For Sophia on your wedding day

For Sophia on your wedding day

You arrived in a blast of winter ice
And snow flurries
The church clock chimed midnight
Shortly after your first cry
Tuesday’s child is full of grace
I whispered and so you were.

You stared at me as if to say
I know you
I have heard your voice
I have lain beneath your
Beating heart
I have felt your
Love even before I
Became me.

Now you are mine and
I am yours for ever
You grow into
This impossibly beautiful
Creature and I know
That one day your loving
Trusting gaze will light
On another.

We are at that place today
And as I watch you shimmer
And sparkle among the
Flowers and candles
Within this sacred place
I will say a silent thank you
For all that has been and
Is yet to come.

Molly Rosenberg

29 April 2017

Arklow

A very touching new poem from friend of the blog, Molly Rosenberg.


Arklow

A deep gnawing in my heart
An urgency pressing into my thoughts
A deep desire to return to the land and people
From whence my blood has sprung.

A short air space away.
Maybe a journey through
Glassy green waves as
In the old days.

I crave the sound of those dear voices
Long to laugh with them and hear
The stories that only they can tell
And I can hear again and again.

I need to go before it is too late
Before the shadows are all that are left
The memories of sandy days,
The cows down the back lane
The chickens by the gate.

The smell of gorse and salt.
Blackberry and apple
Soda bread and breac 
Just memories that I
Can almost taste.

But it is the people
That I am missing
The need to be with
Them grows stronger
As the days and years pass.

Molly Rosenberg

New Year

Here’s a new poem by our occasional collaborator, Molly Rosenberg

New Year

Dull empty faces
Lips that are chapped
From cold not love.

Windows reflect
The unwanted
The unsellable, used up
And discarded.

Tired eyes, out-partied
Pale skinned,
Dried out and brittle.

Time to pause, restore.
Cool, clear waters
Wash away the fatigue.

The mirror reflects
A glimpse of hope
A rebirth,
A bubbling fountain
Of unexplained
Joy and laughter.

Molly Rosenberg

Being

Here’s the latest poem from our occasional contributor, Molly Rosenberg.

Being

Humming birds hover
Incessant flutter of wings
Frequent sips of nectar sweetness
Vital for the life they lead
But I just want to be.
Life mapped out
Months in black and white
No room for diversion
Another concert
Dinner
         Party
                  Event
On and on
Like waves pounding
The soft silvery sand

A line drawn
On the beach
In my head
Call a halt
Shout STOP
I want to retreat
Need to retreat
To save me.

Calm, tranquility drips
Like honey
From the Humming bird
She returns to her nest
To rest and just be
Like me.

Molly Rosenberg

Autumn Thoughts – Molly Rosenberg

autumn leavesIt’s that time of the year again. Clocks have gone back, the temperature is beginning to drop and we are all bracing ourselves for winter. The landscape is unrecognisable from the bright summer days, yet every season has its magic and its mood. Autumn, a sensitive time for nostalgia, for poring over memories by an open fire, for meditation; a season which John Keats has indelibly marked forever as a time for poetry. And so we are pleased today to present a new poem by our dear friend, Molly Rosenberg.


Autumn Thoughts

          Through gold
          Through ruby red
          Burnt orange
          Amber glow

Like us the magnificence of beauty
reaches its crescendo,
as the array of colours overwhelms
the Ravensbourne Valley.
It takes my breath away.
So short a time like our youth
so fleeting.

Fluttering
               Drifting
                         Crunching
                                        underfoot

Beauty turned to nuisance now
like us when our purpose is served,
all will be swept away.

The sharpness of the air pricks
my cheeks.
I wrap myself in the softness
of cashmere.
Relish the feeling of summer feet
now clad in suede as I tread
lightly through these
golden autumn days.

Molly Rosenberg


Wild blackberries

blackberries_wildThis week I have been revising a book of poetry that has been 18 months in the writing. Sections of the poem have been read by a very good friend of mine, Paul Taylor. I asked him as he was reading to mark the text wherever he found the lines confusing or simply dull. I am now working my way through the pages, sometimes rewriting passages he has marked as uninteresting or simply cutting them out if they no longer seem relevant to me.

It is always useful to have an editor, someone who can be trusted and whose judgment is based on wide reading and long years of experience. On this page I would like to express my gratitude to Paul for the task he undertook with great enthusiasm and completed with great professionalism. The lines  below, written over a year ago, nevertheless echo a poem submitted to the blog mid-August by Molly Rosenberg. According to Paul Taylor, my short poem is actually a metaphor for love. Who knows?


Wild blackberries

Wild blackberry canes
                   barbed brambles
heavy with fruit
                   thrive on the steep banks
of the railway cutting
                   goodness that grows
innocently
                   out of the soil :
but easy access to them is barred
                   by dense patches of nettles
so the berries gather dust
                   ripen and then fall back
into the undergrowth
                   to be eaten by birds
and by the large colonies of fox families
                   that have pitched their tents
at various stations
                   along the line

John Lyons


Missing out. . .

A Bigger Splash 1967 David Hockney born 1937 Purchased 1981 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/T03254
David Hockney, A Bigger Splash (1967), acrylic on canvas. Click to enlarge.

I have chosen David Hockney’s painting, A Bigger Splash (1967) from the Tate Britain collection, to accompany a new poem by Molly Rosenberg. The connection is perhaps rather tenuous, but both the poem and the painting deal with absence.

In Molly’s sensitive poem, a personal loss is registered and there is a tense equilibrium between the absence of one life and the presence of another. Hockney’s composition, however, captures the sad, dreary perfection of a Californian day by the pool. Here the pastel colours are deliberately drained of life, and the hard geometrical edges of the draughtsmanship are used to highlight the lifelessness of the scene. What is missing from this painting is the richness of life, there is no hint of a body anywhere. The splash that occurs is tantamount to an attack on the vapid soullessness of the scene, an act not of vandalism but of defiance and rebellion, a yearning for life.


Missing out

Glint of shining Aqua
At times almost blinding.
A boy figure stands
At the edge of the pool.
Elongated limbs that will stretch
With the promise of years to come.
The grandchild he so longed for, yet never saw.
Impatient, he left before age could claim him.

Corn-coloured hair ruffled beneath the surface
Drifts like weeds on the riverbed.
Honeyed limbs, silky smooth
Bejewelled with crystal drops.
He’d have held your small soft hand in his.
Delighted as you tightly clasped
your arms around his neck.

Molly Rosenberg