Originally from Derbyshire, I made Lincolnshire my home for the last eighteen years, not realising a branch of my ancestors originated here from the 1600’s. Lecturing and assessing for Lincoln and City Colleges, on teaching assistants, special needs teaching assistants, childcare, foundation skills and mentoring/tutoring family learning in schools county-wide. A previous two-year post for Leicester Traveller Education Service as special needs support and a part-time ALBSU role in traveller development enabled me to support children in schools and parents on site with their literacy needs, followed by teaching juniors. Interested in all forms of poetry on all topics, and poems combined with mixed media eg sculpture/artwork. Member of West Wolds Writers creative writing group, Market Rasen, and Pimento Poets, Lincoln. Publications: The Anatomy Of Pegasus’ Wing – an MA Poetry online pamphlet – Scribd, Bletchley Park and An Unequivocal Airship poems – A Century Of Wars by Pimento Poets. The Albertine Rose – Highly commended - Lincoln Federation of Spiritual Healers.
I take the Romany’s sprigged heather,
Tuck its pink tight buds curled like baby fists
Tight as a talisman,
Blue with longing, into my bag.
I am pierced mid-flight
By a hint of traveller she sees within,
An Irish woman
On the grandmother side.
Ellen Glancy unschooled, catholic
In tastes and religion,
Pawned her soul for potatoes
That lay rotting, bleeding
Into darkened sod.
Her pilgrimage to England and Alfred,
Then retracing steps to Enniskillen
For the wedding.
Returning to peg washing
Not in a whipped north-easterly
Which cut the souls.
Back cross grey waters
Fretful and choppy, till her own
Broke a tidal wave, her firstborn.
Homesick for emerald patches,
A mercurial sky tilting meniscus
Struggling for freedom.
Iron rain lashes my face,
Her slashed smile a rent petticoat.
Merging the troubles one with another,
I take her hand in mine,
It lies still but warm,
Without need for words.
We speed by hot lime fields, emerge into milky fans’ sunlit
Filters through awakening woods, ground-pocked with bluebells
Flashing ultraviolet; cloud- pink sky shafts pierce an earth redolent
With winter- crumbled detritus; spores, rich brown mould, lichens.
Our tourer hood back; a red lacquered, leather courtesan’s fan,
Its skin -brittle aged pleats display a controlled wantonness.
A single shuttered eye without lid; one cinematic observer.
My yellow scarf gusts and eddies; a parachute sulky in wind,
Frothy parasols of cow parsley, creamy blobbed antennae
On spindled legs; such linear green and herby tripods.
The air dances, April shimmers; spring’s white dress flicks
Back raindrops as we speed through cloudy puddles.
Time shivers on its axis, trembles at its irregular edges.
Spotting a single-track we turn onto a drovers’ road
At the foot of a tumulus, a white stile and old barn roof
Tiles glow brokenly in the sun; shifting terracotta planes.
We climb the hill hand in hand, breathless with laughter,
Your brown arms strong and sinewy, your hands pulling me
Up and over the steep precipice, ringed with buttercups.
We lean together, heads touching, faces tilted as one,
King and Queen we sit on golden couch grass.
Throned immortals we gaze and gaze down over vales,
Watch shadows dapple fleet hills, hear distant bird call.
Glimpse far away a sparkle of blue, a slick of sea calm
As our afternoon; you take my face in your hands,
Plant a tender kiss on my lips, warm in the breeze.
We crush the flowers naked beneath us.
Why Does The Cherry Tree Weep?
Thirty-thousand cherry trees carpet this castle moat,
Border the river banks, pink fairies flit under night’s inky canopy,
Swaying restlessly in Spring’s first flushed breezes.
Each separate petal a cupped cupid’s bow.
Lovers’ lips pressed in urgent embrace,
Tongue probing tongue.
Gentle head nestled in crook of strong neck.
Wrapped arms protect the other.
Soul fuses with soul,
Liquid, amberous, in timeless suspension.
Lemon and violet streaks spearhead a new day,
Consummated cherry blossoms, millions upon millions, severed heads
Are torn from branches, petals swept far and wide in a wild tsunami
As falling souls blanket the earth of Hiroshima,
A trace of their lost sweet perfume still sighs upon this world.