Poetry

Women Belong in the Kitchen



“There’s a woman in my kitchen!” Bill said to Bob.

“Really Bill?” Bob said.

“Really Bob!” Bill replied.

“Is she wearing an apron?” Bill said.

Bob peered around the door.

“No! She’s not wearing anything!”

“Blimey!” Bill muttered.

“Things aren’t what they used to be.”

They both sighed.

Yoga

As a child, I was a gymnast, and as a result I still have a degree of flexibility in some areas, but not in all. The yoga mat seemed to me the perfect place to maintain that flexibility, so I began to practice yoga in my early twenties. I found it surprisingly relaxing where gymnastics has always been quite stressful on my joints. Having said this, yoga, for me, was more about the asanas and how sophisticated and strong my poses were. The relaxation was a great side effect, but it wasn’t the main reason for my practice. After nearly 20 years of practising yoga, I walked into a class. The teacher seemed to glow with beauty and kindness. Her soothing presence and command of the class truly reflected her skills and absolute yogic presence. I was transformed. The class, whilst challenging, was spiritual in a way I’d never experienced before. Poses I’d seen as being out of my remit seemed possible, after 20 years. In that one class, I went from seeing yoga as a flow of asanas with a side of spirituality to a sense of Self and oneness. I knew I should pursue this wonderful gift and try it for myself.

Poetry

Mosquito Bite

The mosquito bite:

A raised vault that sat proudly on my toe

And marked the close

Of a summer filled with love.

Friction on the skin

Drew blood to a heart

That stung when it burst

And opened as a butterfly.

Ankles torn.

The cat's claw.

That lacerated and healed so fast,

You gave me your heart.

Like the mosquito, his bite,

Intoxicating, hazy, conspicuous.

I brought both back

To place with my stash

Of endorsements.

A story, a memory, a beacon of hope.

Poetry

A Special Occasion

My Nan’s smile was innocent:

Arising from sheer virtue.

Her smile hailed happiness.

Smiling with her full face,

As a child.

Her eyes exposing experience without wisdom.

Her beam budding: true glee.

We sipped tea in china mugs.

A pleasant tête-à-tête ensued.

She peeped - perceiving my best bits, without question.

We talked, eating biscuits.

The house: always warm, inspired

A run of pleasantries coating our conversations

Like a light sifting on a Victoria Sponge.

We, the composite batter,

Churned together over the years.

Practiced and piloted -

Until,

A perfect rise and consistency shaped.

Our intimacy, icing sugar blended:

The final touches in her winter years.

Colouring our love with a delicate dusting.