I have been slacking lately, and not written much for a long time, however that has all changed.
At work, a new colleague Nick Lovell published a poetry book, ‘Ever since the Accident’, which immediately got me talking about poetry which obviously is one of my passions. He explained that there is a vibrant poetry scene in Swindon called Oooh Beehive, (not far from me & where my place of work is located), and they have monthly meetings & open mic slots where people ‘perform’ their poems. Although I was interested I didn’t think I’d be able to go along due to my anxiety, then Covid hit. Not wanting to be silenced, poetry groups internationally began holding Zoom meetings, from the safety of my home I attended a couple of them and listened in. On one of Oooh Beehives open mic’s someone wasn’t ready to perform so I volunteered to share a couple of poems. My offer was accepted and I jumped in with all 4 feet,(Dragonesses have 4 feet not just 2) I didn’t have my video on but that didn’t matter and I was welcomed with open arms.
I have since attended and performed at several open mic’s via Zoom, not just Oooh Beehive, but also Word Staffords ‘Myths & Legends’ event. I’ve also attended a few ‘slams’ but don’t feel anywhere near ready to enter them, the standards of performers are just so high.
Through Word Stafford I learned about a photo/poetry anthology that was being put together for National Poetry Day entitled Poetic Vision. People were asked to submit up to 3 photo’s by a certain deadline. Once that deadline was reached all the photo’s were put together in a Facebook folder and poets were able to chose a photo to write a poem about (not any of their own photo’s). I was amazed, and not just a little bit excited that 2 of my photo’s were selected to be included and also the poem that I wrote. National Poetry day is today 1st October and proceeds for the anthology are going towards Guide Dogs, which is a very worthy cause. Mel Wardle Woodend one of the editors of the anthology and organisers of Word Stafford is Staffordshires Poet Laureate, and the book is being published through her publishing company Dream Well Writing. The anthology even has a write up in the local press.
And so, to encourage people to buy a copy of the book, here is my contribution to the anthology.
Aspects of Time What is time? Is it the passing of the sun that crosses the sky Or the span of a life to live and then die? Is it the change of the seasons that mark the year Or the tick of a clock so loud and clear? The sun shines as it crosses the sky Bringing light, giving life that grows so high. From a seed that's planted deep in the earth Springs a sunflower bright and full of mirth And as day turns to night, months follow weeks Death follows life, and meaning it seeks. By the path of the sun we measure the time Constant, steady, flowing like rhyme The shadows we see scurry across the ground Creep slowly but surely without a sound The tick and the tock of a grandfather clock Mark the passing of time so we can take stock Time moves forward but does it move back? What would make it easier to track At times, time seems to pass so slow Tick tock, stop start, it doesn’t flow And yet it often moves so fast When joyous moments just don’t last. Take a clock and break it apart Time doesn’t stop, no need to restart Whether you see it or not it moves all the while You don’t need to see the hands on the dial Does it move in a straight line? Is there ever enough? Big balls of that wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff. The apocalypse, doomsday, the end of the world Is that when time becomes unfurled? The beginning of time, was that the big bang? Or was that when the angels sang? Was Einstein’s theory of relativity An excuse to stifle our creativity? We are but cogs in the great wheel of time Living while waiting for our bell to chime Springing to life, hands meant to hold To nurture the young and look after the old When the pendulum slowly swings its last Will the next generation remember the past? Time is what? The tick of a clock so loud and clear Or the change of the season that marks the year? Is it the span of life that lives and then dies Or the passing of the sun as it crosses the skies.