Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Something every day...

For pure inspiration take a look at
Wonderful wordsmith, Jo Bell, is this months contributor and writes and posts something (prose or poetry) as the name would suggest, daily. Her poem for the 15 February features the Janes... after a shared, very wet weekend walk (complete with photographic evidence). Thanks Jo!

English Walkers

We’re a little village, straggling up the hill
in soggy wool with knapsacks full
of chocolate and busted brollies,
watching all the children scoot and slip
like lapwings; watching lapwings
dawdle and display above the slope.
We might be going the wrong way
but no-one has a map and no-one minds.

And when we reach the blustered top
we won’t drink the champagne that Jane forgot,
we’ll have a piece of Fruit and Nut
and say how nice the view would be
if we could see it through the rain,
and turn around and slither back again
with wind-bright faces, apples, sodden socks
and smiles as broad as Yorkshire.

In an hour or two we’ll bang our boots
outside the porch, and puff our cheeks
and strip, and sit like muddy prawns
and warm our hands around our mugs
and someone will suggest
that we should all go to the pub, and they will drive.
And these will be our deathbed days,
the days that count, the ones we knew we were alive.

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