Archives for posts with tag: suburban living

This image is a work of the National Institutes of Health, part of the United States Department of Health and Human Services. As a work of the U.S. federal government, the image is in the public domain. Via Wikimedia Commons.

At the bottom of my road is a lovely green space poetically known as Cherry Tree Wood. Like the promised verdant idyll of Heather Green (explored in my poem of the same name) the Cherry Tree’s title is slightly deceptive. There are neither cherries nor much of a wood, unless you count the encalve of tress at the far end as woodland. But it is still a wonderful spot for adolescent boys to ride their bicylces and play football, for parents to bring their children to the playpark, for mums and toddlers to have playdates. Young lovers disappear into that shadey enclave and perspiring fitness hopefuls meet with their personal trainers alongside the tennis courts. Dog walkers greet each other by name and, since the newly refurbished café has re-opened, sometimes they stop for a coffee or juice.

Cherry Tree Wood is a rare site for mostly uncommercial communal gathering. The local schools make use of it for fresh-air time. After outings to the Phoenix, the reputable local indie cinema, the schoolgroups picnic on the grass before shepherding small groups of the children to the nearby facilities. It was from observing such a group on their outing that the poem ‘Packed Lunches’ came into being.

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Next to the postbox

I must be one of the last humans who still writes letters and postcards. From the archive, a poem about completing a letter while standing on the pavement next to a local postbox.

This poem is included in my book, Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys.

Yonder far o’er vale and glen
whereto grooms return
and bread is leaven.
This is another country.

Today, outside, is a new room
in which five builders,
tiered upon scaffolding,
cannot hear All Blues.

This is no time 
for saxophone wails.
Stand at the window
and look out

on the fresh planks.
The backdrop:
bared trees and
blue-skied bright.


All Blues” is a track from the Miles Davis album Kind of Blue (1959).

The books, available for preview:
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys 
Shining in Brightness

Twitter: @BeadedQuill
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Here ‘fore me, plinth of polish

For the tree to rest on wood

In flat sheets with fastened thoughts

Set forth as marching words.

 

Heralded tonight and often

They are by crest announced.

We cluster! And applaud.

It is a shared experience.

 

Now, to – I must address:

 

From nothing written

from have

and only have

of a fatted dream now fit for parade

with open palms and empty hands

‘fore that company and polished staff

all suited in investiture

I on tip-toe said,

 

I have nothing written here.

I speak only from my heart.

Of late I have drawn inspiration from a combination of lived and imagined experiences. Today’s poem along with ‘Stuck‘ and ‘Genuine‘ of last week are the products of this current creative “sourcery”.

Please preview my first volume, available for purchase, here.

My second volume, Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys, is forthcoming. I’ll keep readers posted on progress, so if you’re interested please follow the blog.  See ‘follow’ box at far right of screen.

Alternatively, follow me on Twitter. I tweet about my writing and my life, which covers everything from recycling collection to Downton Abbey episodes to martial arts bruises. Follow me as @BeadedQuill

In four homemade hummus lines
I can tell a half bowl of you 
about leftover Friday rice.
In at five, the rather wrinkled mushrooms
tell their brown paper, we're from Zoe.
In four lines broccoli,
	I, a courgette, can three carrots tell,
	  tell vacuum-packed beetroot
	about yellowing curly kale on the lower shelf.
In a well-ripened four, mango lines,
	four in four egg lines
        can tomato concentrate.
I, a broached tell should
a carton of soya milk, you, pour
another four lines in coconut water.

I, an unopened packet of supermarket,
tell coffee opened 
you – Italian, Arabica blend –
about two purple bands elastic.

I as bands hold can and
tell the packet, you, as braces
spanning in the green design,
tightly I sealed can in.

In its elongated you-tupperware
about shelf top, left
in four far lines I can tell
in you days without lines 
and lines without tell
with leftovers about lines uneaten

--

An undertaking that combines 'fridge contents with the thought noodle -
"In four lines
I can tell you 
about..."

--

If you enjoyed the above and are curious about my other poems, preview my first volume SHINING IN BRIGHTNESS. 
I tweet regularly about food, coffee and the influences I find in suburban life. Follow me as @BeadedQuill.
Beaded Quill is also on Facebook. Find BQ here.