POET FEELING PROUD

This week I had expected to be writing about the air not smelling of cow dung because it never has on a Monday morning…

Sometimes I call my mum when I am out on a walk and sometimes on these walks there is a distinct smell of cow dung. I tell her this. I like this smell. It reminds me of early family holidays on a farm in Sussex. It is one of those scents which seems perfectly organic to me. But lately that smell has been tinged with mown grass and doesn’t smell as ‘pure’. I have been telling her this too. She asked me recently why the air never seems to smell of poo in my blog, and I said it doesn’t on Monday mornings. I expected to be recounting this today and noting that it might one day, but not yet. And what do I find when I step outside this morning… the distinct scent of the cow dung from the field on the country walk! So this morning the air smells of cow poo for the first time in eighty-four blogs!

Alt text describes this week’s photo as a person holding books in front of a bush. This makes me laugh because it is exactly what it is, but it is also me with my three books which have been accepted into The Poetry Library at The Southbank Centre in London. I sent the books for consideration before Christmas last year and remember thinking it was a good mission to complete before the end of 2024. This week I saw an email in my inbox relating to this and did my ‘I need to read this through half-closed eyes in case it’s not the news I want to see’ trick! Fortunately I could unsquint my eyes to read the words again when I saw that it was an email saying the books would be included in the collection there. I felt proud and marked the moment by heading out into the garden with the books for a photo. It is good to mark moments.

I rode my pretend horse across the hall to greet fellow exhibitor Bridie on set up day of my third time at Buxton Wool Gathering because I was excited to see her and to be there once again. Last year my promise to entertain her came in the form of reading to her from Welcome to the Museum of a Life. I chose SHE PUTS ON A SPRING DRESS THE DAY THE TORTOISE COMES OUT OF HIBERNATION and discovered that she too had a tortoise named Fred when she was little. I liked riding my horse and making the associated neighing noises, and stayed committed to completing the journey across the hall despite Bridie not noticing my approach and other people giving me slightly curious looks. Even better than that though was the moment later on in the day when rode her invisible broken-wheeled scooter across the hall to see me! 

Here’s to the joy of shared laughter and here’s that poem…

SHE PUTS ON A SPRING DRESS THE DAY THE TORTOISE COMES OUT OF HIBERNATION

She sits with him on her lap

dips cotton wool into the bowl of water

balanced on the arm of the settee.

Gently and slowly, she works to unstick his eyes

trying to mask the fear

that he is not going to wake up

that he has been dead all this time.

We watch

not knowing which will fascinate us most.

When the flicker finally comes

he empties his bowels

on to her lap.

We are impressed that all this comes

from such a small creature.

She sits unmoving, as the puddle,

now larger than the tortoise itself,

begins to seep through her dress.

EMBRACING MY SHADOW

This morning the air is all sweet grass and tea rose as the cockerel announces the new day.

Alt text says this week’s image is a collage of shadows of a person’s face and a person’s head. I say it is me trying to take photos of my shadow with flowers for eyes.

I laughed when I compared the recent ‘dandelion eyes shadow photo’ with one that I took six years ago. In the older picture I had not at first noticed the flap from my camera which gave me the look of Frankenstein’s Monster. I liked the progress of my photography, but the time gap surprised me. It didn’t feel like 6 years had passed. I have a good memory for some things and this means that I often think things have happened recently even when they haven’t. I also noticed that I hadn’t paid much attention to the proportions of the human head during my art o-level, so my ability to get the eyes in a relatively anatomically correct place was not as easy as I thought it would be.

Seeing those two photos felt like a timely reminder to crack on and take some more shadow photos. My walks this week have been sunny so this gave me the perfect opportunity to experiment a little. I wanted to see if I could find different flowers for my eyes. I found buttercups. And my neck is only a little reminiscent of having a bolt in it.

