I spent a lot of time editing this old villanelle.

Undesirable

Hi everyone,

Last week a few of us managed to get together and read a few poems. I am really happy to organise another go around if people are up for it? Originally I wanted to propose tomorrow evening as that was a good option for lots of people but I’ve had a bit of a tricky time of it the last few days and I think I need to take a moment to rest and recuperate. For that reason I think the end of the month would be better. I’ll do yet another doodle – omg – and hopefully, the third date will be the trick. x x h

The Heathy Track Mix up

You lose all inhibitions In a DOC hut,    
Sleeping side-by-side
with complete strangers. 
You don’t stay strangers for long
when you have the same name
the same hat, the same towel
destined to be mixed up 
with the first unpacking of rucksacks.

Then there were the six sick Aussies
Sharing their sickness 
with everyone within two yards.
By the fifth day, we had it too.

On arrival in civilisation
my namesake, a Flying Doctor,
wrote one prescription for the three of us
and shared the pills 
on the pharmacy counter.
We became friends for life.

.(DOC’ Department of Conservation)

Last week was a busy week for me. I was adding the finishing touches to my new pamphlet and I sent it off to the publisher last Saturday. Now, I am waiting for his response if he wants to publish it or not..

I really liked Alan’s prompt- it is very original. So I wrote something based on a true story but not told hundred percent true to the real event(s).

A COINCIDENCE

Heating the Home 

Underfoot in my house,  never seen,
a plethora of pipework, discreetly working
to heat radiators, keeping rooms warm
when summer’s heat decreases.

Letting me take a peep at the new heat pump installation,
my neighbour remarks that the corner of his garage
is like Frankenstein’s laboratory. I have to agree.
The muddle of pipes and tanks is ugly.
Maybe over time I will change
but for the present, I prefer pipework underfoot.

I do find villanelles a struggle – but it’s good to have to try one again, Wendy!

Villanelle for an Uncle

Jack scraped a living prospecting for gold.
Or did he? There’s so many threads,
the story of him shifts each time it’s told.

Left school at fourteen, couldn’t hold
a conversation, or a job in town. He fled
to scrape a living prospecting for gold.

Loved solitude, wild hills. Fierce heat and cold
cruel winters in a tent. Or was it a tin shed?
The story of him shifts each time it’s told.

I met him before he disappeared for good, old
bones in a scarecrow suit. Don’t stare mum said
it’s hard-scrape living, prospecting for gold.

He didn’t ever fit the usual mould
got shaped into a family myth instead.
The story of him shifts. Each time it’s told

dad laughs, swears Jack struck lucky, sold
up, sailed for Tahiti with a girl he’d wed.
But who makes money prospecting for gold?
The story of him shifts each time it’s told.

Ode to the Rocky Mountains

Look how the Rocky Mountains frame the day
where sunrise starts the Slocan Valley’s glow
and sunset sings a lullaby to stay

As shadows drifts across the Kaslo Bay
and summer kayaks slip by the water’s flow,
look how the Rocky Mountains frame the day

In early morning, the local cafe
chitchat draws the sketch on last winter’s snow
and sunset sings a lullaby to stay

Rehearsals resume for tomorrow’s play,
a gentle act that stars Ogopogo
Look how the Rocky Mountains frame the day

Up from the coast, spend time in a chalet
at night, gaze up at the northern lights glow
after sunset sings a lullaby to stay

A bride adores her baby’s breath bouquet,
the joyous sounds of children’s summer show,
look how the Rocky Mountains frame the day
and sunset sings a lullaby to stay.

Sorry this is late Have got behind again….

Underfoot

Helen Goldsmith is inviting you to a scheduled Zoom meeting.
Join Zoom Meeting
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The Final Mile

THE ART OF FORGETTING

After Elizabeth Bishop. One Art.

The art of boozing isn’t hard to master
so long as you are set on the intent
of forgetting that World War One disaster.

Those days in trenches when your fingers fluster
to open up a Woodbine packet, when you’re bent
on lighting up a fag before the muster,

and, all around, your comrades cluster,
wondering what those explosions meant,
living the horror of that World War One disaster.

So drink up, friends, empty your glasses faster.
And this is how my father’s money went
on a habit he could not, did not want to master.

And why my mother’s anger grew still vaster
while he slept and dreamt of that continent,
not able to forget that World War One disaster.

He’d drop off in his chair, making a gesture,
shouting in his sleep.  It was evident
the art of boozing  isn’t hard to master,
though it was, for their relationship, a disaster.

