I just came across a page in my notebook that held so many lovely memories of early summer.
Hubby and I were holidaying in the Lake District with friends and while the boys did what they liked, Suzanne and I spent happy times, deep in thought, writing poetry.
She had been on a creative writing course and said that this was one of the exercises they had been given. I was to make a list of meaningful words or phrases and with a few more additions, create a poem. So I had a go.
It apparently is called a 'Lunch' poem written using lunchtime observations which must include a name, place and time. So here is my list of words that inspired my Sunday poem.
Rising mist, drifting rain, smudging cloud erasing mountain tops. Black lambs with grey mothers. Ferns, shades of green. Aimless tourists. Reasons. Gingerbread. Lichen-covered branches. Scudding clouds. Waterproof clothes. Foxgloves. Drystone walls. Open-top buses empty in the rain. Working farmers weaving tractors through dawdling tourists. Resentful or grateful? Admire the human sheep in synthetic woollies.
It certainly is evocative of the Grasmere I hold dear and it was a very pleasant way to while away
Over the week we wrote several poems but I haven't done any since. Might start making written observations again, ready for enforced 'indoors time' this Winter. I did say my diaries were eclectic, so room for some more poems perhaps?
Ode to Grasmere
Throw back the bedclothes and what of the day?
The garden outside lies muffled beneath
Its own rumpled blanket of drifting grey rain.
Raggedy clouds hug mountains,
Scudding, bumping, smudging,
Softly blending granite, bracken and grass.
Sheep bleat as they wander low meadows,
Curly black lambs suckle patient grey mothers,
Innocent beginnings to their first and only years.
Waterproofed against the weather,
Fred and Doris dawdle aimless,
Window-shop woollen tweeds in their cheap synthetic fleeces.
Crowded tea-shops, steamy mirrors,
Rain-slicked pavements on a
Summer Sunday in Grasmere.