Having fun with my shadow reminded me of a coaching session I had recently enjoyed which focused on my shadow side. A playful and rich exploration of parts of me that I might typically label negative, but which I could learn from. This was built on this week at a webinar where I began to contemplate other aspects and to lean into how approaching this with honesty and self-compassion would enable me to embrace the shadow. Of course then I had a range of pictures in my head of trying to wrap my arms round my shadow and this became a whole cartoon strip of its own. One of my key values being humour this did not surprise me, and perhaps it was also a way of lightening the mood when I was thinking about shadow elements. I used the thinking time of my country road walks to contemplate my shadow sides, and to build on the thoughts which arose from a conversation which took place in a breakout room on zoom.

Facing my shadows whilst in the bright sunlight of being human feels refreshing. It’s not always easy to acknowledge these aspects, but leaving them in the darkness or keeping them buried doesn’t improve things whereas thinking about their origin and how they are currently showing up becomes interesting and allows them to be talkable to.

Today I will share a poem from my second collection ‘Welcome to the Museum of a Life’ that goes well with thinking about walking along a country road.

I HATE YOU

said the cow.

Yeah, she hates you, whispered the grass,

hates you,

hates you, it swished on and on.

So, I climbed the gate.

Get off, you’re too heavy, said the gate.

Yeah, you’re gonna break us,

said the padlock on the chain.

I stepped over a large muddy puddle,

marvelled at a greeny-brown cowpat.

Imagine creating that!

Then I remembered that the cow

hated me

and I ditched my admiration.

Stop looking at me

and notice how quiet it is, stupid,

said the cowpat.

I lifted my head to the clouds,

caught the eye of a bird I couldn’t name,

saw its beak begin to open.

I wondered if the silence would shatter

like a pint glass, all splinters and nibs,

or just quietly split down the middle

like surface ice on a pond.

There’s only one of you.

The unknown bird was staring at me.

I waited for it to cock its head.

It remained still;

a totem carved in the tree.

You want me to repeat that

don’t you?

mocked a heron

standing on the path,

You think I have ancient grey wisdom

and the key to solitude.

I did.

I wanted to keep going

but as his wings opened like a prayer

I froze.

SOMEBODY’S MISSING

This morning the air has been sung in fresh by the dawn chorus. It carries hints of green and fuchsia.

Alt text suggests that this week’s photo is a person sitting on a lawn with flowers. I say it is a photo of my lovely dad and the flowers we chose to celebrate his life at his funeral.

This is the first new month that has started without my dad being here. I’ve learnt that I want to tell everyone what I learned from him. I’ve learned that one of the best things I can think of to do right now is carry forward the very special parts of him to the best of my ability. I’ve also learned that writing some of this down in a poem felt right, but that reading said poem when we gathered together to say goodbye to him required a large hanky and plenty of time for deep breaths.

I am so glad he came into my life when I was young and built us a family to be proud of. There’s so much that wouldn’t have happened without him. The slideshow that was put together of photos of him had us all looking through our photo albums so that we could bring together our favourites, these small snapshots of time brought back a huge set of memories. They play like the flickering reels of an old film in my head when I am out walking. Light evenings and dawn chorus mornings give me perfect times to walk these thoughts.

I have added the funeral service to all the ways I have been trying to say goodbye and thank you since he died, and I take comfort in the lines from Mary Chapin Carpenter’s ‘Looking for the Thread’:

“… I made a prayer from what you said
that no one is ever dead
because time and love remember…”

And I think I might be crying at Johnny Cash’s version of ‘You Are My Sunshine’ for quite some time, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.  

Here’s the poem, and I hope it gives you a flavour of my lovely dad…

SOMEBODY’S MISSING

So we’re carrying parts of him with us.

The way he took time to lay out the tools

strong-armed and patient in blue boiler suit

always prepared to check and check again.

The way he turned his head to look and smile

never minding being interrupted.

That quiet, gentle, I’m alright, thanks my love.

The time I called him

from somewhere between Crawley and Croydon.

Parked up. Feeling lost.

To hear him tell me exactly where I was

based on the wrong turns I had taken.

Steadfast, kind,

reminding me to take a breath,

look straight ahead

then keep on going.

Meeting me on a country road to lead me home.

HAIR BUNS AND PHOTO OPPORTUNITIES

This morning the air carries the scent of warmed green leaves. It is both comforting and fresh.

