Friday 24 December 2021

Full Circle

Published in "The View From Olympia" by Half Moon Books in July 2020



Full Circle

My wheels and head are spinning,
windscreen crazed,
my world turned upside down.
There is no pain but I can't move.
I black out.
Lights flash past as I wake on the trolley.
Later, the consultant is professional
and explains things I don't really hear.
There are five stages of grief, or maybe seven.
Hope is arguable.

Rehab, setbacks, frustration, but the worst
of all is pity.

And now, out of my usual chair,
I am ready. All the years of pain, work
and yes, hope, bring me here.
The stadium is full, and above my heart,
that I often wished would just stop beating,
is the red, white and blue.
I look up and see the rings,
and I know I have come full circle.
My wheels will be spinning once more
and this time I will be in control.


Tim Fellows 2019


Sunday 21 November 2021

Cradle Song

 A poem inspired by Miguel Hernandez and by the birth of my third grandson Oscar Luke Fellows.

 


Cradle Song

The air sings to you,
born in blood,
and you cry back;
first breath
cold in your body.

The blood is now your blood,
your mind is now your mind.

The phantoms we dance with in the night
sing you to sleep

and you lose yourself
in the warmth of her breast.

Tim Fellows October 2021

Tuesday 9 November 2021

An Inquest Into a Mining Death, 1935

In memory of Matilda Hooper (1884-1950), mother of James Ernest Hooper (1915-1935) and James William Hooper, my grandfather. 

A true story.

An Inquest Into a Mining Death, 1935

The jury donated their fees to the mother
of the dead miner.
The words of the witnesses had hung
in the stale air, crushing and suffocating.
How he was in the wrong place
at the wrong time.
How the company was not at fault.
It was sad of course, but part of life.
Before they filed out into the soot-soaked streets
she made sure she thanked them all
for their sympathy and generosity. 

Tim Fellows 2021




Thursday 7 October 2021

The Purbeck Boy

I wrote this one after a walking holiday in Dorset hosted by Jay and Jon from the folk group Ninebarrow. Poole harbour was used as practice for the D-Day landings. It's quite rare for me to write a ballad these days, but it felt right.

 



The Purbeck Boy

In the mellow cloak of summer
I played on dappled lanes
and climbed up to the Ridgeway
and dreamed of roaring Mains

where I would sail a mighty ship
in pirate days of old
with sword and musket I would search
for silver and for gold.

Though I was just a boy back then
and now I am a man
my heart still drums to Purbeck's beat;
my blood flows through this land.

The Dartford Warbler in the furze,
the adder on the trail;
Old Harry's white and battered sides,
the ruin on the hill

will never fail to comfort me
and harden in my core;
fight all the darkness in my mind
as we prepare for war.

I grip my gun in shaking hands
as we set out to sea
no Spanish Main, no treasure, just
the coast of Normandy.

I pray to God with all my strength
as we splash on the shore
that I may roam the verdant fields
and Purbeck's hills once more.

On Juno Hell has risen up
and Gold turns slowly red
where bullets fly and meet with flesh
and waves comfort the dead.

So far from there the Warbler sings;
the sun lights up the lanes
and seabirds nest on ancient cliffs
til I return again.

Tim Fellows June 2021

Sunday 19 September 2021

Linacre Woods in Summer

A follow-up to my winter Linacre Woods poem



Linacre Woods in Summer

Only the holly remembers the winter.
The rest slept, brown and drenched,
as frost and wind were kings
within these woods. Now they stretch,
reach out to brush and scratch my exposed skin.

Here, between the rigid trees, the sun
spotlights the path. Cow parsley crowns rise
high. Briars mock, rope-thick, dagger-sharp.
Behind, in the depths, the woods call.
Part of me is drawn there, to lie
in dark dampness. Become one with the earth.   

Tim Fellows Summer 2021


Image by Valiphotos from Pixabay

Thursday 16 September 2021

Gentleman

A found poem - that I tweaked and extended - in the comments section of YouTube below the video we made of Ian Parks' poems. The contributor is anonymous, as I don't think "Hugh Mungus" is their real name. 😀  



Gentleman

for Ian Parks

I often used to see him, walking
on Castle Hills. Always well dressed,
looked like he didn't belong here.

I even saw him down dog shit alley,
he didn't have any airs or graces

but seemed like he had another world
that developed and swirled in his head

and though

I am from the lowest class in this broken town
I love listening to his words.

