Untying the Knots

We bought the rosewood dining room suite
For our fifth wedding anniversary.

We had dusky pink cushions made
For the eight uncomfortable chairs.

You tied sixteen knots,
To attach each cushion to its chair.

You said I couldn’t tie them tightly enough
To stop the cushions sliding about.

My friend borrowed the chairs for a dinner party,
To celebrate her fortieth birthday.

We took the cushions off for ease of transport.

I struggled with each knot,
but succeeded in the end.

24 August 2008

This is one of my increasingly rare "divorce poems". Yesterday, Gerry came to pick up my chairs for Paula's 40th birthday dinner next Saturday. I was horribly struck, as I undid each knot, that the last time they were tied, was when Peter did them, about 15 years ago. The parallel between that, and the divorce, is of course, blindingly obvious. I just dashed this off today, so it may well need a lot more work, but next week is going to be unbelievably busy and stressful, so I thought I'd better get it down on paper, as I have been aware that I've hardly put anything up recently...

Mehndi

Black icing squeezed from
a golden, paper cone stains
swirling lines and dots
on my pale forearm.

A fortnight’s fading,
and the lacy tracery
is just a rusty rash.

Three weeks, and my skin
has amnesia.

15-24 August 2008

This is the other one I've struggled with. I'm still not really happy with it. I felt the mehndi was a very strong metaphor for love/relationships, when a friend commented that my mehdi looked like a rash, after about 2 weeks. I felt it was interesting how something that always starts so beautiful, changes to something ugly or diseased, and finally, disappears altogether... I had a verse about decoration, disease and disappearance (note the alliteration!) being three staging posts on the road of love, but have dropped it, cos it felt far too laboured. Also, can I safely assume everyone knows what a mehndi is, or do I have to put in "henna tattoo" somewhere?!

The Way to her Heart

Tenderly, the young man studies
Quails’ eggs on Stratford Market.
“Who’s the lucky girl?”
I want to ask.

(Not that I like quails’ eggs,
But because you only serve
Quails’ eggs, if
You want to impress.)

15-24 August 2008

I have written two poems recently, that I've struggled with, because I wanted to draw parallels with something, but I either made it too obvious, by including extra material, or worried that it wasn't obvious at all, if I didn't. Hence, the 2nd verse being in brackets here. Do I need it or not? The structure of this one is very much influenced by a poem by Leonard Cohen, which I've always loved:

For Anne

With Annie gone,
whose eyes to compare
to the morning sun?
Not that I did compare,
but I do compare,
now that she's gone.

Rapunzel's Lament

I never foresaw
the tangled webs each morning,
shrouding the plughole.

29 July 2008


This is another idea I've been wanting to write about for ages. I wrote "Rapunzel" on 26 June 2007, when my hair was probably only about two inches long. Growing it seemed totally positive, and symbolic of my new-found freedom. Now, it's about 9 inches long, and I'm surrounded by black snow-drifts and bird nests; I can't stop fiddling with it; it takes ages, and tons of shampoo and conditioner to wash; I look completely demented in the morning, with it squashed into weird shapes on the top of my head; and it makes me all hot and sweaty in the summer. However, I do still like it, and intend to keep growing it until some significant milestone is reached (probably my decree absolute...). I didn't come up with the title till the next day, and am quite pleased with it, as it refers nicely back to "Rapunzel", and is gently amusing (well, I think so!). I am still not quite sure if it wldn't be better as:

I never foresaw
the tangled webs, shrouding the
plughole each morning.

Kitten

She pats my eyelids.
I trust the claws, tucked in her
soft, blackberry paws.

29 July 2008


I had been wanting to write something about this for quite a while. It's about various aspects of my "relationship" with Muntu, the kitten I got in June. I find it interesting that she and I have a very gentle relationship, whereas she and William are much more "rough and tumble", and he is covered with scratches!

Night and Day

We return to last
night's space, emptied of busy-
ness: crowdless-quiet.

In praise-be-to-God,
dappled sunlight, I write two
poems: Then, and Now.

Drinking sunrise wine,
under wind-rustled leaves, I
act out the cliché.

20-28 July 2008


I wrote this the day after this year's Music in the Park event in Wanstead Park (see previous entry, and last year's "Salsa in the Park", 21 July 2007), when William begged me to take him back to the Park, so he cld explore the woods. We packed a picnic, and invited his friend, Ben, to come along. I sat under a tree, with a glass of rosé, while the boys rampaged about. I felt frightfully romantic, while I wrote the two poems, the previous one, and this one (or rather, started them, as it took me a week to decide on final(ish) drafts...). I had a debate with myself about the title: other options: "Revisited", "Paradise Revisited", and "Returning". If I had used "Night, and Day" in the last line of the second haiku/verse, I wld have used one of the other titles. I also originally had "Gerard's" or "Hopkins' ", instead of "praise-be-to-God", but I prefer this, though maybe it's a bit too clever, clever (or maybe the whole idea is a bit too self-consciously referential?).