Alt text offers no spontaneous suggestions for this week’s photo. I say it is a four-picture montage of my time at Wonderwool Wales. The selfie picture top left makes it look like I have a hair bun which we didn’t notice at the time of taking it and sharing it on Kath’s social media, but we are happy and ready for showtime and I sort of know what that hairstyle might look like for future consideration! Top right shows Ronnie taking the opportunity to have his photograph with the lovely Bridie who delighted me by asking to meet him. She said he wasn’t as big as she had thought he would be from seeing his other photos on social media which made us laugh. The bottom left photo shows me feeling delighted and proud when some visitors who came to say hello to Kath asked for a photo of me at the stand. And the final photo was taken when show ended with giggle time with Liz – a joyful photo of Kath and I as we all celebrated a successful show.

This was the second year of exhibiting at Wonderwool Wales, and it was lovely to arrive and set up the stand in the same spot as last time. The familiarity and routine of this helped me settle in quickly and begin to prepare for the busy weekend ahead. Having my bearings from the outset felt good and meant that I could focus on showcasing all the designs with Kath.

As you may know I sometimes like to take a look back before looking forward when there are particular milestones, so I spent a little time reflecting on last year’s event before heading off this time. Last year I did not leave Hall 3 because it was the biggest show I had been to, and I wanted to keep all my energy and focus on the sorting and selling.

This year I was looking forward to meeting new people as well as catching up with people I know. I wanted to say hello to people I knew before each day began rather than just stay in my space. I also wanted to visit the show sheep like I used to when I was a visitor to the show. In those days I spent quite a bit of time looking at and talking to the sheep because I would have completed my looking at yarn and yarn related things more quickly than Kath. I love the colours, the stories behind the yarn and the other goodies on display, but I don’t spend as long as Kath exploring each stand.

This year Ali, who I chatted to about poetry last time, was there again and I was delighted when she came over to say hello and let me know that she was still enjoying dipping into my poetry book. Other conversations from new people I met included the joy of dawn chorus, the wonderful Dolly Parton, and finding time to treat yourself as kindly as you do others. I love all these things and it was good to converse with so many like-minded people.

The lodge we stayed in was in a wooded area and I was able to practice using my new head torch (perfect for watching the rabbits in the fields) as well as being immersed in the sound of dawn chorus each morning. I have been thinking about dawn chorus a lot lately. The beauty of this moment in each day, the way it becomes so magnificent at this time of year, how wonderful it feels to stand in the start of a new day or a new venture, and how it feels when darkness breaks. In celebration of all of that I will share ‘It is Not About Dawn’ from my first collection Magnifying Glass.

IT IS NOT ABOUT DAWN

It is about that moment

before the dark time breaks,

being present in the silence,

standing still in an exact moment.

It is all about when that first bird sings,

first light,

the fact that there is an order

that layer upon layer

sculpts the day’s beginning.

It is about discovering how long it takes

before the crow starts to echo back

with his rough

cruck, cruck.

TWO SISTERS AND A COW

This morning the air brings the distinct smell of cut grass. The birds have turned up their dawn chorus songs these last few days and are welcoming the mornings with a vigour that is admirable.

Alt text tells me this week’s photo is ‘two women taking a selfie in front of a cow’. I say it is my sister and I on a country walk encouraging a cow to be in our photo after we have told it how beautiful we think it is.

I have been reminded about a couple of things on recent walks:

Number one: Being dehydrated is not good for me. I often talk to the creatures I see on my walks, but when I was dehydrated recently I became judgemental and called a squirrel naughty and told a sheep it looked like a badger. My sister recounts school days where one orange squash drink and maybe a metallic sip from the water fountain were her drinks for the day. How much better we are at hydrating now. I know I feel much better when I am properly hydrated, and I am definitely more conversational with the wildlife (and indeed humans) as a result.

Number two: If you want to climb mountains it’s a good idea to practise by walking some hills! I have not included enough inclines in my Snowdon training and it is going to be important to rectify this ahead of September so that I can hold a conversation as I climb and don’t feel completely heavy-legged when things are steep. I had kept my focus on brisk minutes and increasing the length of walk whilst neglecting the uphill part. On reflection I was finding a comfortable sense of achievement in my improved walking fitness on the flat and forgetting to challenge myself.

