Today's poet

[freckle]

lord what an intriguing poem!

yes alf the lights were a twinkling and slade was playing out in the woodland...shame about yourlack of run...:thunbdown: such is life eh?

[OneOffPoet]

Guess what's been happening here today?! :-)

The Family Tree

Some are bought from the shops
Others kept in the loft
Some are real, pesky needles
Others fake from the box
Some appear before advent
And are greeted with cheer
Others pop out for Christmas
And are gone by New Year

Some are crafted by artists
And most tastefully done
Others dressed in a whirl
Of excitement and fun
Some are family journals
Stories on every branch
The bauble from granny
Brings a tearful glance

The kids see the colours
The lights and the bling
The dad sees the needles
Sticking in everything
The mum sees the tales
From fairy to floor
People that are here
Those not here anymore


It's taken me as long to read everything I;ve missed here as it did to write this. I'm ashamed that i simply don't keep up. I'd blame the baby but she's a sleeping machine so that won't wash. Ah yes, training, that's it. If only that were true! Anyway, I always feel for my wife when the tree goes up as she loves it, but gets a little sad as we have decorations handed down from now departed loved ones and it gets to her every time. This poem sort of reflects that, well it tries to anyway.


OOP

[Hes]

Great to see you back OneOff and with an original work too. Its a lovely piece. I think Christmas means so many different things to different people but I imagine most will relate to that element of looking back and remembering the people that aren't with us any more. The enjoyment mixed with a bit of sadness.

Guess what's been happening here today?! :-)

The Family Tree

Some are bought from the shops
Others kept in the loft
Some are real, pesky needles
Others fake from the box
Some appear before advent
And are greeted with cheer
Others pop out for Christmas
And are gone by New Year

Some are crafted by artists
And most tastefully done
Others dressed in a whirl
Of excitement and fun
Some are family journals
Stories on every branch
The bauble from granny
Brings a tearful glance

The kids see the colours
The lights and the bling
The dad sees the needles
Sticking in everything
The mum sees the tales
From fairy to floor
People that are here
Those not here anymore


It's taken me as long to read everything I;ve missed here as it did to write this. I'm ashamed that i simply don't keep up. I'd blame the baby but she's a sleeping machine so that won't wash. Ah yes, training, that's it. If only that were true! Anyway, I always feel for my wife when the tree goes up as she loves it, but gets a little sad as we have decorations handed down from now departed loved ones and it gets to her every time. This poem sort of reflects that, well it tries to anyway.


OOP

[Hes]

I loved my first outing to Simonside Alf, especially the dark woods with the fairy lights. Hope you get out and about for a run soon. This poem is a strange one! I'm going to have to read it a few times and digest it

I didn't get out today in the end freckle :thunbdown: Did they have the Christmas lights/music up in the wood at Simonside ?



The Cheese Room

Here it is, on the back of the menu.
How, instead of a pudding, an extra fiver
will buy you the choice of the Cheese Room.
It shines in the corner, a treasury,
the moony glow of the cheeses walled round
with glass. As soon as she sees it, she's lost.
Before anyone spots her, she strips,
soaks a sari in buttermilk, wraps herself up
and goes in. She shivers to think of the air
full of spores, the shag-pile that fluffs
on things that slip your mind for a moment –
green islands on milk, jam lidded with wool.
A couple who've paid to pick slices of Reblochon,
Vignotte, Manchego, tap on the glass;
they can't believe how she stands,
drenched in whey, her hair wet to strings.
How she touches the rinds – dusted
with charcoal, or soft, that hidden-flesh bloom
you get on a Brie. There's the tightness
of smoke in some of the cheese, the fissured
and granular rock of a Parmesan split
into wheels. Then the diners lose interest,
return to their claret. Despite how oddly
she's dressed – the flimsy sarong,
the milky place where the muslin pulls into
the crack of her arse – perhaps they assume
she's some kind of expert assessing
the cheese? But she won't even taste,
pulls the cheesecloth over her face
and curls up on the floor. She's happy
to wait, passive like milk, for the birth,
for the journey from death into food.

