When I Say English And Pretend I Don’t Mean Weak #DVersePoets #OpenLinkNight

I’m very English sometimes,

apologising

to the stranger staggering by,

shoulder swung into mine,

sorry caught in the air

with the dust cloud he trails.

So I’ll repeat

in case repetition makes up

for distance,

for an inability to find fire

until much later on

when I am a city or more

away

and still thinking about bone

and muscle

and a sharp snap of ‘move

now!’

No please.

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Image by Grae Dickason from Pixabay

Power

There is power in knowledge we say.

Hands sunk into pages,

curling under typography and quill scratch

to drag out the secrets

someone else left behind.

 

There is power in knowledge we say.

Tapping at temples

to indicate something more

locked away under synapse and cell,

a threat that the safety

could easily be clicked off.

 

There is power in words we say,

even ones unheard.

Loose lips spill secrets,

cost lives,

loose wars…

then again,

clever ones can do just the same.

Summer Dig

The paddock is still pitted with the evidence

of a nine-year-old’s attempt at archaeology.

Eleven years later,

bits of the broken crockery dug up hang about,

next to the oil tank, the bbq, inside the shed,

reminders of how we sifted through sand.

 

We were going to match time-team.

Discover the half-complete ruins

of an ancient civilisation’s round house.

Even now the most that’s been found

is one, dusty, bent up spoon

Dad brought in with him to the house.

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For a while I wanted to be an archaeologist when I grew up, so The Overgrown Garden became a dig site for myself and my younger sister who I roped into help me with the shovel work. I’m still hugely interested in the past, something that comes across to anyone who’s had the unfortunate experience of starting up any conversation with me pertaining to medieval/early modern history. I did also want to be an architect for a while, until I realised that it would take seven years and even then I wouldn’t be designing buildings like Bath Abbey, or Notre Dame, so really what was the point?

Anywho… thank you to DVerse for the opportunity to final work this spoon into one of my posts. I’ve been trying to work out how to use it on Writing And Works since I came downstairs and discovered it on the kitchen window sill. Not that unusual really. My dad tends to pick up random bits and bobs from the fields as he works. [Farmer with an interest in history. I take after him with the history, not so much with the farming.]

Time to start fibbing.

Humpty Dumpty and Alice. From Through the Look...
Humpty Dumpty and Alice. From Through the Looking-Glass. Illustration by John Tenniel. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Math?

Hard,

Hated,

Couldn’t stand!

All those equations!

And the answers I couldn’t find!

Yesterday I walked past the independent bookshop in my local town. I then doubled back and walked into the same bookshop, with the intent only to look and not to buy. My intent failed and I came out with two book, though I will defend my actions with the excuse that they were both on sale.

The first was a book on how to throw the prefect tea party. I’m unsure when exactly I will be throwing this tea party, but I shall see. The second book is seeing slightly more action as I’m working my way through it with great joy. Sticky page markers have even been resurrected from the top drawer of my desk, bright pink and cheerfully reminding me where the most humorous passages are so far.

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Ben Macintyre has written a cracker of a book. Did you know that Humpty Dumpty isn’t just a nursery rhyme, it’s a true story? And a fib doesn’t have to be a little white lie, it’s also a type of poetry that is based on Fibonacci’s sequence!

I’m less that fifty pages in, and already it has become my favourite book of the year, if not my favourite book of all the books I’ve read so far. It suits my humour, wonderfully witty and written to appeal to those with an interest in literature and language.

Want to read about how English contains the most phrases to mean “I’m going to the toilet”, or discover the origins of ‘Bastard’. The best phrase so far though has to be “Tingo” from the Easter Islands. According to Macintyre, this means “to borrow objects from a friend’s house, one by one, until there is nothing left.” (pg27)

My advice for today. Read this book! It has reminded me of exactly why I adore literature and language. They are both completely barmy!”

Drowning in a Drought

Even I’m starting to think that perhaps the country has gone a little doolally in the recent months. For those of you who are up to date on the English weather you will know that England is currently considered to be in a drought. For those of you who couldn’t give a toss about the English weather, you should, it’s a fantastic topic of conversation. Constant opportunities for a good gripe or moan, no matter what it’s like outside the window.

My shoes are still drying on the radiator from the walk from my sixth form to my car this afternoon! Areas of Britain are actually under hosepipe bans, and I’m squelching my way down the streets of Newport with an umbrella that recently gave in to the perils of wind! (It broke.)

At present I’m spending an annoyingly large amount of my time resembling a drown rat, and this is not a look that I wake up and think, hum… I quite fancy looking like that this morning.

Where I go to school is also infested with student driver (though I must include myself among them). Heavy traffic + torrential rain + the odd bus/van = best friend making threats to my life unless I start parking closer to school. (There really isn’t anywhere closer to school that I can park, at least not without risking being yelled at.)

I have to love living in England when stuff like this happens though. Where else can you say that you are currently stood in a drought area, but the rain has been pretty much non-stop for a week and a half?

Would it be any better if the weather suddenly turned warm? Probably not, the last heat wave we had just left most of the sixth form out on the school field complaining that it was too hot. I’d probably melt if I ever visited somewhere that actually does have summer.

There is really only one solution as far as I can see. Replace the broken umbrella and ignore all weather forecasters and drought announcer people. (Yes I know that’s probably not their title!) England is wonderfully barmy and I would not wish to live anywhere else.

 

 

 

But if someone knows how to get the rain to stop I would greatly appreciate it, just for the times between 8.20am-8.45 am and 3.45pm-4.30pm GMT. The rest of time I can huddle inside and everyone else can get a soaking.