Poems, poets and poetry.

A couple of days ago, I was going through one of my deepest, darkest cupboards when I came across this little gem...

I actually remember putting this together, I obviously thought myself quite the laureate in Junior school. I don't know when I wrote them but there is a reference to Mrs Davies ,who was my year 4 teacher, which means I must have written them aged 9 or under.

I think I actually stood up in class and said that I would willingly include anyone elses poems (if they passed the rigorous selection process of course). However, funnily enough, no one submitted any. Undeterred by this propospterous lack of enthusiasm, I went on to produce the relic pictured, instead of what was supposed to be a class anthology.

As anyone who's anyone will tell you, I had the dizzingly monumental honour of being selected as the year 6 Bard of Rhiwbeina Primary (nee Junior) school in...1996? I got to sit on a big chair at the end of the Eisteddfod and wear a crown, a cape and hold a sceptre. I also got to lord it over everyone else for the remainder of the year. I think my pseudo superiority complex has dogged me since then, when you've tasted highs such as then, its hard to live a normal life again.

So, without further do, here is a selection of poems, typed exactly as they appear, from 'Jodie's Anthology':

Snow Dance

The pond froze up the ice grew thick,

The candle was down to the last of its wick,

The snow fell down in soft snow flakes,

And danced just above the solid ice lakes,

The land was covered in a blanket of white,

The dazzling brightness reflected the light,

The robins were hopping around on the ground,

To see if there were any scraps to be found,

I know that the snow is not here to stay,

But I wish it would last till Christmas Day.

The Moonlight Owl

It circled around till it perched on a tree,

With sharp yellow eyes it stared down at me.

It ruffled its feathers and prepared for a flight,

For a hungry young mouse was trapped in its sight,

It quickly bent down and stood silently still

And stretched its talons to prepare for a kill.

Then it swooped down and snatched at its prey,

There in its claws the dead creature lay.

Then it soared off as swift as a kite

And flew back home in the silver moonlight

The Dance of the Fire Devils

They danced and sang in the hot fireplace,

Like sly foxes in the twisted flame face,

Their eyes flickered like a sun in the night,

and from their fingers stream beams of bright light.

They danced and ran in a peculiar way,

Shining like replicas of the bright light of day,

They waved their thin arms in the thick grey smoke,

They're the selfish unkind vain sort of folk.

They never stop dancing or prancing about,
unless you put the coal fire out,
They're stiff and jagged like models of wire,
So remember the devils when you next light the fire.

(This one was actually published in the 'Calypso' poetry book, I have a copy here with some corkers from other students if you fancy some blackmail material)


and finally,


The Death Devil

He arrived at hell in a puff of smoke,
And compliments flew from his firey folk,
He prowls around in the streets at night,
To find those who have fought their fight
His eyes are pools of fire his twisted body red,
If he climbs through your window you'll soon be dead,
He takes no pity upon his helpless prey,
But has to leave before the first light of day,
He drops his cloak over you and your bed,
To take you to the land of the dead,
So if your life rings the criminal bell,
Prepare for the devil to take you to HELL!

Now, I don't know if anyone else noticed the recurrent devil/death/gothic theme to these poems but they do seem a tad depressing. I find this a bit of a conundrum seeing as I was brought up on a diet of Red Dwarf, Bottom and The Young Ones. 

It's funny how now I've come full circle and I'm back to attempting to writing poetry again, what an opportune time to find my childhood anthology! I think I was better then than I am now....

x

I asked for a banana tree and they gave me a piece of metal...

I have a cold and I am feeling very sorry for myself. I must be ill because I had a few hours off this morning and even though the surf looked clean and the tide was right, I didn't go. I thought that was very grown up of me.

Because of the aforementioned illness I am fobbing you off with a previously written piece of creative writing. I do have an idea for my next blog but currently I'm too busy wallowing in self pity to write it...

Doc

He emptied another sugar sachet into his coffee, adding the empty packet to the pile on the table and stirring it with his little plastic spoon. He settled back into his seat and swung his bad leg out in front of him. The people who worked in the market assumed it was fake, but it wasn’t fake, just stiff with age. Doc didn’t feel the need to correct them, he liked the sympathy.

He knew of a rumour going round that he had lost his leg in the Falklands. Doc liked that. He further stoked the embers by wearing war medals which he had picked up in a second hand shop in Brighton. If people came close enough to read them they would realise they represented an impossible mix of dates, but no one ever came that close. Even when the market was at its busiest, everyone always gave Doc an amiable but wide berth. But, the way he saw it, he never claimed they were his, so he wasn’t lying. He can’t help what people assume.

He sneaked a look to the girls behind the counter before tearing off a small strip from the bottom of the menu to make a roach. If you looked at the menus in this cafe, you’d see that most of them are missing at least a half inch off the bottom. Doc had to be sly about it now because Janet kept catching him and telling him off. Honestly, scolding a war vet, what is the world coming to?

Doc hacked out a cough before easing himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his decorated walking stick. He limped past the bakery and out through the automatic doors, favouring his good leg. He needn’t worry about his seat, everyone knows that’s ‘Doc’s seat’. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his lighter, singeing his stained moustache as he lit his cigarette. He took a long drag and idly picked the dirt out of his nails. Yellowed fingers, too many cigarettes.

Hello Isabella!

On January 6th, at 5:55pm, little Isabella Mary Ashdown made her global debut in, of all places, Ystrad Mynach.

I realise I am biased but I must say, she is quite the looker. Observe the cuteness below (I totally stole the picture from facebook)...

Disclaimer: Readers particularly susceptible to bouts of fainting brought on by large amounts of cuteness are advised to view with caution.

Come on, just look at her. How unbelievably beautiful is she? And she already has a full head of hair! As of yet she is exhibiting no signs of the famed 'Ashdown Cranium Gigantis'.

As the first child from my siblings and I this was, of course, a massive event. Blankets were (partly) crocheted, the entire baby section of H&M was cooed over and never before explored areas of Amazon were utilised.

Just quickly, I'd like to point out that even though the gas and air machine may be still on, it is not advisable to partake. My brother was saying 'Go on, try it it makes your voice really low!' so off I go, inhaling deeply, talking in a low voice, laughing at my low voice, inhaling deeply, talking in a low voice, laughing at my low voice and so on and so forth, I'm sure you get the idea.

What I forgot is that gas and air is actually there to do something, it is used because it works, it has an intention and a function - the result of which was a giant head rush. It felt like my brain was imploding and exploding at the same time. Seriously, I felt like I'd done three rounds with Cheech and Chong, I had to lie down!

Probably not super advisable but I'm sure I'm not the only person to have fallen into this 'getting my moneys worth from the NHS via freebie' trap. Luckily they didn't leave any epidural needles around otherwise we may have been in big trouble.

Anyway, back to Isabella - I think she may be the first baby I have ever held, ever. I even sat down before she was handed to me in case I dropped her, as seen below:

This was before the gas and air, you can tell this because both my eyes are pointing in the same direction.

So, exciting times ahead!

Welcome to the world little Bella, and congratulations Moose and Sarah.