A memory poem

Vr6ZH+FfSs+arZfsWqgePg_thumb_10eb0

The Swing Tree

 

News is the old swing tree is down.

Lies full length in the river its toe tips showing.

Only the root bole and a crooked arm waving.

 

The bank is calm, empty of boys.

Each summer they came trying the rope swing, the jumps,

to scare themselves daring higher each time.

 

Each jump was named, charged with its own danger.

The first, easy, Fairy then Wendy to Twigamala where the bough bulged out.

Fourth, which meant an extra climb, was Kuntekinte.

 

Getting higher now, the great Obi One

till highest, where the big boys played, though knees trembled as they jumped,

was Gandhi.

 

The river boiled with screams and laughter, rippled and splashed

to the green banks, to the hot leaves. No more.

Quiet now, the old swing tree is down.

 

 

poem and photograph Rose Cook

Spring blessings

 

Make the Ordinary Come Alive      by William Martin

 

Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is a way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples, and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.

 

From The Parent’s Tao Te Ching: Ancient Advice for Modern Parents

 

 

photograph Rose Cook

A Summer Solstice Blessing

IMG_1711

 

This is my final day of the Post a Poem a Day for 5 days Challenge, so here is a new poem ‘A Summer Solstice Blessing’ for tomorrow and I nominate
Richard Thomas​ to post one of his poems every day for 5 days and tag someone new each day.

 

A Summer Solstice Blessing

 

 
May the bugs never affect your crops.
May the outside leaves of your lettuce
always be free of slugs.
May the magpies keep clear of your garden,
so the smaller birds can play.
May the mice not pick at your compost
and your hens always be in lay.
May you have warm words on a bright evening,
a full glass on this longest day
and a smooth road home all the way to your door.

 

 

poem and photo Rose Cook

House

My House   My house is a cabinet for small things: fruit bowl, its flashes of orange, green, the pleasure of pears, green tea, a cat that purrs, the length of a settee.   Tall windows, light falls through to yellow up walls, clothes airer, often full, a wheeled dog for small steps, toy box, long staircase, banister, a wide bed for all times, the Turkish carpet to thrill the hall, a bronze elephant holds back the door.   Wholehearted thanks for these good things, camera, candle, witching bowl, a lifetime of books, the earthenware plate my mother used, photographs, my grandmother’s chair, a poet’s bell, the whale on the wall, the Buddha’s stare.   Rose Cook