I once said eyup to him, walking
with my soft but stocky looking Staffy.
 
He smiled and said hello back.
Absolute gentleman of a man.

Tim Fellows 2021 

with help from Hugh Mungus

Sunday 22 August 2021

Tiger


I wrote this on a visit to Yorkshire Wildlife Park with my grandson Edward. He seems both fascinated and horrified by the black and white photos of dead tigers in India that are on the fence by the tiger enclosure.

Tiger

She pads down to the silent pool,
rippling stripes dip in and out
of sunlit patches lying in her path.

Slips in, jaws ease open to display
curved scimitars designed to rend
live flesh, lolls a tongue evolved to lick

the pulsing blood of freshly slaughtered prey.
Behind the cage, lenses point and children gasp.
She ignores them all as she ignores the dragonfly 

that hovers near her glorious head.
On the fence a sign displays old images;
an animal hung upside down, borne on poles.

Another skinned and proudly splayed
across a colonial floor. A small child
clutches his toy dinosaur and turns his eyes

from dead to living, then back to dead. 

Tim Fellows 2021


Image by Andreas Breitling from Pixabay

Friday 6 August 2021

Ernie

Photo by Alan Roe

In memory of Ernie Moss, 1949-2021
Appearances for Chesterfield FC - 468
Goals for Chesterfield FC - 162


Ernie

We all remember.


The terraces, crumbling
under our frozen feet. Floodlights,
straining to light the four corners
of our hallowed field. Those minutes,
before gladiators appear, blue
scarves and hats streaming
in from Saltergate. Anticipation
rising like the steam
from the open roof of the toilet block.
Gloved hands, transferring
a 10p piece, receiving a programme
and some change. The metallic
clang, clang of the turnstile.

On the team sheet, one name,
one number, defines the team.
Lifts our hopes.

The local lad, leading from the front. 
His name,chanted by the massed choir 
on the Kop; his number, rising into the night sky,
propelled by will power. That hanging
moment, when time stood still,
the crowd breathing in. We had been
in this moment before. Many times.

His head, meeting the ball, arcing
it towards the enfolding net. The roar,
straining the rusting roof, rattling
the ancient stand.

The noise fading in our minds,
into legend. 

Tim Fellows 2020


Tuesday 20 July 2021

I Think Of You

 


I started writing this in Autumn 2019 after more flooding images from Japan. This week there have been deadly floods in Western Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands. Canada and the Western USA have experienced deadly and unprecedented high temperatures.

It's a love poem, of sorts.  

I Think Of You

I think of you
as relentless rain
feeds tumbling rivers;
when waters rise,
dark and filthy,
and blanket the land.
When fires crackle,
searing orange-red,
driven by winds
that howl over
cracked deserts.

I think of you,
your fragile beauty,
our green Spring,
summer breezes,
how I took you for granted.
The tears won't come,
even now, when I know
you will never come back.

Tim Fellows July 2021 


Image by LucyKaef from Pixabay

Tuesday 1 June 2021

National Poetry Month 2021 Writing Challenge

National Poetry Month 2021 Writing Challenge

Here are links to all the poems I wrote for the April 2021 National Poetry Month Ekphrastic Writing Challenge, set by Paul Brookes using art work by Jane Cornwell, John Law and Kerfe Roig.

Wikipedia describes the word ekphrasis, or ecphrasis, as follows: "it comes from the Greek for the description of a work of art produced as a rhetorical exercise, often used in the adjectival form ekphrastic. It is a vivid, often dramatic, verbal description of a visual work of art, either real or imagined."

In this case I have sometimes done this, but mainly I've allowed the art to inspire a poem around the subject of the piece, often tangential. 

I don't usually create and publish poems at speed so I consider all of these as drafts and they will almost certainly be edited, revised or left in their original form if they are beyond help. I've decided to look back at each of them and describe what they are about and why I wrote them - if I can figure it out. 

 




April 1st - mummy's gone

My immediate reaction, looking back at this, is how arresting the drawing is. The child in the poem is perhaps younger than the one in the picture. Children, and indeed adults, have a place they go when things have got really bad and this is how I saw this drawing. The event itself isn't obvious - more likely to be the mother leaving than passing away, I think. I deliberately used lower case throughout, and no punctuation, to emphasis the age of the narrator. I think this one can work without the drawing and just needs maybe a little tweaking. 

