Jam jars and tent pegs


Perfectly imperfect
that’s my memory of childhood years
I know it wasn’t all sunshine
but there was that long hot summer of ’76
with the grass scorched brown and
ravenous for the slightest drop of rain
and the sugar-water filled jam jars
suspended from tree branches –
a Heath Robinson-esque tactic
designed to entice the wasps away from luscious wax-bloomed plums
dangling like piñatas, swaying in the sultry breeze.
We holidayed in Wales
our old blue canvas tent patched
and not a patch on the brown and orange and plastic windowed
modern varieties that were our field mates for a fortnight.
Our neighbours had a portable TV, car battery powered
the boys had a pogo stick and their dad a boat –
mackerel clothed in rainbows filled our bellies that night.
Then the gales hit and our tent alone stood up to the wrath of the heavens
thanks to sheer bloody-mindedness and incessant hammering-in of tent pegs in the darkling night.
Not for us a disappointing flight home to suburbia in the face of the wilds.
Perfectly imperfect –
I wouldn’t swap it for the world.


I’m in reminiscent mood, for no reason. Here’s a slice of my childhood for you – and I’m sort of revealing my middle-age by mentioning the British drought of 1976… 🙂

The dVerse hosts are taking a well-earned rest until 18th July, but I still feel the urge to write poetry, which is a good thing, I think. I hope you enjoy it!

Merry Go Round – dVerse Poetics: Even Monkeys…


because I held on too long to what happened before

because I thought too much about maintaining the status quo

of the good times now

because I didn’t want to rock the boat

because I couldn’t bear for you to shout at me again

(a rare thing

just one time

but that was more than enough)

because I didn’t feel like the daughter

and you didn’t (know how to) behave like the dad

because I wanted to bask in your sunshine

like a satisfied seal on summer-heated rocks




now you’re gone and I can never ask you –




and I only have the echo of your voice

in the cavernous shadows of my mind

and I only have your smile

slightly faded now, in my eye

because of all of this and so much more –

I ask questions

I seek answers





a hard lesson, cruelly earned.

I’m thankful.


I think.


dVerse Poetics this week is hosted by guest host CC, who blogs here.

Our prompt this week is to think and write about mistakes we have made – have we learned from them? Did they have a silver lining? Were they the worst thing ever, even with the clarity of hindsight?

I wasn’t going to take part – not because I couldn’t think of anyhting to write, but because I damn well could, and some days, I am filled with ‘if only’ and ‘what if I..?’. You know. But I grabbed the thorny rose and I am glad I did. It’s cathartic. And I know the lovely dVerse community will be equally as honest – and that’s a comfort to me, to know that we’re all just human and none of us perfect.

Can I encourage you once again to open the door of the dVerse Poets’ Pub and stop by for a drink, a natter and a read? Maybe write your own thoughts down and share them too? We don’t bite – well, only if asked 😉

Fade away – dVerse Quadrille 10


Ethereal as the breeze you are –

were. You are gone now,

but were you ever here?

I have nothing physical,

no artefact to lay my hands on,

even the pocket-watch is hearsay,

passed to me the day after.

‘It was his father’s’.

I wonder.

Tonight Bjorn is barkeep over at dVerse, and is inviting us to write a Quadrille (a poem of 44 words), incorporating the word ‘breeze’ in the body of the poem.

I have no idea why ‘breeze’ inspired me to write this memory – for that’s what it is, and that is the pocket-watch above. Bizarrely the time it stopped working at (many years ago, I assume) is the time in the evening that my dad died.

Of course, you can be much more upbeat, sensual, comedic in your response – the choice is all yours! Please do take part though – it’s a great crowd over there!