Showing posts from November, 2011

Back to fox poo, with an effervescent dog

I still harbour some regret over not photographing the vivid purple fox poo. I love photographs, although sometimes I do think that people are so busy taking pictures of things they forget to look at them with real eyes. Mindfulness makes the best shots. I'm not sure how I would have fully conveyed the excellent moment of catching the fox crimping out that amazing colour, but I did utterly appreciate the moment. Literally, some shit is brilliant. 
251 A wide blade of grass, glazed pale In dots. There are multitudinous Dimensions of dewdrops, these Are comparatively large
252 Fox poo-pile seizes attention Beads of undigested berry Glint in the dawn sun, flaming Shades of autumn
253 These plants; collective name Blackberry; diverge, like People, like breeds of dog, many Different ways of growing
254 Feasibly able to uproot, to gallop Across the field, over the hedge This blackberry extends in arched Tentacles, three arachnoid metres tall
255 Ground dwelling blackberry Snakes the path with Spiked tripw…

Human sacrifice linked to wellington boots

I am a quarter of the way into the task, and have googled the history of latex. 
241 Butter waits in a glass dish, slid Behind the eclectic kerfuffle of Stuff dropped in passing, our Annoying kitchen table anthology
242 Coffee cup is tipped, to see Depictions cast in the grounds Ripple like low tide sand flats In repeated waving motifs
243 The jewels of my jam making Fill half a fridge shelf; here are fruits And flowers and herbs preserved In sugar and recycled glass
244 Each unique speckled soft Tan shaded scattershot Toast crumb on the circle Of plate rests abstractly
245 The history of my boots starts With some Pre-Columbian Mexicans Boiling latex into heavy spheres For bloodied games of life and death
246 The boot chronicle continues with The Duke of Wellington’s demands Comfort first for feet in battle and Afterwards, smart enough for the party
248 From ritualistic sacrifice, through Cold wet war trenches, the troubled Historiography of the rubber boot Brightens into iconic modern lines 
249 Looking so swamp chi…

Flip flops and jam, the rural idyll

(Nearly 6 am on Miracle hunt day. I have been wearing flip flops since I could walk and can run backwards in them.)
231 Inspiration is a secondary Response. Stripped down this Experience centres on the Simplicity of appreciation
232 Before I think to tidy up I take A survey of the house-mess An appraisal of status, if Not in flux, it fails
233 I point out the dog paw shapes On the oven door; dogs observe Emotion, not language, or old evidence Dog is happy, I am not cross
234 A motto on my cheap flip-flops reads You Can Never Have Too Many Shoe It’s not logical but the fun makes it beautiful A stamp of flippant glamour on rubber
235 The indoor woodlice hurry Gather under the bath Slug, on tiles above, wanders Alone, equally sure of purpose
236 From the cooking to the brewing Kitchen, coffee odour lingers Mingles into damp cottage, savoury Sour wet dog, onion, earth and spice
237 The stuck clock hand repeats One tick, in the quiet house At this undiscovered hour Airlocks blup, snores oscillate
238 Cow herders finish fir…

Coffee, my bituminous friend

This batch brings my 24 hour miracle hunt to nearly 6am. This is too early to actually do the washing up, but I do manage to blearily accept the significance of it. Coffee helps. 
221 While coffee brews in the jug, I will Be organised, drag the washing from The lovely machine that undertook Hard work for me as I slept
222 A whirl of wet fabric in the basket Waits for me to locate some boots And a mug for the coffee, and wonder If it’s too early to wake the dog
223 Dog thumps her tail in a slow beat I turn off the lamp we forgot last night And gather up the glasses and appraise The unfinished list of things to do
224 The washing up is waiting, is one of Those little repetitions that marks out Your life, this history in coffee rings, in The medium of smeared food stains
225 Two boots located, the washing is brought To the line, another confirmation of our Continuing adventures, pegged item by item Optimistic plastic fastens the corners
226 Occupational debris stuffs up the shed This morning the light strikes a …

School For Dolphins

Designed to be read aloud, to be mildly amusing and promote independent learning because sometimes it's a relief to do something obvious instead of leaving little inky clues.

