‘Twas the Day…

… after we returned from the summer holidays and all through the house… cobwebs and dust bunnies were having a party. The washing-machine was churning at full pitch, the fridge had started humming but was bare and hungry. ‘Twas the weekend before school started, so lists were pinned up, checked and found wanting. Protractors had been bought and lost, felt-tip pens had become separated from their lids and were gasping for rehydration. School clothes and pencil cases begging to be legibly marked with the child’s name. Not for the first time, I wished we had given our children shorter names. Shoes had been miraculously outgrown during the holidays. Haircut appointments needed to be made. Telephone messages listened to, some of them requiring replies. Several bills had floated into our postbox and needed rather urgent payment. Above all, we needed food. But supermarkets on a Saturday are a nightmare. I braced myself for battle with wonky trolleys, careless people chatting in front of the aisles I needed to access, the endless queues at the cashier…

FlowerssmallI drag the shopping bags inside the house to find those two bouquets waiting for me. Soundlessly. Shyly. I wonder. I approach them gingerly. I see a little note: ‘Happy anniversary, darling!’ It’s the first time since we got married that I had completely forgotten our wedding anniversary. I thought forgetting was something that men did. Or at least my man. And, just as I call out, blushing, my family rushes downstairs in an avalanche of love. One bouquet, they explain amidst giggles and gurgles, was not enough – they could not agree which one was nicer: romantic or exotic. Finally, they decided that Mama was both.

Samuel Peralta is hosting at the dVerse Poets Pub (sadly, for the last time) and he has asked us for a prose poem. Not quite sure if this qualifies – I fear it’s more prose than poetry. But one celebration I haven’t forgotten is Chinese New Year: Happy Year of the Wooden Horse, everyone!

 

Prosaic Moods

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http://www.swissinfo.ch

[Precision]

Hark ye, hark ye, lads and lasses!

New Year celebration flash-passes

and we are left           with what?

Classical mood descended in hush on audience

mature, self-controlled, filigreed to perfection.

There is a time for grit and grime

but now we need to enunciate

obligate

gracefully modulate.Kite

[Joy]

There is a mood takes over mountains

roars over cataracts, thunders out joy

we parcel such moments in fine controlled gestures,

fearful to show, aware of the cloy.

Till white-foamed emotion whirls us to perdition.

[Weariness]

Exhaustion seeps in concave glow of lower back

like the low growl of giant feline basking in sun spots.

I let tiredness wash over, climb each limb and nerve,

stretch in magical indolence, tendons brushed with honey gloss,

tea-fragranced warmth settling on my chest.

[Envy]

I burn in sulphur          hang in haze

with slow-roast speed churn my emotions.

My smile fixed plastic in perfection

mind darts to places too slimy to mention.

Compare and contrast, compete and contain:

others’ pride, others’ achievements

bring nought but dismay.

Mountain

[Anger]

Now frozen, now burnt in feverish alternates,

how burnished his horizons in crimson warrior hues

dial turned to scream point, fists on the fly.

If his life were a crystal ball to fathom

he would crush it to oblivion in snarly crunch of baubled prey.

No hope, no exit, no gambit for mercy.

Future smashed smithers underfoot.

Underheard.

I am linking this to dVerse Poets Pub – where, once a week, we have Open Link Night, so come and drop by and enjoy!