Skeleton Architecture

Yay! Sun! I always have the notion when the sun appears that perhaps it's time to put the gloves and hats away, but Scotland has had me in training and so they are all still out... They'll go away for a bit come June. May Sun in Scotland Then came the sun and, desperate for light we threw our bodies in its path, heedless of the wind; relentless giver of goosebumps on our bare flesh. We went outside and talked with our neighbours, swapping the pent up stories for what seemed to be the first time in months. Stories come out in the sun. All that was held in through the long dreary months: of grey, khaki, and brown; of the world rubbed out by gathering cloud; of the tears that fall in rain. But the wind still chilled and killed the new blooms and it would not fucking stop. And then this: It did. We had sun and warmth and bare skin and barbecues for at least two days. Three perhaps, if you  count the day the rain came back. But it did come back...

Here's a tanka inspired by the Fat Mum Slim photo a day prompt, 'floral', and also by a conversation I had with someone about high tides. The tides are very high at the moment, and apparently these are called Spring Tides even though they're in Autumn. I guess it's Spring somewhere!

I had so much fun with the Spenserian Stanzas in my last poem, The Flame So Bright  that I thought I'd have another go. The prompt from Sara at Mum Turned Mom this week was dance , and that, combined with my ongoing attempts to get clematis to grow in my garden (and hide my ugly fences), gave me the idea for this poem. If you're not familiar with the way that clematis and similar plants find where they'll grow, check out this gorgeous video on YouTube  (I'm afraid I don't know whose is the original). This poem has been selected for inclusion in Forward Poetry's anthology 'The Great British Write Off - Whispering Words', coming out this Autumn. You read it first, here. Clematis Dance Above the leaves a slender tendril lifts, head bowed to listen all attentively. Its neck is pale, and waiting on the gift of music. Delicate it turns to see; in rhythm with the spheres it twists slowly, takes up the dance. The neck proceeds to grow. The dance ...