April 2nd -  La Luna

I'm not sure whether the artist intended this to look like a corrupted moon, but that's what I saw.
The form is a sonnet, with some half-rhymes. These are often used when something is amiss. The turn isn't really obvious, probably comes when you realise it's only the narrator that can see this. Is the narrator mad, or is everyone else not seeing the problem? I think the poem can stand without the picture, but the picture adds to it. It's hard to edit a sonnet, but I may need to have a look at this one again.  

April 3rd - Chysanthemums

I did a bit of background research on this flower and it raised the question of flowers as a symbol - often opposite things in different cultures. In this case of a failed marriage. A simple 2 stanza ABBA rhyming scheme in iambic pentameter. I quite like this one. It's miserable, though. That's 3 doom laden poems in a row. 

April 4th - Digging a Duck Blind at Spurn

I like this one. I've never been to Spurn but I have a mental image of it, and I quite like the idea of places that are remote, and the emptiness of river deltas and marsh land near the sea. I'd jotted a few things down and then the first line came to me, and I wanted to hook the poem around it. So much that I used it twice. The idea of land masses ebbing and flowing over long time periods also appeals, although now it seems that rising sea levels will mean this only goes one way. It's a free verse poem, and I think still needs some small tweaks, but it's a keeper.

April 5th - Orbiting

This was the first day I struggled to get something out. The art work intrigued me, and I wanted to write something about having fractured images. The second one (the alien one) came first and I gratefully wrote it down and kept it. It's not particularly original, though. The first one is closer to what I wanted to say, but will be something I may work on again / change / expand rather than keep. 

April 6th - Homeless

This definitely feels like a draft - it's too much like prose in parts and isn't the best homelessness poem I've written. The ideas are OK I think - there are two ideas in one poem though (the fragility of a secure job and home, the reality of homelessness), and maybe it's best to concentrate on one. It's also structured into stanzas, but whether it needs that or not I don't know. 

April 7th - Granite 

This one's nice and short, and I think with a bit of work it could be OK. The subject is definitely that of experience and wisdom being ignored. I realised after I'd written it that, buried in the poem, it might be more personal than I imagined. Despite how good the drawing is, I was struggling a bit for ideas at first so I used the technique of just writing down any words that came into my head when I looked at the image and then incorporating them into the poem. 

April 8th - Guacamole

This simple painting of the ingedients of guacamole made me think immediately of the markets in Spain - the non-standardised vegetables and fruits. I can almost smell them. This has the feel of a draft - more prose than poem - but I like some of the bits. Probably too much exposition at the end. 

April 9th - Selkie

This is inspired as much by Nancy Kerr's song Fragile Water as it is by Jane's artwork. Selkie is the name given to creatures who shape shift between seal and human forms and is Scots in origin. In many of the folk tales the selkie is female but I decided to twist that. If they lose their seal skin they can be stuck as humans. It's written in Anglo-Saxon rhythm, which relies heavily on alliteration and is better when read aloud than it is on the page. I quite like this one, but it probably needs some work. This will entail recording and listening back as much as reading it. If you know Beowulf, there are some references or "borrowings" from that too.

April 10th - Ethereal Blue

This is definitely a bit different but I'm not sure I like it or even understand what it's about. Still, it's what came to me when I saw the painting. It feels like a dream I may have had, although I don't remember any dream exactly like this. I also use the word "wherein" which I never use. I think I'll park this one...

April 11th - Sylvia

Back on more familiar and structured territory with a villanelle. I had recently watched the (not very good) film about Sylvia Plath and this image, and her story and relationship with Ted Hughes, triggered this poem. She wrote one of the best villanelles - A Mad Girl's Love Song - and the topic of this poem lends itself to an obsessive form. I'm always pleased when a structured poem works so this one will definitely be kept.

April 12th - Pebble Bird

I like this little sonnet. It's not Shakespearean, as it's in 8 syllables, not 10, and it breaks the iambic rhythm a bit. I like the half and near rhymes that stop it being too sing-song. The idea of us all being stuck in a certain limited life, that has its own beauty, until we are washed away is quite nicely handled.