Judy Brown

[Alf]

I loved my first outing to Simonside Alf, especially the dark woods with the fairy lights. Hope you get out and about for a run soon. This poem is a strange one! I'm going to have to read it a few times and digest it

It was the Guardian poem of the week about 3 weeks ago Hes so you can find a write up on it on the website. 3rd Lady Well done :thumbup:

[Alf]

Guess what's been happening here today?! :-)

The Family Tree

Some are bought from the shops
Others kept in the loft
Some are real, pesky needles
Others fake from the box
Some appear before advent
And are greeted with cheer
Others pop out for Christmas
And are gone by New Year

Some are crafted by artists
And most tastefully done
Others dressed in a whirl
Of excitement and fun
Some are family journals
Stories on every branch
The bauble from granny
Brings a tearful glance

The kids see the colours
The lights and the bling
The dad sees the needles
Sticking in everything
The mum sees the tales
From fairy to floor
People that are here
Those not here anymore


It's taken me as long to read everything I;ve missed here as it did to write this. I'm ashamed that i simply don't keep up. I'd blame the baby but she's a sleeping machine so that won't wash. Ah yes, training, that's it. If only that were true! Anyway, I always feel for my wife when the tree goes up as she loves it, but gets a little sad as we have decorations handed down from now departed loved ones and it gets to her every time. This poem sort of reflects that, well it tries to anyway.


OOP

Good poem OOP. I know what you mean by the hand me down decorations as well.

[Mossdog]

Guess what's been happening here today?! :-)

The Family Tree

Some are bought from the shops
Others kept in the loft
Some are real, pesky needles
Others fake from the box
Some appear before advent
And are greeted with cheer
Others pop out for Christmas
And are gone by New Year

Some are crafted by artists
And most tastefully done
Others dressed in a whirl
Of excitement and fun
Some are family journals
Stories on every branch
The bauble from granny
Brings a tearful glance

The kids see the colours
The lights and the bling
The dad sees the needles
Sticking in everything
The mum sees the tales
From fairy to floor
People that are here
Those not here anymore


It's taken me as long to read everything I;ve missed here as it did to write this. I'm ashamed that i simply don't keep up. I'd blame the baby but she's a sleeping machine so that won't wash. Ah yes, training, that's it. If only that were true! Anyway, I always feel for my wife when the tree goes up as she loves it, but gets a little sad as we have decorations handed down from now departed loved ones and it gets to her every time. This poem sort of reflects that, well it tries to anyway.


OOP

That is just such an adorable poem OOP. Really well written, conjuring festive images in my mind with each well crafted line. Thank you.

[Hes]

Thanks Alf! I had a good day on Sunday, felt strong and fit for the first time in months. Anyway, back to the poem...thanks for the tip off about the Guardian website. I thought the analysis was really interesting and has helped me to enjoy the poem all over again.

It was the Guardian poem of the week about 3 weeks ago Hes so you can find a write up on it on the website. 3rd Lady Well done :thumbup:

[Alf]

From Ruth Stone who died in November this year aged 96.

Curtains


Putting up new curtains,
other windows intrude.
As though it is that first winter in Cambridge
when you and I had just moved in.
Now cold borscht alone in a bare kitchen.

What does it mean if I say this years later?

Listen, last night
I am on a crying jag
with my landlord, Mr. Tempesta.
I sneaked in two cats.
He screams, "No pets! No pets!"
I become my Aunt Virginia,
proud but weak in the head.
I remember Anna Magnani.
I throw a few books. I shout.
He wipes his eyes and opens his hands.
OK OK keep the dirty animals
but no nails in the walls.
We cry together.
I am so nervous, he says.

I want to dig you up and say, look,
it's like the time, remember,
when I ran into our living room naked
to get rid of that fire inspector.

See what you miss by being dead?


Ruth Stone

[freckle]

Guess what's been happening here today?! :-)

The Family Tree

Some are bought from the shops
Others kept in the loft
Some are real, pesky needles
Others fake from the box
Some appear before advent
And are greeted with cheer
Others pop out for Christmas
And are gone by New Year

Some are crafted by artists
And most tastefully done
Others dressed in a whirl
Of excitement and fun
Some are family journals
Stories on every branch
The bauble from granny
Brings a tearful glance

The kids see the colours
The lights and the bling
The dad sees the needles
Sticking in everything
The mum sees the tales
From fairy to floor
People that are here
Those not here anymore


It's taken me as long to read everything I;ve missed here as it did to write this. I'm ashamed that i simply don't keep up. I'd blame the baby but she's a sleeping machine so that won't wash. Ah yes, training, that's it. If only that were true! Anyway, I always feel for my wife when the tree goes up as she loves it, but gets a little sad as we have decorations handed down from now departed loved ones and it gets to her every time. This poem sort of reflects that, well it tries to anyway.


OOP

Aw this is just lovely and made me feel even more festive although I can relate to the "pesky needles" line!

lush to see original work back on here, nice one