Blog Archives

If you want me…

It’s been a while. It’s been busy.

But I’ve been doing a bit of writing.

I have a few poems to share, over the next few weeks, as the summer proper hits us.

Meanwhile, if you want me, I’ll be on the porch….

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The House Stands Built, the Garden Lies Laid

 

If we needed lumber, I’d gladly go into the wood,

Cut logs and split them all afternoon.

Were there a shelf to put up, a cupboard fixed,

A picture to hang, I’ve no problem lending a hand.

Should the lawn need mowing, or the hedge trimming,

The garden path cemented, a fence erected,

Bicycle mended, stone wall constructed, a pond dug

Or a border weeded, you can count on me;

I’m always happy to go to work.

 

But the house is built, the garden laid,

There’s left little to do but watch the grass growing

So if you want me, I’ll be on the porch.

 

(This is a short video of what’s in front of said porch….)

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Leave off the Light

A little poem as we note the start of spring here.

The bats indeed did come out that night and now, a week later, there are lizards and frogs about, as well as cranes coming back north and storks reclaiming their nests.

 

Leave Off the Light

Leave off the lights

At least until the light leaves;

Let us feel it while it lasts,

Catch sight of birds flying to roosts, crying

As it dies, and perhaps bats will wheel past.

Let night descend inside, too, before

Filling our night with brightness,

Let the life outside touch our lives a little,

For at last there is light as twilight arrives.

Spring Dusk, a poem

Spring Dusk

 

The last song of the thrush before nightfall,

The final swings through the sky before swifts eventually settle:

The ensuing silence – if you can find it – as dusk sinks in

And pink clouds vanish into black.

 

These call out, loud as swift screams

To all who have ears:

Open the windows, shut off everything else,

 

Watch the darkness descend and catch the bats first flight;

You are alive now, but might not last the night.

 

 

churchdusk

Lines written in Pamplona

In the thick of the festival of San Fermines now.

san Fermin

A couple of dangerous and incident-filled bull runs the last two days. Reminds us that this is not a joke, and it reminded many of us of the way the bull runs used to be – before anti-slip coatings and better street surfaces.

I’ve been busy with kids and having meals with friends on our street, and have only gotten to see the fire works once, the bull runs on the telly, and haven’t been near the bull ring yet.  It reminds me of a poem I wrote during my first San Fermin festival – exactly 20 years ago (my mother-in-law was astounded when I told her we met that long ago!).

Lines Written in Pamplona

 

I have held my red bandana aloft,

Tied it round my neck

And worn it proudly:

Opened champagne at noon;

Held a candle at midnight.

Sung and danced and drank and walked and watched

And smiled in between.

But to experience San Fermin;

You need to have no need for sleep,

A body unaffected by alcohol,

The pulling power of James Bond,

The stamina and sperm count of a bull;

A bottomless stomach, to hold all there is to taste,

The ability to float above the crowds, so dense;

And omnipresence.

 

16/7/96

Yes, that was in the days when you could take a bottle into the packed Plaza Consistorial – and I was a young man!

Now I spend the afternoons doing thinks like bringing my kids up on the big wheel and having a picnic as the heat of the day dies down.

Big wheel

And another poem, before my first ever San Fermin lunch, of which my son just shared his first ever this year – he’s 7 months.

Lines Written in a Spanish Home

 

A stranger sitting at a Spanish table,

Eating things he never thought of

In ways he never knew,

Listening to the lunchtime

Talk of the household,

In another language he does not know;

But understanding something of the banter,

Wishing he could speak;

Thinking;

If, he could

Live like this.

 

5/7/96

 

 

Five Minutes from a Hectic Schedule

Five Minutes in Spring

 

Five minutes on a park bench

To catch sight of birds other than doves,

 

A walk along a tree-lined street

Instead of screen-staring upon a bus,

 

A pause between passing engines to

Actually hear the blackbird,

 

Lingering by a flowing fountain

To listen to the lovely gurgle,

 

A long gaze upon a hillside

Growing shades of green for grazing,

 

A halt, a hesitation, to inhale the

Heady horse chestnut scents;

 

Five minutes in spring, just five,

To remind us this here is life.

