Poem. War horses. Remembrance.

Thomas and I always mark the Remembrance time, and I think about all the horses that were taken away to War and didn't come back. My beloved horse would have been one of them.

It reminds me of a story of my Grandfather, who fought in the Great War. I never knew him, but the story comes to me from my Mother. Here's my poem, with a photo of my very young Grandfather in his military uniform beneath it.

                                 All Over by Christmas

My Great Grandfather withstood arguments and pleading,

weathered his son’s anger, saying

“You’re not taking him,

He’s mine, not yours,

He’s staying here,

He can go out to grass until you return”

All through cavalry training,

through drill, preparation, anticipation,

My young Grandfather held his annoyance

at the old man’s meanness

until finally,

in action,

he realised his father’s compassion.

 

Scolded by Squirrels. Nuts.

I find squirrels really disturbing and scary. Think of Squirrel Nutkin - he's horrid. If ever there was a wild animal plotting our downfall, it's the squirrel.
Here's my poem;

nuts

fixed with furious eyes

too angry to blink

straight backed

tail quivering with rage

screeching and screaming

before rushing away.

I’ve been threatened by three of them now

and in the same manner,

 one squirrel on a garden wall

 one on a forest branch

 one in the tree outside my room

Waterlilies. Poem. Airborne?

twirling
perhaps
though humid air
to alight
on still water

The pond in my garden is tiny, but has an exuberantly leafy waterlily in it. This morning, three flowers! I am convinced they landed, and did not grow.

How delightful to see airborne waterlilies floating down into ponds - I wonder when they do it?

High Tide. Summer Poem. Heat.

  High Tide

The fields are flooded with sunshine,

It swirls through parched corn,

Washes over dusty hedgerows,

Drenches weary trees,

Dripping into trembling shade.

A tide of heat drowns the land,

Every living thing submerged,

Slow and breathless in the golden ocean.

There is nothing to do but wait,

Wait for the tide turning,

And the slow ripples of night.



This is a high summer poem, from my collection Garden Seasons.
You can find it on my Etsy shop https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/153337724/poetry-collection-garden-seasons-in-a?ref=shop_home_active

When I took the photograph I didn't have my glasses on, so had no idea that I had captured a hoverfly in front of the poppy! 

poem. obscured. destination.

 

destination

an idea obscured

perhaps

more than

the present

path

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  I couldn't quite believe the veil of rain and mist in West Wales yesterday.

poem. almost enough.

  in the garden a

bird sings the sky
is blue there is
no noise from traffic the
tree whispers leaves are
shining the air is
warm what a beautiful
quiet place

poem. making time.

making time
I stand at the back door
whenever I can and
gaze at the garden,

at six in the morning
a minute or two to spare
as I drink my tea,

in the afternoon instead of
doing something else,

in the dusk as
the garden takes a breath,

or last thing at night

I stand at the back door
whenever I can and
gaze


It's the perfect antidote to feeling as though there is too much to do and too little time. I have lots of mirrors in my small garden, and this is the view of the looking glass garden through one of them.
 

haiku. writing on the wall, apocalypse

I was in a room where the whole wall was a whiteboard, and a haiku came to me. I like the way my name has smudged.





apocalypse
 I looked round - oh no -
The writing was on the wall
What luck - a whiteboard!

haiku. crocus. spring.

celebrating spring -
reaching to embrace the light
in sunshine at last

 My garden is finally waking up. I am so glad to see the crocus and daffodils too. Soon cherry blossom. 

Cardiff Children's LitFest. Photos. Poetry.

Here are some photos of my poetry performance in Cardiff Central Library as part of the Children's LitFest.

I am performing Spiky Hedgehog, which is one of my oldest and most favourite poems, which has actions for the children to join in with, and is always hugely noisy and enjoyable.

 This photo I really like!

At rest again.

Many thanks to Jennifer Haywood for the photos. 

www.francescakay.co.uk

Cardiff Children's LitFest. Poetry. Libraries. Fun.

After a rampaging poetry reading at Cardiff Central Library with an audience of young children, I staggered out into the fresh air with a slight headache from laughing so much,  and went to look at the children's poetry exhibition in the Old Library.

I had worked for a morning at Penyrenglyn Primary School, and some of the children's work was exhibited. It looked wonderful, enlarged from the original A4, and displayed in the beautiful exhibition space, along with lots of work from other schools, who had all had visits from writers.
We had written about Can't You Sleep Little Bear?  

It doesn't get much better than this - to perform poetry and songs to a young audience enjoying words and ideas, and then to see the results of workshop work displayed in a lovely exhibition.
All thanks to the Cardiff Children's Literature Festival. I am proud to have been part of it.
www.cardiffchildrenslitfest.com
www.francescakay.co.uk

Haiku. below zero

below zero
quiet caring night
carefully lays a blanket
over sleeping grass


                              When is this cold weather going to go away?

www.francescakay.co.uk

poem. beach huts. car park

long stay

parked up
until
the winter ticket
runs
out





I wonder how much it costs to purchase a car park ticket for a beach hut? And how you work out how many hours/months it is likely to be there?

www.francescakay.co.uk

Haiku. spring. different light.

Spring sunshine, changes -
a train floats above rooftops
swans float on green fields

www.francescakay.co.uk