The Great Orme and Moel Famau give me two good places to practice my hill walking. Pleasingly on a recent adventure with my sister I was able to be pretty good about climbing the wrong hill and then going down it and climbing the right one! My sense of direction is not very well tuned and the fact that I thought I had once climbed The Great Orme by starting at a particular point in Happy Valley had me confidently telling Katie which path we needed to take. It was only when we got to the top and noticed The Orme was on our right and not under our feet that I realised I was wrong. Down we went and off we set on the proper path. I got my steps in that day. And I also enjoyed walking with her up Moel Famau on a sunny day and am glad she said let’s do the steep route because it felt like another good adventure.

On a more sedentary day recently I set off to meet some friends in Costa. It was one I hadn’t been to before so I looked it up the night before and when I got in my car thought I had pressed the right button to take me to it. I thought I sort of knew where it was so when my directions seemed to be taking me the wrong way I pressed the button and stated, drive to Costa and a branch a mile away was suggested which seemed about right. Wrong! It was an express shop in a garage! I realised taking a stop and a breath and a proper look at the map was beneficial so I did just that and worked it out from there. I wouldn’t be without my sat nav, but I think I can also help myself by looking at the maps properly before setting off. I was still on time because I always leave early for things!

There was a lovely moment when I got out of my car and saw someone smiling at me. I momentarily thought I knew them so smiled back before realising they were a stranger to me. We each smiled at one another again and this encouraged me to go and speak to them. I explained that I was feeling lost and they shared that they were looking for a friend and they too weren’t entirely sure they were in the right place. It felt good to have a shared experience –  an unexpected mini connection with someone. It’s good to talk.

I have chosen ‘Walking to Moel Arthur’ from my first collection ‘Magnifying Glass’ to read because it frames a moment in time when walking in the hills…

Walking to Moel Arthur

We packed the rucksack

with more than tissues and water

tied our boots, checked the laces.

On the way up

we stopped looking at our watches

let time surround us.

But at lunchtime

I worried that if I sat down

I wouldn’t get up;

where we were going seemed so far.

The sun, diluted and dipping,

threatened to leave our muscles cold.

We did not really speak

as we ate our separate lunches,

mine seemed bland and I didn’t ask about yours.

I only sipped my water

as I studied the path ahead;

narrowing and bending,

hiding its end.

I couldn’t tell if we were halfway to our halfway.

I wanted to read your mind,

were you for giving up?

I wanted to ask you,

If we turn back, will we ever come here again?

SPRING FORWARD

This morning the air brings a whole symphony of floral notes playing on the cool fresh air. It is as if I am smelling it in shades of pinks.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a person holding a cake. I say it is a photo of my lovely mum posing for a photo with her cake to celebrate her birthday. I also say it was an absolute delight to share tea and cake time with her.

The title of today’s blog, or its longer version ‘Spring Forward, Fall Back’, always helps me to remember which way the clocks go when the seasonal change of hour is due. Strange to still need this after all the years of changing the clocks, but it definitely helps me. So many of the regular clocks I look at change themselves these days so it is often a surprise to see those that don’t. I confess I rely on my wife to change the oven clock, but am at least proficient in remembering which button to press in the car to bring up the clock change display! I do like waking up and seeing that my phone tells me the actual time, and that I don’t have to physically watch that hour tick away.

I love the way this change welcomes in spring and I also love ‘gaining the hour back’ in the autumn. In the autumn I like deciding what to use that extra hour for, and realise now that I have often thought of the spring change as a bit of lost sleep! This might be why I decided to change my alarm by half an hour on a couple of occasions this week. Perhaps I was subconsciously banking the hour in advance.

Making sure I positively framed the change of clocks this season I set my alarm for the usual waking up time, resisted the temptation to hit snooze, and got straight into the shower. My mum and I agreed that this was a good way of springing forward into the new day since the change of hour was going to happen whatever we thought of it! (And yes I chuckled at the fact that I still need to have this same approach to getting up on days when the clocks don’t change and that sometimes I still sneak in a snooze or two.)

