Sun shines, leaves aquiver
Trees of red and brown surround
Dappled paving, windows glitter,
In the woodland not a sound.
Golf course basks in light supreme
Sun reflects on shiny clubs
Chipping to the nearest green
Muffled clunk of ball on steel.
People move and voices chatter
Under sky of cloudless blue
Overlooking ruffled water
Breakfasts nourish life anew.
Cleaners clean and Hoovers hum
Last night’s debris all has vanished
Bags are loaded into cars
To our homes again we’re banished.
He flew me to the moon and sprinkled my life with stardust.
He lulled me to a comfort zone when I was feeling most alone.
No lover ever swung to the sound his songs more than me
And he raised my game in pursuit of fame,
Massaged the frown from my brow when I was down
As if he knew what I was going through when, in the wee small hours, I was tempted to have one more for the road.
He taught me to reinvent myself, to do it my way, time after time and saved me from getting eternally caught in the tender trap.
And now, although it’s over; its over, he’s gone, the melody lingers in my heart every time I listen to him sing.
I’ve had an amazing time!
I even learned to rhyme a sonnet here and there;
to sup soup in the sun, sat in a garden chair;
bring kids to the zoo with an elephant in tow;
light a fire with words (in my gifted way, don’t you know);
I was watered, fed and minded in the most delightful way
by some people who, each one of whom, had loads and loads to say
about history and and memory and stag-nighters and the like,
One even, in the morning, round a lake did have a hike.
Others lay and gobbled ‘Irish’ from the comfort of the bed.
(The sour ‘ould wan’ was given a plate of prunes instead!)
Then we listened to the radio to some outrageous chap
who claimed that he liked rivers (full of water, like a tap).
We appreciated grandeur and sat in a gracious room
until refreshments were delivered. Then to the cars Voom Voom!
Niamh should have the tent up by now, wellies not needed, but by the look of the sky here at 12.30, I wouldn’t put them far out of reach. Even thinking about the delights in store down there leaves me exhausted (from envy). I’m never in the right place at the right time. I even missed Glastonbury, for God’s sake.
Colm is ready to strut his stuff on the big stage, should be fairly petrified this minute, but once he sees the audience out front, he’ll be fine. He’ll produce his shy, charming smile - then blast them out of it.
David is basking in the glory of being short-listed for Sean O Faolain – such an international list, isn’t it? Why am I not surprised? Bravo Dave. We’ll all be rooting for you for the major award (the cream buns will be on you if you win actual cash.)
Louise will be reading her wonderful story to the group. I bet there’s a prize lurking there too.
And Matt is probably terrified about his radio performance in the morning on Liffey Sound fm 96.4 at 11 o’clock. We’ll all be listening to your Home Show.
Is this the end of the summer season, or is there more to come? Well, in radio land there is a whole feast prepared to keep us going for the cold(er) months of autumn and winter.
There are groups, and there are groups. I’ve visited quite a few in my time and I happen to think that ours is pretty good any way you look at it.
We have a constant number of about a dozen. We worry that we will be overwhelmed by new people – we are a Library Group so have a commitment to being open to the community; but somehow we stay at that number without any culling, as people come and go, new members join, some take a break to do a course, or write a novel. We have been lucky that no Prima Dona's emerged – nobody monopolising the session, no cliques, no power grabbers – and no shrinking violets either. Even more unusual I'd say is the quality of the writing, the generous and relevant robust comment on work read, the balance between prose and poetry. Strangely, no jealousy either when a member collars a prize that we all feel we could nearly have won – with a bit of luck!
The cream buns and coffee available on-site afterwards are a nice bonus!).
The Teen Group run by Niamh is another plus, because now and then others of us get involved and the young voices and attitudes increase our store of knowledge and keep us on our toes. Sometimes I learn much more there than at our own two hours – their humour is so instant, so un-moulded and free from inhibition.
The Speed Writing exercise we use at the beginning of each session not only wakens us up, but challenges the brain to snap into life. The amazing variety of contributions that emerge never fails to delight – from objects as diverse as Wire Brushes and Feathery Fans - and more often than not these ten-minute-to-create masterpieces re-emerge weeks later, as short stories winging their way to competitions.
Some of our group have spread their wings into Poetry Slams and Electric Picnics and that enervating sort of thing. Our new Radio Star has recharged the batteries of those who may have been slouching or a bit jaded as they are prodded into putting together pieces suitable for broadcasting, and gives a vehicle for showing work, selecting themes and music to match and generally letting the listener discover something about the kind of people who have an urgency to put words on paper.
But, of course, Blogging has practically taken over the lives of most of us………
