Category: poetry

The Embrace

On By Annika PerryIn Art, poetry, Writing159 Comments
'Bronzed-coloured modern art sculpture of mother and child, mother's head turned towards mine as I embrace them both, my head resting on mother's shoulder.'
The Embrace

Yesterday I hugged a mother and child
The arms unyielding
The bodies cold and unrelenting
Yet such warmth in expression
A soulful tenderness in their closeness 

A unique embrace, where the usual 
Do not touch
Replaced with 
Please hug me

Art is for all
Art is not remote
To be viewed at a distance 
Art is life
Art is all our lives.

@Annika Perry, October 2024

My poem above was inspired by The Mother and Child sculpture by Henry Moore (1932) which is one of many wonderful, striking and thought-provoking pieces of art at the innovative and eclectic art museum of the Sainsbury Centre in Norwich, East Anglia. Originally a private collection by the Lord and Lady Sainsbury it was later donated to the University of East Anglia in the specially built museum. The collection is part of a desire to allow visitors to emotionally connect with the pieces (I did!) and enhance the belief in the ‘living life-force of art’.

Personal Note

Many thanks to everyone for your lovely comments on my last post and I was looking forward to returning here in September, Alas this became impossible. Tragically there was family bereavement as well as a devastating cancer diagnosis of a close family member. Along with the practical busyness of such news, emotionally I had to hunker down and slowly find my equilibrium. For now, my posts may be rather more erratic, my comments not as timely a I would wish. My heartfelt thoughts are with so many of you going through difficult times.

View of sunrise mist in a Swedish forest, August 2024

Listen!

On By Annika PerryIn poetry, Writing119 Comments

I’m not one for following rules! Even more so when reading instruction manuals, the very sight of them causes the same reaction in me as physics classes at school – my cognitive skills freeze!

However, I could not fail to be inspired by a creative writing prompt in my beautiful mslexia Diary & Planner.

This is what my mind saw: Take a favourite sentence. I had just the perfect one in mind:

‘Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.’ Confucius 

I came across these wise words for the first time earlier in the week while reading Khaya Ronkainen’s heartwarming and inspiring newsletter. (Do take a look at her wonderful poetry and blog here .)

Next, I believed I should place the sentence vertically down a page, a letter per line. Then create a poem or short fiction, starting with each letter on each line!

Creative ideas flowing I scribbled away with a satisfying whirl of energy. It became long; longer than I’d expected. Halfway through I returned to the instructions (quite typical for me!) and realised my piece was unravelling before me!

This was an acrostic writing exercise which involved selecting a sentence and listing the 14 words vertically. (Error #1 Mine was only 11 words) One should then make the first letter of each word into 14 new sentences or lines of poetry. (Error#2 I had made each letter of the sentence a new line – hence 50 line-long poem).

Instructions are great, and helpful at times yet they can be abandoned, as inspirations take us to new directions! Just so! Instead of scrapping my piece, I returned to it reinvigorated, daring!

I hope you enjoy my non-acrostic poem below and I wonder have you ever had any experiences where not following the instructions led to something new?

Listen

Listen!
I’m speaking
Fine
Except
I’m not.

Speak to me
Relish the moment 
Experience life
Accept it.

Listen
Lightly let your heart sing.

Yellow
Stains on your shirt
Immersed in fantasy
My imagination
Plays tricks.

Lions, or is it loins,
Enwrapped, enraptured,
Business, only business, you say.
Untruths, lies, fiction
Truth, tantalising close
Warped, twisted, broken
Especially from your mouth.

I sink down onto the chair,
Nestling amongst the blankets
Snug as a bug, as my mother used to say.
Insistent promises; you should become a writer.

Shut up, I whisper
Tornado of words whip
Over the coffee table, behind the TV.

Neither listen.

Me becomes we
Armed with history
Knitted over time.

Incorrigible, you really are, my Dad declared.  Was I? Am I?

Neither of us speak.

Groundhog Day number 63 or is it 541?
I forget.

The 
Clock
Oozes pain.
Mine and yours.

Please
Listen
I’m done
Come to me, though
As always, worn down.

Trust 
Eventually 
Destroyed. 

©Annika Perry, June 2024

The Farewell Tree

On By Annika PerryIn poetry, Writing116 Comments 
THE FAREWELL TREE

Dappled sunlight
a soft path
Fragments of light and shade
played catch 
beneath the lively birch leaves.

A hush hung delicately in the air.

So many goodbyes.
To fathers and sons left to fight
To a country
To one’s language.

For Alina, this was the toughest goodbye.
Yet not so at all.

They didn’t understand. 