Imagine my delight too when on clock change day there was time for a bonus couple of hours with wonderful friends to walk along the seafront before sitting on a bench taking in the sea view whilst catching up with each other’s news.

It seems apt to share The Week the Clocks Change. Here’s to finding the joy in spring as it unfolds its new season…

THE WEEK THE CLOCKS CHANGE

Summer beckons us forward with a smile.

A gentle hypnotic sway to her hips

erases last year’s jellyfish memories.

And in stomachs that have slumbered,

somersaults of love begin to turn again.

And a link to a seemingly younger me (perhaps 10 or so clock changes ago) reading this as one of the first poetry videos I made. I love that I taped the poem onto Kath’s chest and read it on location at The Little Orme…

A POCKETFUL OF TYRE VALVE COVER THINGS

Screenshot

Alt Text says this week’s photo is a group of black plastic caps on a wood surface. I say it is a set of new thingummyjigs to cover the tyre pressure valves. I have decided to use these to replace the mismatched ones I have seen too many times in the last ten days. I was also short of a full set having forgotten they were in my pocket and scattered them in the dark at a service station whilst needing to check my tyre pressures for the 9th time in 10 days! I can recommend Corley services as having a pressure machine that works if you need one. I won’t bore you with a list of the places I have stopped with out of order machines!

This morning the birds are particularly tuneful in their dawn chorus and seem to have sung in the scent of the cow fields. I am reminded of a family holiday when I was very young where eating cereal with the freshest cow’s milk on was a brand new treat. I can picture the cockerel logo with its bright green and red revealed at the bottom of the bowl at the end of the eating, and the distinct yellow tinge to the thicker than usual milk. I remember too missing the birth of a calf because I was bored waiting for it to happen and went to lie on my bed. I saw it licked to standing and finding its first steadiness later on.

I am currently assisting with editing the next Sidhe Press anthology. The theme for this one is Grief and the submissions have come from a wide range of angles. All poems carry the poet’s unique view, but here there is something specifically tender about the words that are set down for us to read. Taking that first read of someone’s writing is a privilege and a joy, and editing always has me eager to see the poems that are sent in for consideration.  Having said that there is a need to take things slowly and give each poem its own space in time.

There is a wonderful tingle when certain lines from a poem continue to echo in my head after reading, and I love that feeling of resonance. There are also always poems that are very good in their own right but don’t fit the arc of the anthology as it forms. These have to be let go, but I know they will find their actual home somewhere else. I had heard this from editors before and having experienced it myself I can see more clearly now what they were referring to. Parts have to fit the whole so that the poems weave themselves into the whole journey of the book and make that arc. Some poems talk to each other along the way.

Every time I have had a reading or editing role it helps me to look at my own writing in a slightly different way. This enables me to be more and more willing to cut and rearrange. It also helps me to be able to view a poem as if it is not mine and read it afresh in a different way from when it is forming on the page. That said I will be editing some poems that have flown back to me this week including the ones that tried their luck at the National Poetry Competition, and I look forward to sending them out again to see if they find their homes after a new viewing and the subsequent trim and tidy. This will be a nice distraction from checking my tyre pressures and willing the light not to keep displaying itself on motorway journeys that would feel much nicer without that strange orange symbol.

Here’s a poem I wrote after watching a cow on the way to work one morning:

A COW’S BOAST

Look how my breath adds sway to these leaves,

watch it plume in puffs in early morning air.

See how I lick things,

curl this thick muscle.

I can tame the drip that hangs from my nose.

The ‘o’s of my nostrils soft and warm

before the rasp of tongue on fence splinters.

Crows settle on my back. I let them ride

a gentle swayed rhythm above the mud.

JELLY

This morning the air is fresh and carries a tint of laundry detergent.

If alt text was offering a suggestion I think it would say this week’s photo is a picture of two people smiling. It is a selfie photo of Kath and I at the East Anglia Yarn Festival readying for Day 1. This was the first time the day has completely flown by for me. My second year of proper helping at shows so I reckon I am in the swing now and it can be added to the list of things I know how to do. I have come a long way from my initial wondering of ‘how do I actually manage to be there all day and make good conversation as well as know enough about knitting to be fully reliable?’ I learned by doing,and doing again. I recognised and celebrated my progress even when the steps were tiny. I kept going.

