Mythumbrian Dreams

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I started writing poetry in my teens – typical, self-indulgent poetry about love and teenage angst, as you’d expect. Interestingly, at school – an all girl’s grammar school – I was considered ‘not very good’ at expressive writing. I never wrote a thing between then and the millennium, because of those dismissive comments. I started writing again as a way of coming to terms with the breakdown of my marriage. Since then I have had several poems published and one story – so far! Isn’t it terrible how one teacher’s casual comment can limit a person for decades.

I write now to celebrate who I am, my roots, my ideals, my philosophy, and to explore worlds beyond my reality – though, one might ask – what is reality. There are some theories of mind that suggest reality is what we make of it – how we construct it in our thoughts: if we can imagine it – it must exist – somewhere.

Many of my recent poems are a combination of my roots in East Yorkshire and mythology – hence the title Mythumbrian Dreams. Here are the first two for your, hopefully, delectation.

Darkest Immortal Destiny

Is it my soul’s destiny?

Is fate cruelly testing me?

For I’m losing my heart

And it’s keeping me apart – from life’s reality.

 

When he visits my dreams

My desire reaches extremes,

It’s like catching the moon,

He can’t get here too soon – such fragile eternity.

 

Beyond his sweet kiss

When he fills me with bliss,

I’m a cat without a crutch

And lean into his touch – my wicked lovely.

 

Can I endure his embrace

Without losing face?

He makes me forget all the pain

But shall I remain – quintessentially me.

 

Will I fall off the edge

If I believe in his pledge?

When our love we exchange,

And mind and heart are estranged – in night’s conspiracy.

 

I sing loudly, love’s rhyme

As I drift out of Time;

Through night’s fervent realm

His touch is my helm – into insanity.

 

My heart takes flight

Searching the ink dark night;    

I’m lost; cleaved by love’s knife,

He’s my lodestone and life – its entirety.   

 

Allure captures my fears

Like a shudder of breath after tears;

Yet his radiant shadows anoint

Those fears, to disjoint – my frail equanimity.

 

There’s nothing left in this world                               

As through the abyss I’m hurled.                                               

Night after night                                                               

Revelling in his delight – come, darkest mercy.                                                                                      

                                                                                                               

Whatever this thing is

I will die for his kiss;

But death isn’t the end

For my soul so intends – to risk my mortality.

(Written in deference to the Wicked Lovely series of fantasy novels by Melissa Marr)

Changing Moods – a meditation on the River Humber  

The moon shines on the surface

As the river runs its course

Her silver face refracted

In its remorseless driving force

 

Across the sinuous river

Cloud shadows slide in view

Marbling the surface

In shades of pewter hue

 

The wind shakes up the wavelets

As currents cross its face

And queries ride the ripples

As the river changes pace

 

The water churns beneath the bridge

That throbs with speeding tyres

On parabolic curving arcs

Spun between concrete spires

 

Soft snow transforms the mudflats

Into leviathans lying low 

In that silent, frozen river

That dreams of long ago

 

When in its youth it pounded

Carving out the land 

Into vales and dales and flood plains

Grinding rock to sand

 

The river in its broad expanse

Meanders the cornfields tall

Till it reaches the mighty ocean’s

Arms, following the seagull’s call

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