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

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

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

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

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

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, 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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

Sheffield 1979

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

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

Sheffield 1979

A city, whose blood was molten steel,

waited for me in September sun.

Concrete flats loomed over the station

as the diesel fumes of weary trains

lay in the valley air. 

Long gone, the veil of sulphur

that clogged this city's lungs
to the sound of rattling cream trams.
Still, it had a hole in its road

and arches on the Wicker. Pride

in its knives, sharp and without stain.

There I rode a paternoster

(for no good reason), breathed in Hendo's,

 

discovered the 2p bus fare

on the number 60 to Crimicar Lane,

treacly beer at the Frog and Parrot

and the love of my life.

Tim Fellows 2021

The Harbour

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

The art work for this day is "Scarborough Harbour" by John Law

 

The Harbour

 

It wasn't the day I expected it to be. 

The seabirds now seem strangely quiet

as they make their patterns in the sky.

The tide has lapped to the wooden steps

as if it wants to climb and roam the town.

Check in to a B&B, climb the steep

and creaking stairs to the tiniest room

full of doll's house furniture. A pint

and a glass of wine in a seafront pub, 

fish and chips, ice-cream and a stroll

around the windy headland.

 

Until the lure of the moon pulls 

it back, leaving the attic room 

drenched in salt, only puddles 

on the cobblestones and the sad boat

left high and dry.

My world turned to sepia.  

Tim Fellows 2021

 

Pebble Bird

 

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

 

The art work for this day is "Sanderling Beach at Spurn Point" by John Law

 

 

Pebble Bird

The pebble bird is brought to life

in magic sand and whistling wind.

He's not all there, he's merely half

a bird, one head, one eye, one wing.

He has two legs, now there's a plus!

But look, his legs do not have feet

so he won't walk, he'll just hold fast,

and silent is his pebbly beak. 

His one eye stares up to the sky

where gulls of flesh and blood all wheel

and dip; he knows he'll never fly

and waits for time and tide to steal

 

his short and strange and magic life.

Then, just like us, he'll take his leave. 

Tim Fellows 2021

Sylvia

 

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

 

The art work for this day is by Jane Cornwell

Sylvia

I never coped the way I thought I should

I never meant to suffer for my art

I faded like a shadow in the woods

I always knew the bad came with the good

And one day you would likely break my heart

I never coped the way I thought I should

 

When words spill out they gush in bitter flood 

or sting and burn just like a poisoned dart

I faded like a shadow in the woods

 

Did you behave the only way you could?

Come each new day I'd hope for some fresh start

I never coped the way I thought I should

 

When next to you I felt some kind of dud

They didn't care that I was pretty smart

I faded like a shadow in the woods

 

And now it feels like sinking in the mud

And finally we'll always be apart

I never coped the way I thought I should

I faded like a shadow in the woods

 

Tim Fellows 2021

Ethereal Blue

 

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

 

The art work for this day is "Ethereal Blue" by Kerfe Roig

Ethereal Blue

My dreams are blue. My nightmares are blue.

Wherein I am locked in a blue room with muslin

walls. The floor is water and I enter without splashing.

I breathe in and blueness enters my lungs, turns

my tongue and blood to blue. 

Tim Fellows 2021

 

Selkie

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

The art work for this day is by Jane Cornwell

 

 

Selkie

 

Smooth and sensual, softly yearning 

he weaves through wave-breaks, surfs the whale-road

where the wild things meet at witching. 

Mate in moonlight, bodies melding

lost and lusting, they leave the earth-life

enter night-dreams, noses brushing

 

Salty singing, flick through sea-hair 

find their freedom, fierce in longing

burst the breakers, hot blood coursing

 

In the cooling, calm and careful,

gently gliding, ghosts in sea streams

silk and supple, stars their ceiling

Mourn in morning, the moon has faded

and he is gone, his heart is home-bound,

locked on land when sunlight brightens.

 

Come the cold-time, she climbs the sand-way

Grey and groaning, dragging grimly

Behind a bare and wind-tossed coast bush

Heavy with hunger, heaves a last time

born in blood and broken promise

Calf-cream leaks now, thick and calming

 

Lies with new birth, looks to land-hills

Sees a shape that seems familiar

Something's watching, wet with weeping. 

