Howling gales and blogs

Cap’n Bev facilitating:

9^th November found us bobbing in the basin unable to sail with force 7 gales in the city. We had a low turnout with illness, London appointments and work afflicting our numbers so the session was used to take a good hard look at the blog… do you like it? I’m concerned that much of the inspired writing that has been shared during our Water Story sessions is simply languishing in notebooks at home when much of it is of a quality that really should be out there. I elicited promises of submissions; well done John and Aileen who came through… the rest of you? I’m coming looking for it!

 

Summer on the canal

by Aileen Paterson

The blue green glint of dragonflies

flying in the sun

white lilies

fallen pink blossom

butterflies

yellow iris

a circle of gulls

in the hazy sky above

the sun makes me lazy

dozing on a summers day

lily pads harbour life

as words emerge

on blank pages

thoughts brimming over

below the surface

a sunken world

of algae covered trolleys

brown trout

a pink rose clings to a bank

catkins scatter

small flying things

like tiny planes escort us

past pink and cream blossomed trees

where wood pigeons meet

in shaded groves flecked

with dappled light

drifting seeds like fairies

travel with us from the rushes

secret paths wind

through the trees

the glide of swans

with fluffy cygnets trailing

two herons stand in the reeds

fly up as we approach

then finally our boat is home

and the fairies vanish

back from where they came.

The Darkness

by John Young

 Ying meets the Yang,

 the sadness infuses with happiness, oil on water, they never congeal.

The deep trough has no end of misery, the shallow depths of trauma, never ending bleakness, the helplessness, the cushion of despair, engulfed, no light is visible, cul de sac existence of banality and servitude.

Although the chink of light, the glimmer of hope  a sliver of serenity the power of hope, within the darkness there is always light, the ying in the yang.

Taking Time

by Bev Schofield

Hollow and haggard the

9-5 stagger on busses and trains,

in sunshine or rain… not for me thanks!

Shuffling to old and to grey,

marking what’s left in pennies and days.

I’m taking time as mine,

the finite line of this life, my gift.

Sift through achievements and money if you will,

but still I would find my own peace of mind,

reach for outcomes and art

that are my definitive part.