April 13th - The Harbour

This is the best of the bunch so far. A free verse poem that, unusually, started in the middle and worked outwards. I normally either find a line that ends up being first or last, or I just write prose, chop it back and add in the rhythm later. I started with "The tide has lapped to the wooden steps
as if it wants to climb and roam the town." I also like the new first line that appeared later. The last line is the only one that really links to the painting but it still works - there may be better ones but it's intriguing and, actually, appropriate to the numbness of what has occurred. The idea of the tide being a metaphor for the expectation of what should have happened, and its recession matching the reality is pretty good. Very pleased overall. 
 
April 14th - Sheffield 1979
 
This is definitely a draft of something I want to develop - there are some good lines and the sentiment is right but this poem isn't there in either rhythm or structure.
 
April 15th -  The Old Tree

Inspired by Jane Cornwell's grim image, this poem treads familiar ground in terms of mortality, but think it manages to avoid being too much of a cliche. Whether it stands alone from the painting is interesting. It only alludes to the hanging tangentially, but the theme of getting old, seeing your friends disappear and having new life continue around you is relevant. At least for some of us. 

April 16th - 孤独な月

If I'm struggling with creating something from a prompt, I find a haiku is a good option to get something flowing. That's what I did here - I didn't know which art work to pick either so I wrote a haiku for each. I then thought, why not just create a sequence - this is a variant of a renga form. As with haiku, the true renga needs multiple people and has more rules than you can shake a stick at regarding content and structure. I used a 5-7-5 followed by a 7-7-7 and did at least acknowledge the seasonal nature of this Japanese poetic form. I think it's turned out OK. I also hope that Google has got that title right and it doesn't mean "Disenchanted helicopter"

April 17th - Back from Shopping

Not a poem, really. After so many depressing poems I felt I had to write something a bit more light-hearted. Although it does have a death in it. I don't think this piece will go much further, though. It just helped me to have a bit of a break from the serious stuff. 

April 18th -  She Breathes

A COVID poem - not much to say about it really. I don't know how the NHS front line staff kept going at the worst points in the crisis, as they risked their own health watching people struggle to breathe. The poem rhymes in two ways - the internal ABAB and the rhyming of each of the extra fifth lines with each other. It also uses one of Paul Brookes' favourite tricks of using the title as the first line. It is a bit clunky in parts but it might be worth trying to rework the bits that don't work. 

April 19th - Toads

The idea of a toadstool actually being a toad's stool triggered this poem. Of course the title invokes Larkin and there may be a hint of him in there. I quite like this one, although it isn't necessarily very layered or original. 

April 20th - Folly

I decided with this one to research the folly in the painting and include its story in the poem. The second image gave me the characters. I'm not quite sure what the poem is trying to say, but maybe that's the point, since it's maybe a folly itself. It needs a little bit of work but might be worth keeping. I'll revisit it later. It sparked a discussion when I posted it on the workshop facebook page regarding "the dog and he" - it's gramatically correct but sounds a bit forced linguistically, although it scans nicely. The poem starts off in iambic but then breaks into free verse. I need to make my mind up...

April 21st - Art

This appears to be a mining poem and it was inspired in part by a drawing of a miner by John Law. However its main thrust is around the concept of art, what it is, and who judges it. the same may well apply to poetry. I quite like this one as a stand-alone piece as it is but probably won't develop it further. Warning: Contains swearing!

April 22nd - Strange

This is the most deeply personal poem of the 30 in this challenge. Jane Cornwell's drawing happened to coincide with the date on which both my Mum and Dad died. I probably would have made any artwork connect with this, subconsciously, but it seemed very appropriate to put the idea of this poem down on paper. Electronically, at least. I don't think I'll change it much, if at all. From a poetic standpoint I like it's simple structure and the bracketing of the core of the poem with the matching, although not identical, start and end lines.

April 23rd - Magic Afoot

Shakespeare's birthday inspired this, and it borrows shamelessly from the Scottish play. My words do have links to Kerfe Roig's collage, though. Not much to the poem other than that really. I'll leave it up to you as to whether the interleaving of two poems works or not.

April 24th - Snipe

I had to resort to haiku again, but this time it's just 3 standard 5-7-5 form haiku. I quite like the idea here of linking the snipe and the sniper. I may have to extend it outside the haiku form, but maybe I'll leave it. 

April 25th - April Shower

I quite like this - I'm not sure why it's laid out as two line stanzas but it seems OK. There may be some parts that could be refined - for example I'm not sure the snake simile works.

