Travel with love in your heart.
That’s a fine mantra.
How you translate it into action
through kindness & generosity
– there’s the challenge.
Experiment with it today.
Find your way.
Tis time for daisy-chains and dandelions,
the thrush with gangly legs has gone to wind,
hostas, risen, pushed aside the shale,
and clover back to torment dreams of lawn.
There’s a cherry blossom behind my back,
the baby oak’s grown leaves on time
………………… in rowan and hawthorn writ
with showers for ink, lavender for paint.
The black dog tastes an apple core,
licks the fly and sucks for more.
The black dog’s in the grass,
…………… paws, panting fast.
She sleeps below the windline stretched,
out of senses, out of mind,
no rush to untangle the rest of the deep.
The black dog’s dead. The black dog’s dead.
The daisy chains are broken,
the dandelion’s divine.
There’s a place we know as light.
There’s a home we know is right.
Unfinished: you see the bits that I’m sleeping on. Waiting to approach this fresh.
The two poets who give me quotes these days are Walt Whitman (1819-92) & Mary Oliver (1935 -).
1. We all love travel
2. We all love Paris & the idea of Paris
3. We love women who listen & attend
4. We love to be educated
5. We love to experience another person’s style
6. We love stories of a day in the life
7. We love someone being a bit riske
8. We love people who are generous towards others
9. We love daybreak & sunset
10. We love people who are reliable
Claire Waddington live streams from Paris on Periscope – every day. Her Twitter name is @clairewad. Right now she is visiting her dad in New Zealand
It would be easy to miss the poets
in the Farmgate Cafe
encased behind glass
as you sip espressoed coffee
on a Saturday afternoon
in the English Market.
Poems slip by without fuss,
prefer to let you pass
until you’re ready to listen
to your breathing heart
– the minute they sense you ache
for a set of fingernails
with which to grip on to fragile life
ticking like a fading metronome.
Poems are used to coffee drinkers
who turn their backs on them.
Poems become taken forgranted
even when handwritten and hung.
Poets never have the last laugh.
Ink fades gradually away.
I wonder whether the spirits stay
hidden among fushia encased in a water jug.
This was composed in the English Market Farmgate Cafe in Cork Ireland in May 2015
Click on this link please – it leads to “The Walt Whitman Show (14 September)
Warning: it’ll take a minute to load up.
I submit for your consideration:
Note: I shall publish my readings of Cantos 1-6 in the next few days. My plan is to read, record & share all 34 cantos of “Inferno” by Dante.
This was a bit of an experiment: to learn how to embed a file from Audioboom.com into a WordPress.com blog.