PoetryPix
depictions by the rule of thirds; descriptions mostly freestyle words
POM: February 2019
Would that it were Woodbridge! This was nearly my next move but life decreed otherwise. We made good friends here and unwittingly I put down roots in this part of Suffolk some years ago, sitting by the quay and the white boarded Tide Mill [related post: The Spot]
Instead I am migrating North today and that will be another story -but on this mid-February morning, the sun shone and I made my farewells…for now.
For Visitors:
The Tide Mill, Woodbridge
Pick of the Month: Marking the the passing of the month with one representative photo though not always saving the best pick of the pics till last.
Interlude
Water colour reflections from the Regent’s Canal – a final glimpse of London as I take my leave. I have done almost nothing I intended to about capturing memorable parts of this city but then I have 25 + years of memory and experience to take away with me.
What then?
Interlude by Amy Lowell
To-morrow it will be the same:
Cakes and strawberries,
And needles in and out of cloth.
If the sun is beautiful on bricks and pewter,
How much more beautiful is the moon,
mind the gap
you with such profound presence have surely gone
an imprint of invisibility remains at large
a vacancy so vivid, so self-evident
it has punched the air
did you leave that way, one fisted,
one hand waving free?*
mimicking the gap, my mouth agape
memories a broken mosaic, missing parts
stories told so many times the lines jumble
with ballads that fifties folk once passed around
some scenes though still freshly painted as a warm September
martin and swallow swarms at the brink of the sea
scything late-hatched insects that cloud our heads
We circled with the birds, dizzied by dashing displays
and in those spellbound moments, your soul migrated
returning home was almost aftermath, a brief touch down
before you found your way – I’m making headway now
through the hole, a crawl to the other side of beyond
– of course, I’ll mind the gap
*a nod to Dylan’s ‘Tambourine Man’ was just so apt
A last poem until I make my move and joining others in Poetry Pantry
Poetry in Print
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