April 26th - Apparition

If I remember, I was struggling to connect with the 3 pieces on offer so this was almost a stream of consciousness based on what I saw in Kerfe Roig's interpretation of the Tarot card. I'm not really happy with what came out so this will probably join the pile of "never rans". 

April 27th - The Trap

This is written in the "Mirrored Fib" form, based on the Fibonacci Sequence. The Fibonacci Sequence is a mathematical sequence seen often in nature, and many spider's webs have the spiral form linked to it. See the blog for full details. The form requires you to expand from extremely small lines (1 syllable) to very long ones then back again - it's easy to expand out and much harder to slam the brakes on. I used internal rhyming on the long lines to make them sound less like prose. I'm not totally happy with the words at the end as it still sounds a little forced. I'll keep this one but probably have another go at the ending. 

April 28th - The Hill

A strange ghostly one, written in blank verse. Definitely needs work, or perhaps rewriting in another form. The Latin's probably wrong too. 

April 29th - Ikaros

Ikaros is the Greek spelling of Icarus, who in mythology flew too close to the sun in the wings his father made of feathers and wax. He fell to his death. The birds in the painting are waxwings (see what I did there?) and this triggered the story. The poem is intended to be in the style of Constantine Cavafy, a Greek poet of the early 20th Century. Or, strictly speaking, in the style of one of Ian Parks' translations of Cavafy. I quite like it, but can probably ramp up the Cavafyness a bit in places. 

April 30th - The Death of Dignity

The painting for this seemed Victorian so I decided to go for a Romantic-style ballad form with personification of human traits, where a famous example would be Shelley's Masque of Anarchy. The rhymes are not always full, and sometimes quite tenous, but this is deliberate to keep it from being too smooth and to focus on the somewhat grim message. It's appropriate as I had a friendly Twitter exchange yesterday with someone who said we should just all believe in Britain and not worry about being exploited and robbed by the ruling class.

Here is my personal ranking of the poems

Ranking

1 - The Harbour
2 - Strange
3 - Ikaros
4 - The Old Tree
5 - Digging a Duck Blind At Spurn
6 - Sylvia
7 - April Shower
8 - Pebble Bird
9 - Chrysanthemums
10 - La Luna

11 - Art
12 - Granite
13 - Toads
14 - Folly
15 - The Death of Dignity
16 - Selkie
17 - She Breathes
18 - Snipe
19 - 孤独な月
20 - The Trap

21 - mummy's gone 
22 - Guacamole
23 - Sheffield 1979
24 - The Hill
25 - Apparition
26 - Magic Afoot
27 - Back from Shopping
28 - Orbiting
29 - Ethereal blue
30 - Homeless


Sunday 30 May 2021

Another Bloody Saturday

I used to be a rugby league referee, I still miss it, sort of ...


 

Another Bloody Saturday

The thud of shoulder into chest,
the hiss of hot breath expelled
into ice-cold northern air. The battlefield
is slathered with mud and shirts
have lost their colour. These warriors
know their opponent, they hold fast,
face to face, no quarter given.
Gerremonsiiiide!
Two props, built from Yorkshire oak
and Tetley's, have ratcheted
the combat notch by notch. A Thwack!
as armguard meets chin. A shrill blast
and dash to separate.

Is that t'best tha's fuckin' got!
Gumshields are out and there's a flash
of brown tombstone teeth. Red nose,
black eye, yellow cards. They accept
their fate and shuffle off to rest for ten.
Are them eyes painted on!
The ball
is like a fish in silt - it slips
from the winger's grasp again.
Unlucky, Bodger!
shouts the skipper
but as he turns his eyes dart murder.
E's never played that! The game is tied
as the final whistle sounds and all head for cover
from rain that drives in from glowering skies.

The showers beckon and the ref is paid in cash -
Bloody Dick Turpin under the secretary's
breath. A couple of beers in the club,
drinking games, the props discuss who won the fight.
Are tha comin' art for a few, Dave?

Nah, missus wants me back toneet.

He staggers home and sinks into his chair
while his wife watches Strictly. Everything
hurts. As some celebrity messes up
his Paso Doble his eyes close and he recalls
the try he scored. The comradeship. Adrenaline
just before the first contact.
Another brilliant bloody Saturday. 

Tim Fellows March 2021

Friday 30 April 2021

The Death of Dignity

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 
The art work for this day is by Jane Cornwell
 
 


The Death of Dignity

The birds came to this morbid place
because they always did.
Bringing flowers to weave a wreath
to mourn the recent dead.

