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

Digging A Duck Blind At Spurn

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

 

The art work for this day is "Craggs Cubley Digging a Duck Blind at Spurn" by John Law

 

 

 

Digging A Duck Blind At Spurn

 

Out here the land thins.
A permeable gauze, half sea,

liquid salt in its veins. 

 

He digs quickly. He hears the ocean

whispering "take your time,
we'll get there in the end"

The breeze whips up, a light
spray falls in the hole. The spade
takes another bite. Behind

 

him the sound of birds
melds with water and wind.
Out here the land thins.

Tim Fellows 4th April 2021