Next week The Midlands Textile Forum exhibition
A Sense of Place
18-24 September 2023
Nottingham Society of Artists
St Luke's House,
71 Friar Ln,
Nottingham
NG1 6DH
These are my pieces that are included in the exhibition
If you visit the exhibition please let me know.
Thanks for joining me today
Bernice
For the next few weeks I'm only going to post once a week on a Saturday rather than twice a week.
In our Write Poetry zoom group Sara-Jane introduced us to poems that had strong emotions and an element of urgency. Here are my poems from the three exercises we were given.
The persistence of why
Why is the sky blue?
Why does the moon move
in the night sky?
Why aren’t the stars out tonight?
Why do the clouds hide the sun?
Why do I have to get up?
Why do I have to clean my teeth?
Why do I have to eat green vegetables?
Why do I need to wash?
Why do I have to go to bed
when it’s still daylight?
Why can’t I roll in the mud
like the dog does?
Why can’t I jump in the puddles
like the raindrops do?
Why can’t I swim in the sea
when the waves are high
and crashing on the beach?
Why do you always answer
‘because I said so’?
Sometime Never
Make the time,
take the time to rest,
to dream of future hope.
Don’t say sometime I’ll take the time
to dream and rest
as sometime never comes.
Take the time to take notice
of what you’ve done,
of where you’ve grown,
of where you’ve come from,
of where you are now.
Ignore the social pressure of
‘you’re not enough’.
It’s not true.
You are enough.
You are you, in all your beauty
and your imperfection.
So, take the time, make the time
as sometime never comes.
Not Invisible
I am standing here
Can you not see me?
I am here in front of you
Surely you can see me.
I am standing here
a sixteen not an eight
Quite large really, almost plus size
not a catwalk stick insect.
I am standing here looking
at the shelves, choosing
a flavour of yoghurt
but you step between.
I am standing here.
Can you not see me?
Pushing your trolley
into me while I’m standing here.
I may not be dressed in purple
or wearing a red hat. I’m not
so old that I’ve withered
to a ghost of my former self.
I am standing here,
standing right in front of you,
surely you can see me.
I am not invisible.
Thanks for joining me today
Bernice
Last month I joined in Sara-Jane's Theme Poetry online workshop.
The
session started with Sara-Jane giving us a list of things we might
write about as a warm up exercise. I chose 'up in the air'.
The View from Above
The coloured silk had lain
on the ground, beside
the wicker basket. It too
lying on its side.
The noise of gas burners
forcing hot air into the silk
until it ballooned aloft
dragging the basket upright.
Pegged down, the basket convulsed
trying to escape the ground.
Climbing into the basket
trepidatiously, I wondered
what possessed me to think
that this was a good idea.
Ropes and pegs released
we lifted from the ground.
Husband and young son
becoming smaller until ant-like
they lacked visual form.
The currents took the basket
almost where they willed.
Occasional bursts of noisy power
interrupted the silent sailing
through the air.
The panorama stretched before us.
The rolling hills of Warwickshire
The patchwork fields and tiny trees.
Magnificent Oaks brought low
by height and distance.
A beautiful sunlit early evening
displaying mile upon mile upon mile
of pristine English countryside.
But all good things
come to an end
and time had run out.
It was time to land.
It wasn’t a pleasant experience
landing heavily in a locked field
brought down to earth
with a bump!
But all these years later
nearly 20 years
the memory lingers of seeing earth
from God’s perspective.
The
theme for the session was 'In Minature'. Sara-Jane did a presentation
about 4 aspects of miniature or small things and introduced three poems
to us. She gave us a variety of ways we might write about small
things. One of which was to write from the point of view of the small
thing. Here's mine.
Trapped
It’s so dark
I cannot see my associates.
I’m flattened, squashed
amongst the obscured leaves.
It’s lighter now.
The cover has been opened.
Paper rustles as it’s turned
bringing the light nearer.
A discarded bookmark slides in
brushing against me.
The light is getting closer.
It’s almost time for me.
The reader sighs at words' end
as I, the final full stop
bring the adventure to a close.