WG

Right, one hat off another one on. In terms of evening readings, tonight had to go out the window as I got stuck with a meeting for my son. The two evenings where the most people are available are this Wednesday the 27th from 6 or 7 London time (Patrick, Catherine, Mary, Almira). Or Wednesday the 3rd from 6 (Patrick, Mary, Annette, Gul). Can any of the people who weren’t free on one of those dates possibly squeeze it in?  Otherwise I am happy to do two readings so everyone can get a chance to meet up. If we go for that option we could even choose to give some constructive feedback if desired as we’ll be in small groups? Those who were free on both dates at both times can pick one or do both as they wish.

x x h

Still a bit raw but time to move on.

Underfoot

Wet sand, slippery-slick sticks
to skin like shrink-wrap, sucks
me downwards like an Octopus’
suckers suction prey. It is ready
to erode me, flesh, blood, organs
down to the bare-bones.

I wiggle my toes as if to say
no; I am not dead yet, not ready
to be digested and regurgitated
though I know you are wise
in the ways of making things
beautiful, even the most banal.

The tide washes its foamy way in
bathes my ankles in brine
washes away things I have carried
for far longer than I know
prickles the hairs on my legs
like a calling back to the womb.

I am not ready for this death either.
Not yet. Not ready to surrender
my body to the ocean’s gravity
though I could float for hours
without sinking, though nowhere else
could I feel so weightless, so free

from the gravity of thought.
I pull my toes from the sand’s embrace
shake off the sticky stubborn grains.
Later, I will dry my feet on a towel.
Erase the tears the ocean shed for me.
One day when I am ready, I will return.

Here- I managed to write my second villanelle, thanks to Wendy’s ‘demanding’ prompt.😒

I even did the rhyme scheme this time, somehow..I hope it worked.

Also this week, I am working on my new pamphlet- the last finishing touches before sending off to my previous publisher..

So, I am quite busy..The deadline for it is June 1st…

THE CLOCK SONG

Barefoot in Summer

the soles of my feet
learned
gravel, dust
the slip
of dry pine-needles,
prickle and jab of grass
sharp with tiny seed-pods
the mud moss squelch
of scrabbling down
to the creek’s
slick treachery of stones
its cold forbidden pools
then straggling home
up velvety back steps
the smooth pleasure
of their sun-warm concrete

even now
I’d know the place
if I took off my shoes

WEEK 4 I am feeling evil so a VILLANELLE , please.

Underfoot

Dense sponge soft ground

shifting, almost breathing

compact layers of years’ old autumns

gathered in a hoard

The tender surface is rising to meet my step

in an ancient life-form of peat

and blackish brown

drenched to be more than wet

yet dry as the bracken fold

yielding to my tread

giving over the heavy muskiness

of the wild ponies feet,

I am changed by this,

the mould of time preserved

in forests of sacred trees.

Panic Underfoot at 1:08am

Sleep interrupted,
no, not even started
Panic invaded peace and calm
of a long weekend
working its way into the gentleness
of a sunny morning
There is no chance of 8 hours of sleep now,
maybe 2 (actually 5)
like a virus
seeping into the nighttime
Fear is under foot,
so now there is no sleep
only tired eyes and a racing heart
Under more than just my feet,
under every cell
like blood filling every crack
No I’m not foolish
I only need a hug and a bathrobe
on the road to paradise reborn

Hello everybody,

I am back from London last night!! Still exhausted..I had a wonderful retreat with Jonathan Edwards and six other students in the middle of Cumbria..Mimi couldn’t come because she had a fall and broke her shoulder in three places!!

Michael Laskey came as a mid-week reader and I was thrilled to meet him, too!! He read from his poems..

I have a lot of catching up to do, so I won’t be able to write to last week’s prompt, however appealing it could be,

and here is my little poem for ‘underfoot’..

UNDERFOOT

Doodle for Evenings

I’ve offered 5 dates I think between now and the 16th of June. I’m afraid they are all Tuesdays and Wednesdays as I’m out every other weekday evening and weekends are a bit complicated. If this still doesn’t work for many people, I’ll do a final poll for Sunday evenings or dates later in June.

Have a great Tuesday!

Saying goodbye

A new flight of steps leads up  
between the houses
to a footpath paved with stones
from the beach.
it zigzags up between acres  of flowers.
white and yellow daisies,
as close together as an embrace.
It was here that I left you.

As I turned to leave , a light breeze
lifted you up in a spiral
higher than my head
as if you were saying goodbye
and then you were gone.

I like to think of you walking up,
past the feeding trough
where we watched the sheep,
below the cliff
and up, up, up to the walls
of the ancient town
where we stood all those years ago
looking out to the sea.