They crowded round the fresh dug grave
and ruffled weary wings
with no intent to swoop or dive
and silent was their song. 

The flowers from impassive beaks
all withered when they fell
upon the earth so dry and cracked
on this sad, blighted, hill.

For here, within this lonely plot,
old Dignity lay dead.
It starved as Avarice grew fat
and Falsehood stalked the land.
 
Compassion too, had left this life,
replaced by Fear and Hate.
Anger swamped our shores in waves
and Day was quashed by Night.

It was no plague that brought these birds
to Dignity's sad end.
Just Humanity's brutal deeds
that put it in the ground.

Don't weep for Dignity, don't cry,
for everything we've lost.
The birds have flown, our words are clay,
the time for Hope has passed.

Tim Fellows 2021



Thursday 29 April 2021

Ikaros


Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 
 
The art work for this day is "Waxwings" by John Law, and "Concentrating on hearing voices" by Kerfe Roig






Ikaros 

after Cavafy
 
He fashioned wings with wax
and the largest feathers he could find. 
Their course to safety mapped with care.
His son, a dreamer, felt the rush
of clear breezes through his hair.
Spiraled, swerved and glided 
ever closer to the sun. 
Looking back, the craftsman wept
as Ikaros fell helpless to the sea.
The wax had gone, the feathers
floating free and cast upon the wind. 
Don't fly too high, don't dream.
Just let the wax stiffen
and cripple your wings. 

Tim Fellows 2021

Wednesday 28 April 2021

The Hill

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The art work for this day is "Roman Soldiers" by Jane Cornwell
 



The Hill

They came as ghosts, emerging in the dawn,
oblivious to time that had sped past
since they met death upon this battlefield
that was now meadow; and now swift the snow
fell on their shields, melted on their swords.
Translucently they hovered in this place
unable to find peace, they screamed and roared.
Recalled the blows that ripped them from this life
so far from home; their wives and children cried
when news from foreign fields arrived in Rome.

The only man who saw them on that day,
head bowed against the stinging Northern wind,
climbed the hill to face the phantom troops, 
stood straight, held out his arms and gently spoke:
Somnus autem, fortes viri - sleep well, brave
men of Rome. As the snow began to fade
so too did they, their armour, shields and swords
gleamed one last time as sunlight split the trees
and peace could come to this unholy spot;
the blood and bone below the earth now cleansed. 

Tim Fellows 2021

Tuesday 27 April 2021

The Trap

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. This is written in the "Mirrored Fib" form, based on the Fibonacci Sequence. The Fibonacci Sequence is a mathematical sequence seen often in nature, and many spider's webs have the spiral form linked to it. See the bottom of the blog for more details.

The art work for this day is "Reticulation #2" by Kerfe Roig
 

 
 
The Trap

Web
lies
waiting
poised to host
a careless victim;
struggling in vain to save its life.
Would I watch, wondering whether I should intervene 
if anything were caught within that sticky trap, break apart the web, or simply snap
the thinnest threads that hold the insect in its place, to free it from its jail, liberate 
before Arachne wins the deadly race, but perhaps
its translucent wings are broken,
and, deprived of all
nutrition,
spider
would
die. 

Tim Fellows 2021
 
The Reverse Fib Form

In Mathematics the Fibonacci Sequence is formed by starting at 0 and 1 and adding the previous two numbers together to form the next. 

(0),1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55,....

When made into interlocking squares, a spiral form appears from it as shown below.


This spiral, and the sequence is seen all across nature. Flower petals, sunflower centres, spider webs. As the sequence approaches infinity, the ratio of consecutive numbers approaches a number called the Golden Ratio. This spiral, and the golden ratio, are used across art and design to make aesthetically pleasing shapes. The Acropolis, Taj Mahal, and the Mona Lisa all have this concept built in. 
 
For "The Fib" poetry form, we write a poem using the number of syllables in the sequence for each line. This gets unwieldy from 34 upwards. Stop when it makes sense to! To make it more challenging, reverse the sequence to make "The Mirrored Fib" form as in my poem above.
 
1
1
2
3
5
8
13
21
21
13
8
5
3
2
1
1


Monday 26 April 2021

Apparition

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The art work for this day is "The Nine of Wands" by Kerfe Roig
 

 

Apparition
 
Alone in the desert, 
the clear night air raised bumps
on his unfeeling skin. His eyes
were raised, a billion sparkling
stars ignored. 
 