My people haven’t all been in the right places this week and when your people aren’t in the right places everything wobbles. Mix that in with a phone that stops connecting to the car for sat nav and a need to travel to unfamiliar places and it’s like trying to stand up on a waterbed to unscrew a light bulb. This week has been a time to think about what it is that steadies the wobble just enough…

It’s all the little things… efficient, friendly service from professionals, forgiving yourself for neglecting the visual check of your tyres, updated playlists, a new phone, three new tyres, remembering to take several deep breaths, keeping calm when you realise it was the settings in the phone not the phone, a compliment in an email, a WhatsApp message of support, hugs in a text, a lift in a car, keeping calm when your tyre pressure light comes on, remembering not to panic when three service stations in a row have dysfunctional tyre pressure machines, your favourite quick grab toastie, someone calling out your tyre pressures at the garage. It’s spending time with your family. And sometimes it’s actual ice-cream and jelly.

I remember my realisation as a child that Mr Jelly was not really Mr Jelly by the end of the book, and then thinking that if writers thought of the titles when they had written the books then perhaps the title wasn’t the right one. I also remember thinking that this thought was interesting in itself, but that the story was all about Mr Jelly and his development. I loved the way the character changed in shape. I loved that this illustration surprised me. I loved how there could be bravery inside even when things were shaky. Maybe this was the beginnings of my learning that emotions aren’t fixed. And now as I scan the titles in my mind I remember that I could taste the sausages when I read Mr Greedy, and I once cut the grass in the back garden with safety scissors which might be a throwback to Mr Neat.

Thinking about Mr Men led me to wonder which character came to mind for other people. I started by asking Tanya, one of the lovely vendors at the wool show, and for her Mr Tickle was first to mind because she could have benefited from his arms to reach the yarn from the van when unloading! The second person I asked also named Mr Tickle, with a cautionary warning around consent. Someone found my question rather random which I totally get since we had only recently met! I myself do like a random question for its “Oooh factor” but recognise it can also generate an “Oh”! There was also a vote for Little Miss Chatterbox and a mention of Mr Bump!

This week I am sharing Whitby’s Old Lifeboat because it fits the theme of holding on when feeling scared and because it honours my grandad.

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.

WALKING WITH MY SHADOW

This morning the cat from across the road sings me three hellos while the air brings us gentle elements of spring.

Alt Text says this week’s photo is a shadow of a person on a road. I say this is me out on the country lane walking with my shadow. I liked the length of my shadow on this particular day and wanted to capture the spring sunshine. Whilst walking I had been pondering the way people sometimes look as though they are taking their shadow for a walk and sometimes look as though they are walking with their shadow. I was also thinking how I picture the metaphorical road I walk differently on different days. Can you begin to imagine the number of tangents this took my thoughts off into?

I don’t always remember to take many photos and was incredibly grateful to the person I sat next to at the recent Mary Chapin Carpenter concert for sending me some photos they had taken. I don’t think I will forget the experience of being at the concert, but it is very special to have some visual reminders of the event.

I didn’t dress as Noddy or Thing 3 for World Book Day this year, but I did see the Gruffalo in the forest whilst out walking with a friend. The walk also had essence of searching for a Heffalump in the Hundred Acre Wood when we suddenly realised that we were in fact striding out to walk round the same route again. I don’t have a very good sense of direction, but can read a Pokémon Go map and am reasonably adept at following posts with arrows on them. I also find large landmarks incredibly helpful, and luckily there was a lake on the walk which helped us orientate ourselves. Walking and talking in the fresh air saw a couple of hours fly past which reminded me of a long chat I recently had over a cup of coffee. It seemed that all of a sudden the chairs were being put up ready for floor mopping, and we had sat down at lunch time! I love these kinds of conversations where time comes as a surprise, and I love the fact that there are now days in my week where these things can glide into being.