She wasn’t being difficult, as her aunt claimed. 
She wasn’t a baby, as her sister teased her. 
She wasn’t like the rest of them. 

Her Mama understood that. 

These kept her safe.
Three grasped tightly
in each hand.
Knuckles white at times.

She wasn’t a baby.

She knew she was five. 
A big girl.

But the pacifiers had been her rock.
Soothed her as explosions shook their home
protected her as Mama forced a way for them
through the heaving stations.

These helped her sleep
on the trains
in the cars
from strange beds under unfamiliar blankets.

To home. Her new home.

Alina ran ahead, flitting onto the beach
jumped up on a rock
arms akimbo
feeling free.

Shells, of the sea variety, picked, pocketed
Later painted.

Next a left, then a right.
She’d arrived at the tree.

The whispers meandered up the path, 
weaving between the tree trunks
carried by the warmest of breezes.

‘She’ll never dare …
… it’s too much for her.’

But Alina realised at last.
The pacifiers, these pieces of plastic,
never were her rock.

Here was her world.

They were her everything.
Mama, Sestra and Titka.
Her family
Her father - her Tato so far away.

Pinks, blues, yellows, reds
Clusters of the rarest decorations
hung on ribbons 
from the birch branches.

One lone pacifier waved hello
Ten or more bunched up for safety.

Not a sound.

The air shifted next to Alina.
One became four.

Stillness filled her being
Sublime peace.

It was time.

‘Up there, please. Lift me up!’

Glancing up they saw it too
the perfect branch
the sunshine lighting it up.

On a yellow and blue ribbon
dangled her six rocks
her six pacifiers.

Let them fly here, highest of them all
In this nook
in this sanctuary. 

©Annika Perry, May 2024

Partridges Without A Pear Tree

On By Annika PerryIn Nature, poetry, Writing137 Comments 

PARTRIDGES WITHOUT A PEAR TREE

Come hither, seek refuge
Upon our verdant lawn.
Safe from hunters who
seek to drive your kind forth.

Your two bulbous bodies
step with confidence across the grass,
heads bobbing up and down in counterpoint
peck, pause, peck, pause.

Blood-red eyes assess the danger.
None.
The perfect bulls-eye
for a shot.

Crimson beaks puckered
ready for action,
mediterranean blue flecks
dappled upon your necks.

As for your brown colouring
tawny, tan, mottled, striking,
golden, shimmering, majestic,
Anything but dull.

Starring glumly from the fence
the two resident pigeons.
Bemused, irked, egos dented 
as they give ground and wait.

Patience a necessity
this grey afternoon 
as the red-legged partridges
explore, feed, recuperate.

The blue tits fret anxiously
eager to return to the feeders.
I, however, gaze in awe
at our unusual visitors.

You’re welcome, again.
Anytime!
I better get out
to plant a pear tree!

©Annika Perry, March 2024

All photographs ©Annika Perry. 

The camera used to take these photographs is a Canon Power Shot SX 620 HS

HOMAGE (to an old Oak)

On By Annika PerryIn poetry, The Fenland Black Oak Project, The Jubilee Oak Table, Travel, Writing129 Comments
"My photo of the Jubilee Oak Table in Ely Cathedral. It is taken from one end and one can see the full length down. At the furthest end a group of visitors are gathered, touching the table, peering underneath, reading information leaflets. The table is set in the expanse of the cathedral with lofty stone arches all around."

HOMAGE (to an old Oak)

Beneath God’s arches resides the travelling table,
Its glistening onyx boards a contradiction.

After all, it should not be here,
how is it possible
after its 5000-year journey?

One fair day as the Stone Age drew to a close
an acorn took root amongst the giant oak forests
in the East Anglian Fenlands.

As the moon cast its ethereal light
upon the monumental 60-metre trees
the sapling flourished.

It joined the canopies of the other oaks
Shrouding the people beneath
Protecting, becoming part of their landscape.

This, the Jubilee Oak, was indestructible.
Until the world altered.
Until the sea levels rose.
Roots loosened, it crashed
To its airless grave.

Untouched for five millennia
Resting in the pitch black of peat
A preserver.
Untouched until the 21st Century,
When at last
Unearthed!

Fourteen metres of black oak
released from its shroud of earth
Fourteen metres of jet-black oak trunk
Survived, intact.

The magical fusion of the ground’s iron and
the tree’s tannins
creating the black in the oak
ensuring this holy grail of wood.

Experts consulted, advised and directed,
a sawmill from Canada flew to help
To saw on site
Ten perfect consecutive boards.