WG 4.May 2026

4 May 2026

Heb ‘sgidiau

The Right Hairstyle
 
I have always dreamed of long flowing hair
dark strands that keep growing –
but then up springs a loathing
tedious, constant combing.

I’m a bit behind. I’ve been wanting to write something about this person for a while. It always came out a bit too ratty and earnest. This is hopefully neither.

For god’s sake it was only an apple!

Far worse things have happened at sea
and on this programme. Only last week
that cow Lilith stole Adam’s pajamas
forcing him to sleep commando, he had to
vlog from his bed cave wrapped in his duvet
which sent the ratings through the roof
– obviously – I mean the dude’s a hunk.

So why the fuss over a little theft
it’s not like it was the last one hanging
there’s plenty more out there in the garden
which is now apparently “out of bounds”.
As if that would stop me! I mean seriously
they only picked me for the show because
I’m a rule breaker. They wanted the drama.

Well they’ve certainly got that now!
Apparently, the religious right’s gone bonkers
and even the we’re not atheists we’re agnostics
crowd says I’ve crossed a line.
I don’t regret it if that’s what you think.
It was the damned best apple I’ve eaten in ages
juicy, sweet, succulent, finger-licking

good and a wee bit illicit if you know what I mean?
Rumor has it they’re going to to boot me off.
Let them try bastards I say, let them try!
The public won’t have it. I’m the best thing
on this shit show, without me it’ll be like
watching paint dry. After all Lilith’s a mess
and Adam, while ripper, is a bit of a sheep.

I mean I didn’t even have to persuade him
he was out there in a sec, following me with his
puppy dog eyes, whining away like a wimp
Should we really be doing this E? Are you sure
we won’t get in trouble? I mean what a wanker.
Fit though. Hmm. Oh well, I’ll weather this storm.
Shame that Bloody Mary had to turn up so soon.

Hi, so a few people have filled in the doodles but not everyone. Links are in my last message if you scroll down. I have a question though, would an evening spot work better for more people? I am free most Tuesdays and could probably manage a Wednesday….

Untitled

The voice raised in anger wasn’t mine,
but my mother’s callous tones,
ringing like church bells
out of tune,
out of step
with reality.

Living in the past,
past caring,
past loving,
past the twilight
of a life lived,
but not welcomed.

Will she see the answers before it is too late
to make corrections or accept the hints I’ve given
her before. No, I think not.
Alas, the die is cast.

12th May 2026

https://poets.org/poem/sun-underfoot-among-sundews

That
is not me

although it wears my face, seems
to gesture with my hands towards
a far-too-perfect beach where
waves rush in, abruptly stop
turn back
before they reach
my deepfake feet

who could think this real?
I’ve said for years, insisted
in innumerable speeches
that no mortal creature, even
a monarch such as I,
has power to pause the tides

but
more than a million Follows
an avalanche of Likes
so many eager to believe ‘the facts’
when ‘facts’ are rearranged to suit them

what is a king to do?
how to govern in a world where no-one
leaves their screens for long enough
to come to the water’s edge
and weigh up what is true?

Scandalous!
Women! Most undignified!
Why can’t they just 
polish their hockey sticks  
and be content?
Unheard of in my day!
Scandalous! 
Renowned throughout the world
for their fleetness of foot 
their disregard for hard knocks!

Women should stay in the withdrawing room
or the kitchen according to their station.
Now I hear that 
not content with the benefits
provided by a French governess
they have been admitted
to the inner sanctum and are learning Latin!
When I took the cloth 
I regarded my youthful days with shame 
and have regretted ever since
the day I picked up the ball
and ran with it.

What Dylan Thomas Might Have Told Me In The Pub Last Night

As I nail my theses to the door
I am assailed by those who would attack
me. They say I am heretical
but I cannot stand by and watch
as they slowly destroy all I hold dear.
I am called a grifter, a chancer
but I say I am a grafter. What I do
is for the benefit of others.
Do not mistake the smile
on my face – it’s not there to fool
the public – it is simply a smile
of sheer pleasure when a plan comes
together. I will change the world.
I will make you see the world through
my eyes and you will understand
the lies that others promulgate.
Come with me and we can win – big.

More rant than poem-but I think he would agree!

Expectations not fullfilled

until you return from the moth of night
rich scent of bones to broth
and glasses exact, with froth –
set silver – your table-cloth  

in my mo bile still in Ctete

I’ve followed Helen’s example and tried a sequence of englynion…

Seedlings