reading my poems from the bandstand at Oswestry Pride. I often look rather (for rather read incredibly) serious in photos so it’s good to have this one!

This was my third reading from that bandstand, and I love having been part of the event since it started in 2024. I also love the fact that when I reflected on reading there the first time it was my wish to be invited back. And now I can celebrate a hat trick. It was also nice that people took time to compliment me on my poems. I like a compliment along the way.

And I’ve done some learning over time. I know now to adjust the mic and to take my time. The first time I read with a microphone I was too scared to touch it which meant I stood on tiptoe all the way through the reading in order to have my mouth in the right place. I also thought that I should be ready to start reading as soon as I was at the mic which didn’t allow me to take a breath and settle myself. I’ve sorted those things out now and am now focusing on finding the best way to be able to see my words and also be able to see members of the audience. The majority of my poetry sharing happens online. Each month I record a poem of the month for my YouTube channel and I seem to do far more online poetry sharing in zoom rooms than out-in-the-world-in-front of people readings. I also need to wear glasses to see the words, but not for longer distances. All this mixed together means I am less slick at handling my words out in the world, and it always seems to surprise me that I can’t scroll the lines in front of my eyes when I am standing in front of people.

This week has seen a number of poems flying back to me from various places they had been sent. I am good now at seeing this as a chance to read the poems afresh to work out what needs changing in order to enhance them. One particular poem had a clunky line in the middle where I definitely knew what I meant, but that didn’t necessarily mean other readers would. I enjoyed smoothing that one. I have also started to change my metaphor so I will set poems to sail now rather than fly. This is more in keeping with my desire to do things slightly more slowly and use my time wisely instead of rushing.

I sat in a sold-out lecture theatre this week to hear Ele Fountain speak and to find out who had won the Cheshire Prize for Literature. I love good speeches and was delighted to listen to Ele’s talk. I admire people who can tell their story well and add value to the audience and Ele certainly did that. I then had a quiet revelation when it came to the announcement of the prize winners – I would have loved to have won. That might sound a little obvious as a thing to say, but what I mean is I would have loved to walk down the steps after being announced as a winner. Gone were the feelings of nerves of being on show and here was a feeling of wouldn’t it be purely lovely to win. I used to sit in audiences and want to be invisible and suddenly here I was fully in the moment. I didn’t win, but I did love this new feeling. It felt like an acknowledgement of having grown into myself, and I rather liked that way of looking at it. Here I give a gentle nod to liking my silvered “really surprised hair” and to the difference coaching, and a change of direction have made.

For this week’s poem I choose to share one which was inspired by watching clouds as they skim along in the expanse above. It was originally published in One Hand Clapping. Here’s to all the watchers of clouds in the sky and the feelings it generates…

SKYLARKING

She searches the sky most days.

Never says skies;

to her that one vastness

holds so much.

Sometimes she forgets

she cannot contemplate what exists above.

There are days she wants to pull down the clouds

to build a maze.

Days she wants to swallow the small ones;

their cold candyfloss hydration.

Days she wants to lie down on the side of a hill

with someone she loves

naming every shape.

Days she thinks she would be happy

just watching everything glide by

in the colour of swans.

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.