With the craft of carpentry
the combination of skill and passion
the unity of artistry and knowledge
ALL paid HOMAGE to the beloved Oak Tree

A table designed, boards planed and dried.
The Table for the Nation completed.

In majesty, it resides beneath God’s arches.

Now it is time to pay OUR respects.

In reverential silence, visitors gaze upon the table,
making a pilgrimage along its length
Then back up on the other side.

Fingers caressing the boards, eyes admiring the sheen
of darkness. A play of light and dark,
An incongruous anomaly in reality.

Now and then people bend down,
Admiring the copper sheath below,
Then up they appear,
once again walking along
tracing the winding mysterious curves of the boards

Sweeping curves mirroring
the expansive Fenland Landscape,
as sweeping as the sea that failed to devour it.

The black oak
Present
In all its glory.

©Annika Perry, June 2023

"A close-up of the table showing the beautiful patina of the wood."

Note: The above post was inspired by a visit to view the Jubilee Oak tree while it was in residency at Ely Cathedral, Cambridgeshire, UK. (It is currently at Rochester Cathedral, Kent.) The table was unveiled in honour of HM Queen Elizabeth II in 2022, the year of the Platinum Jubilee and hence its name.

The ancient oak trees grew to a height of 60 metres (197 feet) and dwarf oaks of today whose average height is about 20 metres (65 feet).

Read more about The Fenland Black Oak Project here.

"A cross-section of the table, showing the varying sheen of dark to light brown surface and highlighting the beautiful sweeping planed wood."

IN THE MURK

On By Annika PerryIn poetry, Writing115 Comments

Private people, political pawns
Scratching for survival on the barren plains.
Tufts of autumn grasses, scraggly skeleton trees
A frozen mist of grey
descends on them all.

Flickering flames fight for life
beneath four large twigs
crossed unevenly above
the mound of ashes.

Vacant eyes stare despairingly.
The route to freedom pushes back
Behind them an equally determined force
hems them in. No return to civilisation.

Trapped, the human hostages wait.
For Life. Or for Death.

As usual the world watches on.
Albeit through distorted crackly images
sent from the migrants’ phones.
The Press refused entry by both sides.

In the glare of publicity, but not.
In our sights, but not.

Days become nights.
Tens of migrants become hundreds.
Hundreds turn to thousands.

In an area bereft of anything
There is even less than nothing.

The masses gather
at hastily slung up rolls of barbed wire.

The Border.

Words are thrown through the
gaping holes of mesh,
Stones are hurled across the countries.
SNIP SNAP.
Shears ineptly
attack the coiled boundary.

15,000 official soldiers ahead.
Unknown army thugs to the rear.
2,000 imprisoned, homeless, unrepresented.
No voice. No advocate.

Humanity at its basest.

As the verbose political volleys
are strewn across the air waves,
As political threats are met by counter-threats
People Die. All hope diminished.

Resolutions are passed in amiable assemblies
Discussions continued over replete repasts.
Morsels from these luncheon tables
But a dream to the Trapped.

Flown in by a malfeasant country
on the wings of promises,
of easy access to the West, of bright futures.

However much one might question
such nativity. The truth remains:
No one leaves their home for uncertainty.
No one endures such hardship.
Without real and absolute cause.

As the hoards gather in the frozen murk
Ghostly beings wander the earth
Human beings abandoned by the world.

For once, why not take the high ground?
For once, why not do what is morally right?

Let governments continue their wrangling,
Let world organisations issue
their impotent irresolute decrees.

For NOW

At the border, save the people.
Allow orderly documented entry
From there seek the best way forward.

For NOW

May humanity take a step forward,
Through the murk, across the wire.

©Annika Perry, November 2021

LIFE’S RICH TAPESTRY Woven in Words: A Book Review

On By Annika PerryIn Book Review, Book Reviews, poetry, Short Stories, Writing153 Comments

Thank goodness for the blogging challenges that inspired Sally Cronin’s Life’s Rich Tapestry Woven in Words. An enriching and engaging collection of verse, micro fiction and short stories, her work is mesmerising, always uplifting and often humorous. Throughout humanity and the spirits of humans (and some animals) is a beacon of hope for us all.

Sally’s poetry is enticing, thoughtful and soothing; they are written tightly within the framework of syllables for various formats such as haikus and tankas yet explore a vast range of topics encompassing the wonder of the seasons, recognising human frailties and celebrating the warmth of togetherness. She manages to take us on a journey from cave drawings to digital code across the universe, from the mystical of the ugly troll with his bewitching music in The Moonlight Concerto to the enchantment of Fairies!

