Day 46

Winds from the south-west are more amenable than most. They will make it easier for the swifts to get here. Swifts are the birds of summer for me. I look forward to their arrival in the next few days.

In the interim swallows and martins are becoming more common now. I watched two martins gathering mud from the creek this morning for nest building. As the tide runs out the River Glaven rapidly empties, exposing silty shoals for the house martins to collect mud for their inverted adobe nests under the eaves of the older houses of the village. Sadly, one still hears of some people in the village who knock down the mud nests with a broom in order to keep their house walls tidy.

A red kite circles the village. At one point it turns in a slow gliding movement with wings fully spread. It becomes backlit by the high sun thereby exposing the full beauty of its wing patterning. The bird becomes more than just a shadow in the sky. Each kite’s markings are unique within the natural range of the species and this moment of rare illumination gives a sense of this big raptor being an individual.

Yesterday afternoon I heard one cuckoo, but today, while sitting at the front porch, one calls from a tree just to my right and then another responds from down the lane, toward the church. After a couple of exchanges between these two, a third more distant cuckooing carries down the hill. Was there a fourth, fainter from further? This was the first time that I had heard more than a couple of these birds calling to each other. Their collective presence may not be good news for nest-builders locally, but as an addition to the orchestra of birdsongs here this spring, it is wonderful to hear them.

I stretch out on the wooden bench in the garden during the early afternoon to enjoy feeling the sun heat my bare chest. There is no reason to be anywhere else.

You are busy elsewhere. I am not. I look forward to speaking with you again when the time is right.

.

Christopher Perry

2nd May 2020

A Fine City

1FE9B905-EC7B-406A-8E1F-65928C4ECBC9.jpegNorwich thickened

through history,

enriched by wool traded with Holland,

masonry and church building,

glass angels stained into windows

watched over its

guilds of wealth and power.

 

Still populated today by towers,

shells of flint and stone, but

Medieval street structures struggle

to accommodate larger people

crowding into larger shops

whose plastic fronts do not mean elastic

just fake, false, shiny show.

 

CLP  06/05/2018

Season’s End

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At last wind from the sea is welcome.

Dust not leaf litter blows along gutters

Pollarded beech trees add leafy tints

to Frensham Road.

 

The movement of people is looser

in summer shorts, blue shirt tops,

although blue and white of Pompey scarves

is still worn despite cricket weather heat.

 

Excitable sons gambol alongside

long-striding men looking ahead

to August,

ignoring twelve mid-year weeks,

while grandads show gentle interest,

kindly coaxing little lads back

onto root-lifted pavements,

answering high-pitched questions about who might play

and why another favourite won’t

and this and that and, and, and…Grandpa?

 

A block-shaped car

is parked particularly precisely,

a wheeled chair is removed,

unfolded, locked into shape

and careful, strong-gripped manoevres

position a determined animated,

colourfully dressed fan,

safe into place, ready to roll

to sit in concreted shade,

where eyes sharpened,

alight to athletic movement

on mown patterns, across white lines

pitched between flag-marked corners,

watch keenly every detail of pre-match

preparation and ritual.

 

Contrast from the shadowing South Stand,

marks near black on brilliant green,

cuts so sharp that momentary

sight loss flickers in eyes squinting

to adjust as they chase

colours, given stronger tone

by Sun set high with a perfect seat,

but who has to drag herself reluctantly away out west

before the final whistle,

but only after pouring one last gulped pint

of welcome warmth

into sun-glassed faces.

 

Impenetrable bright sky, sets off the scene in blue hue not seen inland,

so blue that stars behind become anxious

they will not get on to play tonight.

 

Wide-winged gulls’ cries of the sea are drowned at birth,

over-whelmed, engulfed in waves of voices,

by microphoned, amplified announcements,

strong rhythms, clapping, chants and songs.

 

For some this is the last match.

No substitute will step in when they get pulled from the pitch.

Some will know their part near played up,

others will depart the game in shock,

their removal a surprise to all.

Unfair, unwarned and fiercely questioned,

why did they get The Manager’s call?

Yet another sign of unfathomable tactics.

Next season, last game in fresh May

their names will be on the lips

of the man who reads The List

of those who once so happily

trooped along to Fratton Park.

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CLP  05/05/2018

Dedicated to Albert Perry “Grampy”

 

 

Giardino Maria Luisa Fagnocchi Rava

1F8F8561-C186-4124-B9D5-5D910F231118

A fatica

Mi distacco da te

e nel pensiero

dell’ultima ora

ti porteró nel cuore

(M L Fagnocchi, Ravenna, fulgida d’oro)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

And finally

Amidst accumulated

Alpine snows

At the last hour

You open your heart to Love.

CLP 05/04/2018

 

In response to a rather challenging http://www.napowrymo.net challenge, i.e. photo, poem in a tongue foreign to the writer, interpreted in native tongue to the rhythm of the original.

Tonight Live at Institut de Beauté…

21D936F5-0288-46A1-9E08-9D145B7CC087the IMMUTABLE FAMILY

Supported by

OBLIVIOUS DAD

CAREER-BREAK MUM

Introducing by special invitation for one night only

The Other Men

Also featuring

THE SULLEN KIDS

CouldaWouldaShoulda

The Lame Excuses

MOTEL MATCHES

PUBLIC INTIMACY

ERRORS OF JUDGEMENT

The Sympathetic Neighbours

FUCK THE MORTGAGE!!

Opiate Overdose

and

Strangely Peaceful…

CLP 03/04/2018

N.B. The prompt today from http://www.napowrymo.net being a list poem using made up (punk) rock band names. If any of these are names of real bands good luck to you. If you want to name your band after any of these fictional names, be my guest.

n.b. Motel Matches would be a great band name, but it is the title of a cracking song by Elvis Costello. You can find it on his album Get Happy! 

1-2-3-4!!!

Echoes

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Off tops of greening trees

Across fresh flowering fields

Over rushing muddied streams

I hear her.

The broad expanse of

Verdant chalk down rolling

Rounded curves and valleys

Carry her voice.

She wheels above

Unseen against high bright sun

In glaring blue

Feathered fingers, arc’d wings

Float in thermal pools

Circular drifting

Her broadcast presence

Pierces the vivid canopy

Slices uncurling bracken

Stabs sticky dank litter

Where others’ ears

Who know this buzzard’s crying

Freeze in fear.

CLP 02/04/18

This poem is dedicated to George Monbiot http://www.monbiot.com