His only focus was the comet,
screaming in an endless vacuum, 
propelled without purpose, 
not even instinct. Flicked into motion,
crossing the frontier. 

The nine wands, painstakingly
inverted in the hard ground, seemed
to gleam in the moon's half light. 
They said that it would bypass
Earth, as far removed
 
as the aircraft he saw leaving trails
in the hot blue skies. But he knew
that there was more to the Universe
than Science, and the wands would
bring it to him.
 
Here, to this spot. Soon. 
 
Tim Fellows 2021

Sunday 25 April 2021

April Shower


Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 
 
The art works for this day are by Jane Cornwell and "April Showers" by Kerfe Roig 
 


 

 
April Shower
 
I hear the breeze rise through the woods
where, in other years, you would have walked. 

I listen for the haunting notes that followed you
but nothing drifts across the April air. I wonder

if you still play, your lips on that thin reed;
your breath, enclosed in maple, ready to vibrate

and pull me, like an entranced snake
through the house into the white-walled room;

your eyes closed, fingers moving on their own
and me, alone with just an empty chair.
 
A sudden squall has brought the April rain
and drives me to the cover of the trees
 
I watch it splash in puddles, see it drip 
from spring's new leaves, washing you away. 
 
Tim Fellows 2021

Saturday 24 April 2021

Snipe

 Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 
The art work for this day is "Snipe" by John Law
 
 

 
Snipe
 
Mottled back disguise
Tread gently on salt washed sands 
Rise like a dragon

Lie still and silent
Moon slides across morning skies
Trigger finger tight
 
Plunge your strong bill deep
Pull smoothly, your body still.
Death comes in the dawn

Tim Fellows 2021

Friday 23 April 2021

Magic Afoot

Happy Shakespeare Day!

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 
 
The art work for this day is "Magic is Afoot" by Kerfe Roig



Magic Afoot
 
Spins in blackness
Eye of newt
moon on fire
and toe of frog
in a circle of light
wool of bat
and raging desire
and tongue of dog

Adder's fork
she speaks in tongues
and blind-worm's sting
when night quells day
Lizard's leg
her heartbeat slows
and owlet's wing
he's going to pay

When shall we three meet again?
Him, and her, in endless pain....

Tim Fellows 2021
 

Thursday 22 April 2021

Strange

 
Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 
 
The art work for this day is by Jane Cornwell. 
 

 

 
Strange
 
It's strange
 
to know that you're not there
at the end of the line
with comforting words
and questions about the children.

I wish that I were eight again,
looking round and thinking
you had gone, then a wave
of relief as you re-appeared. 
 
There's no magic number
of seconds that can tick over,
after which it won't matter any more. 
No soothing words of comfort
 
when you don't believe in afterlife.
It makes you envy those who do.
 
Now that is strange. 
 
Tim Fellows 2021
 

Wednesday 21 April 2021

Art

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 
The art works for this day are "The Miner" by John Law, and "Into the Mirror (Remembering Marisol)" by Kerfe Roig




 
Art
 
He didn't consider his work to be art
as he sculpted rock with hydraulic skill.
Modern art left him cold, and he wasn't
a fan of Rembrandt either. 
His tunnels, like temples and catacombs,
remain; the walls scarred by centuries
of marks chiselled, hacked and drilled

that may, in some distant future time,
be discovered and pored over 
by the archaeologists of the day.
Who will analyse these historic sites
and discuss the meaning of the words
Dave is a wanker

carved in the wooden column. 

Tim Fellows 2021


Tuesday 20 April 2021

Folly

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 
The art works for this day are by Jane Cornwell and "Hoober Stand in Mist" by John Law 
 


 
 
Folly
 
They've climbed the hill, the dog and he,
to where the morning mist has thinned.
To where they see the Stand that hovers
in their view, half there, half not. 

It refutes the name that mocks its lack of use,
for purpose overrides and shames utility.
Far better its mission to remind them all
of the folly of a beaten cause.

And a Prince not much older than the man
whose dog meanders back and forth.
Who fled across the sea then disappeared
into the silent mists of history. 
 
Observing the breathless, weaving dog 
that rubs its face along the dewy grass,
he thinks that one day he will climb the Stand
for no reason he can comprehend.  