School For Dolphins
Miami Phil was solidly fat and he always wore a gaudy shirt with shorts and sandals. He wasn’t necessarily American, but because of his girth, because he was rich and flashy, everyone called him Miami Phil. He introduced himself as Miami Phil, so he must have been happy with the name. He liked his name, his food, his shirts and his money.  He also had a particular liking for islands, the tropical hot sort with white sand and palm trees, not the craggy cold sort with puffins and moss on them. So it wasn’t really too remarkable that when he bought a tropical island, he also decided to build a luxury house there, for himself, and some villas, where people could pay him lovely money to be on holiday and look at his big house and admire it, and wish they had an island with such a luxurious house…

220th miracle is.... weasel poo

211 A trug of frozen apples, hard as Quartz pebbles, catch the light Crystal-coated, wondrous, paled Palm-sized apple plunder
212 The orchard apples drop to grass Are gathered up by tub and carted To the freezer, frozen up, hauled out To defrost, squash, ferment
213 First light halos the demi-johns On the dining table. Tints of Translucent yellow, tones of Red from rose to ruby
214 Another resurrection Of an ordinary day the light Ascending through the morning Colour gradient
215 Malcontent to find myself Awake so early, until I draw the old velvet curtains On this panoramic anomaly
216 The valley is flooded with mist The moors appear as a series Of Caribbean pirate islands Not where I expected to wake
217 This view opens my frown, it Nudges acknowledgement, I am Laughing at myself, at my quick Mood-skip
218 My decision is to make coffee And sit, watching the colours Change, outside, the pink Underbelly of mackerel cloud
219 Somewhere in the fridge is a tin Of coffee. This week we are drinking Vietnamese Weasel. I pic…

5am and I almost forgot the owl

I have been deliberately saving the bats for the other end of the day, but owl was almost overlooked because I don't see it as often. Once (stuck in traffic on the way to the Royal Cornwall Show) we saw an owl hunting in broad daylight. It had a grumpy look to it and we amused ourselves by inventing back stories for it. 

201 A composition of washing hangs On the spare room airer, plastic rungs Provide a structure for the slung Socks and baby t-shirts
202 Over the landing banister The blue striped duvet cover dries It went camping, the wet dog had Left a print of herself on it
203 In the wash-basket, a crumpled History of last week in dank cotton Fast-wicking technical fibres and Odours of sweat, mud, seaweed
204 Surfboards lean in the shed Crunches of sand pressed into wax One board-bag zip jammed open, the Aluminium corroded by salt
205. The sky is dark until the earth rolls It still feels like the sun comes to us Looks for us over the horizon, brings us light To break the fastness of sleep
206 Morning d…

200: 3 stars die, 3 similes share a verse, 1 toilet break

With thanks to Boy for his scientific musings! 

191 Mist rises to sheep midriff They bundle up the steep field-side Settle under the hazel tree, survey Perimeters of moor-land and water-vapour
192 Open moor-land lapses Into mist that sidles up Over everything but peaks And treetops
193 Woken by bladder pressure  Padding past the landing window Sleepy eyes marvel at the Silvering scenic sky
194 Point toes back towards bed And follow them under the duvet Where your warmth and rest are Waiting, just slump into it
195 There is the boat moored waiting At the lakeshore where I left it This dream like a holiday destination A revisit to a comfort zone
196 This enchantment of sleep puts Me under fast, holds me fast I will be reluctant to break the grip The seductive comfortable mesmerisation
197 Hard to know at any hour if the dream Is a distracting lie, or an alternative Truth, either way it is experienced It is, clearly, a personal reality
198 From white to black the solo Dwarfing star has spun itself Out, settles to a retire…

190: Who did that to Action Man?! Also contains dust.

178 Beneath the sofa, dust and dog hair Caught in a house-tide, surges Round a mislaid dog-toy, catches The sofa legs in its silt
179 More dust is drying from Boot print patterned Mud trail across the living room Flaking on the laminate
180 Wood soot settles On everything in range The old DVD player broke Choked on domestic ash
181 Gravity settles dust, apples and Planets. At night we see mutually Forcibly attracted assemblages Of constellations
182 Moon-face pocked with evidence of Meteorite slams, eaten by Shadow, bite by bite, the Flat familiar slice of pale reflection
183 It doesn’t matter that the Moon is a bouncing point for Sunlight. Moon-glow is a specific Eerie friendly presence
184 Elvis on the fridge door is Holding a menu list in place Magnetically and a lobster has a Voucher for name-brand beer
185 Information on the bookshelves Include the art of the jumping Kick, identifying seabirds and Basic woodworking skills
186 On the shelves in the spare room Books wait on the next batch of children On the amply spac…