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