As a writer, one poem – an ode to writing – particularly struck a chord with me:

The Freedom to write

The freedom
and time to create
written words
to be read
by those open to our thoughts
intoxicating.


by Sally Cronin

Sally Cronin is a master storyteller and I was immediately drawn into the lives of the characters in all her short stories. Her writing flows with ease and self-assurance within this diverse selection of short stories. I was moved by the reunion of siblings, impressed how a story told through the point of view of a polar bear both touched me and touched on environmental issues. The reason for a black sheep was raised in one story and had me smiling as did My Mouse, a clever play on words and a predicament experienced by most of us!

The superb stories in The Underdogs section had me in awe of the strength of the individual personalities of the dogs. Later, in For the Love of Lily, I was cheering on as eighty-year-old Millicent found her courage to stand up to her overbearing son with the help of her cat Lily and her kindly neighbour Eric. This was an excellent depiction of what I hope isn’t a scenario that takes place often.

The final longer pieces in the book are under the title of Speculative Fiction and these are all exceptional and shows Sally Cronin’s incredible imagination and ability in writing across all genres.

A moment of alignment is superlative and left me with goosebumps (of the happy variety!) as a child, following her death, manages to cross from the other world for the briefest of times on certain occasions to talk to her mother. Great Aunt Georgina left me tear-eyed and is a wonderful and powerful story partly told through the use of old letters; a deft use of an evocative writing technique. The Enhancement Project combines the tantalising hint of romance between a surgeon and her patient cyborg, all against the backdrop of the end of civilisation. It is a terrific blend of human and futuristic, of dark and light, love and destruction.

I can’t recommend Life’s Rich Tapestry Woven with Words highly enough and look forward to reading more of Sally Cronon’s books.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Available: Amazon US : $4.53 (Kindle) Amazon UK: £3.50(Kindle)

ABOUT SALLY CRONIN

Sally Cronin

Sally Cronin is the author of fifteen books including her memoir Size Matters: Especially when you weigh 330lb first published in 2001. This has been followed by another fourteen books both fiction and non-fiction including multi-genre collections of short stories and poetry.

Her latest release, Life is Like a Mosaic: Random fragments in harmony is a collection of 50 + images and poems on life, nature, love and a touch of humour.

As an author she understands how important it is to have support in marketing books and offers a number of FREE promotional opportunities in the Café and Bookstore on her blog and across her social media.

Her podcast shares book reviews and short stories Soundcloud Sally Cronin

After leading a nomadic existence exploring the world, she now lives with her husband on the coast of Southern Ireland enjoying the seasonal fluctuations in the temperature of the rain.

Sally’s magazine blog for lovers of health, food, books, music, humour and life in general is Smorgasbord Blog Magazine.

Connect directly with Sally on Twitter Facebook LinkedIn.

SWAYING ENIGMA

On By Annika PerryIn Haiku, poetry, Writing121 Comments

As I headed out into the garden one sunny February afternoon a movement caught my eye; upon the decking the wooden swing seat was gently swaying and for a moment or two endless possibilities swarmed to my mind. A ghostly being seemed to have taken comfort upon the seat, enjoying the wintry sunlight. Alas, the reality is most likely far more mundane and the breeze caught the slats as if a sail.

However, the image would not go away. Luckily I’d taken a video and soon poems came unbidden to me. Here are a couple of them.

The first is in a traditional Haiku format composed of only three lines. The first line of Haiku has 5 syllables, the second line has 7 syllables, and the third has 5 syllables.

ROCKING

Childhood memories
Sway with mysterious ease
Gentle cosseting.

©Annika Perry, March 2021

My second poem is a form called Eyeverse and is a four-line poem based around an image. The name was coined by mslexia, a British magazine for women writers founded in 1999 which releases four editions a year.

MOMENTS

Tea spilled on your torn jeans
My curls tousled through your fingers
Our first youthful kisses
A mere ghostly presence.


©Annika Perry, March 2021

Beckoning Light

On By Annika PerryIn Haiku, poetry, Snow, Writing133 Comments

Hushed serenity
Mystic blue embraces all,
Giving thanks for peace.

©Annika Perry

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Lone tree, spirit strong
Bedecked with icy jewels
Awaiting warm Spring.

©Annika Perry

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CHITTER-CHATTER

On By Annika PerryIn poetry, Writing120 Comments 
I recall a time of hugs
Welcomes by a handshake,
        a kiss.

Now young children dutifully step
        back
From the ‘danger’ of me,
        others, all.

They only run towards their friends
        Pull up
        Short!
        Stop!

Embarrassed glances at their shoes
Shy peeks at each other.

Laughter breaks the frightened spell.
Chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter.
Their magic world
            Reactivated.

by Annika Perry