03-08-2018, 08:16 AM
Form: Sonnet
Talking to Herons
A biting breeze shook loose leaf confetti
as I skimmed the surface of the lake
with pebbles, from a weather worn jetty,
each dip stole colour from a deep opaque.
Silent as a distant steamer's bow wave,
a Grey Heron steps into the shallows,
we watch each other, still and unafraid,
he stoops to take a sip and I swallow.
Air brakes hiss coaching calm into chaos,
camera ants march down the steep grass bank
then spread out around the shoreline's pathos,
I worry as they flex old creaking planks.
Two sharp blasts and the steamer arrives,
its paddles churn and the clicking subsides.
Prompt: Delivery
Delivering baby Jesus
A wet December has walked itself
into the school hall,
darkening the herring bone floor.
The grey plastic chairs
have been scraped into place
and the chatter has died down to coughing.
Handcams are sat on laps
waiting to focus on the wrong child,
long enough to get a laugh on playback.
The Head Master
has welcomed us with a guitar
and stole his 5 minutes of shame
before he thanked us
and handed us over
to the music teacher, Mrs Jones.
She narrates the long journey to Bethlehem
and they open with Mary and Joseph
without a donkey, singing Little Donkey.
They arrive at the inn that is full
and ask if there is any room to spare?
The dusty old hall fades around the edges,
lights seem to shine brighter, the cast
suddenly has a Westend quality to it.
Then there he is, in his hand sown,
Inn keeper's brown tunic, with a cushion
to make him look portly.
The Handcam rises instinctively
as you mouth every practiced word,
and you know he'll never forget
the smell of stage makeup or
that moment, just before he walked on.
Talking to Herons
A biting breeze shook loose leaf confetti
as I skimmed the surface of the lake
with pebbles, from a weather worn jetty,
each dip stole colour from a deep opaque.
Silent as a distant steamer's bow wave,
a Grey Heron steps into the shallows,
we watch each other, still and unafraid,
he stoops to take a sip and I swallow.
Air brakes hiss coaching calm into chaos,
camera ants march down the steep grass bank
then spread out around the shoreline's pathos,
I worry as they flex old creaking planks.
Two sharp blasts and the steamer arrives,
its paddles churn and the clicking subsides.
Prompt: Delivery
Delivering baby Jesus
A wet December has walked itself
into the school hall,
darkening the herring bone floor.
The grey plastic chairs
have been scraped into place
and the chatter has died down to coughing.
Handcams are sat on laps
waiting to focus on the wrong child,
long enough to get a laugh on playback.
The Head Master
has welcomed us with a guitar
and stole his 5 minutes of shame
before he thanked us
and handed us over
to the music teacher, Mrs Jones.
She narrates the long journey to Bethlehem
and they open with Mary and Joseph
without a donkey, singing Little Donkey.
They arrive at the inn that is full
and ask if there is any room to spare?
The dusty old hall fades around the edges,
lights seem to shine brighter, the cast
suddenly has a Westend quality to it.
Then there he is, in his hand sown,
Inn keeper's brown tunic, with a cushion
to make him look portly.
The Handcam rises instinctively
as you mouth every practiced word,
and you know he'll never forget
the smell of stage makeup or
that moment, just before he walked on.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out