Tim Fellows 2021
 

Monday 19 April 2021

Toads

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 
The art work for this day is "Fly Agaric" by John Law
 

 
 
Toads
 
A dome of red
with dots of cream 
seems like the perfect place for 
toads to squat.
 
The perfect height
to pontificate 
and put to rights
the problems of the world
of toads. 

How there are 
too many frogs
around the pond these days
with their weird croaks
and mysterious froggy ways. 

The toads all nod,
slip off their stools
and disappear
into the evening gloom.

Tim Fellows 2021
 

Sunday 18 April 2021

She Breathes

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The art work for this day are by Jane Cornwell, "Barmston looking from Fraisethorpe" by John Law, and "Distances" by Kerfe Roig 





 
She Breathes
 
deeply through the mask,
fixes her visor one more time;
another day, another thankless task
for unknown lives laid on the line
and in her hands. 
 
She pulls
on another pair of soulless gloves
and closes eyes long drained of tears
for all the hurt and absent love
that will scar so many future years
and recalls the sands

as she awakes
on cliffs above the curving coast
and tastes the ocean in her mind
where ten thousand swirling ghosts
float with her, endlessly entwined
on a fine-spun strand

She returns
to flourescence, bustling noise,
as seascapes smear and snap the thread,
and vows to fight all that destroys
her memory of the gasping dead
of this blighted land.

Tim Fellows 2021


Saturday 17 April 2021

Back from Shopping

 
Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 
 
The art work for this day is "Back from Shopping" by John Law, and "Badger" by Kerfe Roig




 
Back from Shopping

This 'ill gets steeper every year!
Ya not wrong, Joan!
A pause to catch their breath, then
Ooh, guess who's died!
Who?
Well, I'm asking you!
Well, we don't know. You tell us!
Ooh, ya no fun these days, Maureen.
All right, that old bloke with the dog. Who sits outside the shops.
A pregnant pause.
We've just seen 'im, Maureen. You said hello!
Ooh, so I did. I'm losin' mi marbles, like mi mam did.
You two are 'opeless. Let's get goin', I've got to get our Charlotte 'ome
Tell 'em about that thing, nan! In the garden.
Ooh, yes. You'll never guess what worrin ar garden last neet. 
Dunno - a Peepin' Tom?
All three ladies laugh.
What's a peepintom, nan?
Never you mind, luv. No, it worra badger. A big 'un.
Ooh, I don't like them. Big things. Don't like 'em being killed, though.
No. 
No. 
They stop for breath and Joan lights a fag. 
Joan, who was it?
Who was what?
Who died?
Another pause and exhale of smoke. 
Dunno, can't remember now. 
 
Tim Fellows 2021
 



Friday 16 April 2021

孤独な月 (Lonely moon)

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The art works for this day are by Jane Cornwell, "Inner Truth" by Kerfe Roig and "Autumn Fruits" by John Law

 



 
 
 
孤独な月

A solo renga
 
Solitary moon
smoothly phased the passing time
as our seasons turned.

Starlight, forged in distant fire, 
cannot reach this room, this life,
or her hand, cold to my touch.
 
Autumn fruits have come;
rain-filled, juice-drenched, succulent.
They quickly perish. 

Bloodless fingers hold a wreath
in winter white. Graveyard gates
are covered in uncaring frost. 
 
Grasses grow, trees bend
in the gales of spring, tides ebb
and flow, rocks erode.

The sun seeks my skin, summer
will not come this year. I shun
its warmth, reject its healing. 

Do not wait for me. 
Beyond moon and furthest stars.
I will never come. 

Tim Fellows 2021

Thursday 15 April 2021

The Old Tree

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The pieces for this day are by Jane Cornwell and John Law
 


 

The Old Tree

The old tree felt a profound sadness.
It had seen so much, so many summers
and winters.
Its leaves had come and gone, its girth
expanding ring by ring.
There had always been creatures that
lived their brief lives in and around it.
Other trees had gone too, felled
by gales and axe, but it was spared. 
For the first time, the weight that pulled
on its branch reminded it that its roots
no longer drank the way they did. 
Its core felt dry and empty. 
Soon, it thought, I will return 
to the earth, leaving only a shell. 

Tim Fellows 2021


The Colours of Her Skirt

Based on a memory, which may be unreliable, from some time in the 1960s.  With thanks to Sarah Wimbush and Ian Parks for editing and for the...