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It’s been a busy few weeks here in Pamplona.

I’ve my children’s book, Peter and the Little People out today!  You can get it here... https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/museitup/fantasy/peter-and-the-little-people-detail

As well as that, I’ve a novella under the name JD Martins, One Night in Boston, out tomorrow!     You can get that here…   http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martins_JD/one-night-in-boston.htm

What with promoting these and my other books, and preparing a blogtour for One Night in Boston, as well as normal life stuff like end of school year, taking care of the kids and having a baptism, I’ve not had time to do much reading or writing, or getting a chunk of time to get out in the mountains.

But it’s vital to take just a few minutes as spring spins past to appreciate why we’re here, to pause to see just how fast life is flying by. Then get back to the kids and exam correcting, and the edits of the book you swore would be done by Christmas…

 

 

 

 

 

 

May Day Poems

 

A Watcher on Calvary

A Watcher on Calvary

 

A man named Barabbas was once heard sighing,

From an alley on the path to Calvary, upon spying

A raucous crowd, carrying crosses to the top, go by,

And saying, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”

 

Springtime, I think…

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As the mild winter ends, we’re still getting some snow, which is a sting for the bees and their blossoms…

But a few signs make me think of things, and remind me embrace the environment.

 

Spring Should be Here.

 

The blackbird has deemed

It propitious this St. Pat’s

To screw the snow and sing.

 

 

Serenity

 

Sometimes when the traffic signal stops us

Those sixty seconds

Bring the most serenity to our day.

 

 

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Taking Time

 

Too often taking a few minutes

To scribble down some new words,

Staring at the screen and soaring

In our imagination, but not taking

Time to just sit and watch the world;

Interacting with the environment,

Embracing our ecology.

 

 

When you just don’t have a camera ready

Capturing Solar Dances

 

The sun, from its distant observation, shone

It’s light upon the far side of the moon,

Which hung out past our horizon;

A vast cloud bank over the mountains.

 

In the purple sky above a rising line of blue

Tinged yellow, the glow curled around

The curve of the moon – its back to Venus,

Reflecting the same light in

Full resplendence from much further away.

 

Had I had a camera, which could have

Captured the four Solar dancers

Through the window of the aeroplane

The way my eye did, well, it would have

Made a wonderful photo. But I didn’t.

 

Yet the scene is still forever captured;

Set in the store of my memory,

Seared upon my retina and etched

By my very nerve cells which shall

Never let me forget it.

 

I wrote this on the plane on the way to Israel last week as we flew the length of the  Mediterranean. I had my phone on airplane mode, but it just couldn’t do the scene justice, so I didn’t even bother.

Red Skies

Waiting For Spring

 

Was a time when I would look for each tiny bloom

Of daisy, dog violet, Veronica and the like along paths

As if searching a stream for gold; each gleam a godsend

Lighting up my life as winter slowly died

After an icy age of snow and bare soil,C and spring sped well,

Bringing joy in the profusion of snow drops and crocuses,

Readying myself for daffodils and primroses.

 

However, as February begins, this year,

I think I haven’t waited quite enough;

Like a child looking forward to Easter

After only just emptying selection boxes,

It lacks lustre, seems not so sweet, even

Unto wincing when I spy a shoot protrude

Too soon, these should be delightful but

They descry the coming sickness

Like the shepherds said of red skies.

 

RedSkies

 

The sky outside my window…. A delight? or a warning?

Sometimes it’s hard to know.

We are having a wonderfully mild winter, when we are happy not to have to wear our woollies and have the heating on full blast… but we know spring is coming too soon to be good, and is more indicative of sickness in our midst…