It was an absolute delight to find out that two of my poems had been shared at a World Book Day event. I felt a wonderful glow of pride when I was told. I always wondered whether something like this would happen and now I know it actually has. I tip my metaphorical hat to the sharers of words and to the fact that His Gun was performed from memory. I don’t have the skill to do that with my work, and can only recite very, very short poems that rhyme!

I will share His Gun with you because it comes from a time when I did dress up for World Book Day, and I am grateful for all the experiences this gave me during my time working in a variety of different schools. It is also one of the poems from my ‘tape the poems to Kath so I can see the words while she records me’ phase of YouTube which makes me smile.

HIS GUN

for the schoolboy who entered my office without really announcing himself

He shoots.

She is falling,

staggering,

clutching herself.

Her hip seems to disappear.

She stumbles, hits the floor, stills.

He watches,

so silent he stops the air from moving,

her closed eyes flicker to find him.

He searches his words,

they both stare at it hanging from his limp hand.

He meets her gaze, speaks –

It’s just a banana, he tells her.

I DON’T KNOW

This morning the herring gulls are laughing and the air smells cleansed. I stand still in the moment and feel gratitude for last night’s Mary Chapin Carpenter concert and the clear starlit sky that ended the day.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a person smiling with a scarf around their neck. I say it is me modelling The Imperial Cowl by Kath Andrews Designs and enjoying having my photo taken.

Whilst wondering which poem I would like to record for ‘Poem of the Month’ for my YouTube channel I found myself thinking about what Alan Parry wrote about one of my poems about grief.In his review of Welcome to the Museum of a Life he says: “I Don’t Know explores the uncertainty of loss with a quiet, devastating honesty: “I don’t know if biting one by one / through a dozen budded tulips would help.” Finch does not attempt to impose order on grief; instead, she lets it unfold organically, offering moments of both revelation and ambiguity.” I was drawn back to this poem and decided that it was the one I wanted to set down this time.

This led to me leaving a note on my desk to remind myself that I had chosen which poem to record. When I saw it the next morning and it said, “Poem of the Month: I Don’t Know”, I chuckled because very often it is actually the case that I don’t know until the last minute which one I will record and sometimes I can go to bed knowing and wake up no longer remembering!

I do know that the regular habit of recording my work has been a good way to develop my confidence with sharing my words as well as being able to share the poems as they sound in my head. When I read them silently to myself I see and hear the words as I read as if they are transported from the page – they scroll like a script. There was a lovely moment of revelation when I reached the end of this particular reading this month as I heard myself realise my nan is always with me. There was a wonderful sparkle within me at the whole resonance of that.

I have always thought of it as a quiet, contemplative poem, and I was surprised and pleased when both Julie Stevens and Susan Richardson engaged with it shortly after the book was released. I love seeing which poems from a collection others enjoy reading.

I am also grateful to Josephine Lay of Black Eyes Publishing for working with me on the editing of this poem to get it ready for publication. This led to the altering of some of the don’ts to can’ts, and I loved feeling what that did for the poem. It was good to pay attention together to which lines would change in their power by taking on this different starting word. It definitely made a positive impact and I know I wouldn’t have seen that change if we hadn’t explored it together. I love the duality of the meaning for ‘I can’t’… where one human can’t know the exact feelings of another and also the essence of, ‘please don’t tell me, I fear it will be too painful’.

During my coaching training we thought about the power of just getting going with things when you have an idea or a goal. I have seen this come to fruition in my recording of poems, and can clearly see the journey I have taken. I am glad I didn’t wait until I was ready! I love the fact that since my change of career I have also leant into this and this has enabled me to be willing to model Kath’s knitwear – after all, there’s always a delete button and actually I don’t mind looking at myself now. I also cracked on, and started a podcast so that I could see how it evolved. It has been so good to move away from the nerves that tickled at my very edges when I started!

I get the feeling writing some more poems is going to be a priority pretty soon because I don’t want to be in the position of not having many to choose from when it comes to poem of the month! Time to open the writing journal and set a seven minute timer…

Here’s to finding out which steps you want to take, taking the first one and the next. And then the next. 

I will leave you today with my recording of poem of the month: ‘I Don’t Know’.