This poem was published in Folio#72 in 2018. Peppy Scott is a member of the Kent and Sussex Poetry Society. Her website is at https://harridanswall.wordpress.com/ and on Twitter she is @PeppyScott, and describes herself as follows. Ex-waitress. Dabbles in poetry, humorous verse, illustration, cartoons, spoken word. Sometimes sings in public, badly. (Sings brilliantly in the car.) Morning Swim in the North Sea We picked a path across the pebbles past the last high water mark and popped the pods of bladder wrack beneath our shingle-toughened feet before, drawn East toward the shore and morning's ritual immersion, we bore the breathless shock of waves that broke to wash our numbing skin, baptised us with a salted sting, called us, committed, deeper in.
Monthly Archives: July 2020
Morning Swim in the North Sea, by Peppy Scott
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Cherry Blossom, by Geraldine Cousins
Geraldine’s poem was selected and published in our Folio #72, in 2018.
Cherry Blossom On our doormat my two shoes made from lasts and lasting thirty years lie plastered with clay one cast on its side fraying laces loop through eyelets Tongues without speech Through double glazing and spattered rainbow droplets I dream I see my father's shoes neatly placed side by side as it he wants to remind me how his slender left hand was inside one shoe like a glove while the right hand brushed on cherry blossom polish till they shone Perhaps his pleasure came from memories of years dug into muddy trenches I grieve to think I can no longer reach him
Summer of Hope
We are going ahead with our annual Open Air meeting on July 21st 2020 at the Enchanted Place in the Ashdown Forest, weather permitting.
We have been there before and there is space to spread out.
The Theme is Hope. Bring along your portable chair, whatever masks or gloves you think you need and be ready to declaim your chosen poem on this theme. You may of course write one for the occasion yourself.
We’ll meet in the car park at 7.50 pm, ready to walk along for an 8.00 pm start. We won’t retire to the pub this year, so if it rains, it’s all off. Let’s hope for a fine night!
Tea at Furlongs, By John Arnold
John now lives in Suffolk, but remains an active member of the Society as he has been for many years. This poem was selected for inclusion in Folio #72 in 2018.
Tea at Furlongs 1939. After Eric Ravilious, 1903-1942 Even as I painted, I knew it was about to end: the tea things laid for two on your garden table; beyond the old flint wall, a field of corn ripe for harvest. The Southdown scarp reared up into a still blue sky, but read like a world up-ended, its contents sliding into hell. We clung on while we could. I panicked, cheated Tirzah, screwed Helen then Di. But now those days are spent... Dear Peggy, when you write please lie, convince me that the corn is still ungathered and the table's set for tea.