 

Tim Fellows 2021

Guacamole

 

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

 

The art work for this day is "Guacamole" by Kerfe Roig

 

Guacamole

 

An avocado never failed to satisfy

his senses. He had gone to market early 

to select the best and banter in bad Spanish

with Manuel, who had taught

him how to find the perfect fruit. 

 

The dark wrinkled skin, still firm

in his hand, the blade biting 

into flesh that just gave way, 

taking care when it met the pit;

ten cuidado! the warning from Manuel.

The supporting cast - firm scallions,

with trails of hair, sliced in rings. Luscious

ruby tomatoes, hitting him with scent

before his nose got near. Lime, sharp

and fresh, heightened with a dash of salt

and heat of Cayenne. He filled his bag

to the sound of Manuel laughing

with his next parroquiano. Later, eating 

while watching boats slide in and out

of the harbour he thought how much better

 

this simple meal became than the sum 

of such disparate parts. 

Tim Fellows 2021

Granite

 

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

 

The art work for this day is "Jim" by John Law.

Granite

Hard as granite, thirty years
unperturbed by relentless
dark noise and toxic dust, he told
them it wasn't wise, but their minds
were slow, their dull thoughts
creaking like an old winter tree. 

Tim Fellows 2021

 

Notes: I started with 6 words that sprang at me from the image and used this extreme obsessive form to start thinking how they connected:

 

 

Granite, unperturbed, dark, wise, slow, creaking

Creaking, granite, unperturbed, dark, wise, slow
Slow, creaking, granite, unperturbed, dark, wise
Wise, slow, creaking, granite, unperturbed, dark
Dark, wise, slow, creaking, granite, unperturbed
Unperturbed, dark, wise, slow, creaking, granite

 

I then tried other words from the completed piece in a 6 word obsessive form. 

Hard, relentless, noise, minds, dull, old
Relentless, noise, minds, dull, old, hard
Noise, minds, dull, old, hard, relentless
Minds, dull, old, hard, relentless, noise
Dull, old, hard, relentless, noise, minds
Old, hard, relentless, noise, minds, simple

Homeless

 

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

 

The art works for this day are "Homeless", "Geri" and "Unnamed" by John Law, Kerfe Roig and Jane Cornwell respectively

 

 

Homeless

It was here, well, just up there 

that he last worked. Windows boarded 

up wher he spent time watching 

people passing by. Making up stories

about their lives. Trying to avoid thinking

about his next drink. A distraction.

 

He'd stopped thinking about drink

long ago. Stuck in this underpass;

grimy, damp, and occasional wind tunnel. 

Wandering the soiled streets by day. 

He sometimes fantasised about being 

a tramp, a hobo from his childhood.

Wandering the countryside, feasting

on wild fruit and stealing vegetables

from a farmer's garden like Peter Rabbit.

Fashioning a home from branches 

and leaves, sleeping to the hoots

of owls and screeching fox. 

Hoots of derision and screeching tyres.

A cat that crossed the underpass 

to avoid him. Feasting on bin leftovers. 

Stealing if he could get away with it.

One day he hoped to wake up

from this nightmare. Or maybe not. 

Tim Fellows 2021

Orbiting

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

The art work for this day is "Orbiting" by Kerfe Roig

 

 

Orbiting

From her viewpoint

everything looked fractured.
 

People, places, animals,

her things, her past and present.

A shattering of colours, faces

and time.

Broken vinyl that somehow

still played.

 

Repeating the same song

over and over and

over and over and

over and over

Tim Fellows 2021

I also wrote this one....

Orbiting

 

From where I sit, said the captain,

it looks like a mess, like someone

has taken a perfectly good planet

and fractured it. 

 

He closed his physical eye,

took a deep breath and opened 

his ethereal eye. He looked

again at the Earth, saw through

the blue, the greens 

and browns, saw right to the core

of things. 

 

Saw the division, the terror,

the war, the destruction. 

No contact then, said the 

Science Officer, withdrawing 

his tentacles.

 

Nah, said the captain,

I'd rather eat my own shit.  

 

Tim Fellows 2021