Running Away with the Circus
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The morning's air is fresh. I can't get any particular sense of smell apart from fresh this morning, maybe because my eyes were reluctant to open after vivid dreams (the kind that wouldn't make good poems) but I am noticing colour. The sky is grey and the lawn is speckled with yellow buttercups and purple clover flowers.
This weekend saw my first yarn show in a ‘circus tent’. I felt inspired by the surroundings and recorded my poem ‘Blade’ with the tent as a backdrop. The poem is one of those that evolved from a seven minute write. I have always liked a timed free write, but I credit Caroline Bird for the seven minute timescale. I am pretty sure that’s how long she gives writers after delivering a prompt. It works for me because I can be completely focused for that amount of time and love seeing what can begin to emerge in ‘half a tea break’.
To write 'Blade' I saved a link to a photograph of a dagger from a news article. I also put my writing journal on my desk so that it would be the first thing I saw the next morning and would therefore remind me that I had something particular to explore. It was such a great picture I knew I wanted to create a response of my own to mark it. You can find an image of the blade here: Crystal Dagger.
I got up the next morning ready to write, and set a seven minute timer. The writing desk in the lounge is tucked in its own corner and feels like a solace all if its own. Like going somewhere you can visit and come back from. It’s very old, and very small but as a space it works!
The ‘grassed air’ bit of the poem comes from my memory of visiting the circus with my sister when she was young. Entering the warm humid space to find our seats (or perhaps bench space) I was hit by the seeming greenness of the air I was breathing. I do love it when a phrase flows when I am writing and that one seemed an appropriate description. I imagined being a sword swallower with a dagger carved from ice. The poem was starting.
I had to let the images of the lion and its trainer work their way out of my head, and the memory of me and my sister re-enacting the part where the trainer put his arm in the lion's mouth. We were in awe when it didn't bite him and loved the way he rubbed its forehead gently to get it to open its mouth in the first place. Filtering out the real and keeping my pen moving on the new felt fast and furious and that's a good way into a poem in my opinion.
I am still learning about reels and stories on social media, but I did manage to post the video as a reel. It felt good to do a 'one take wonder' in the wild! Also teaches me to watch my diction! There's a video of the poem on my YouTube channel, but I liked the live approach so I am grateful to James who said it would be a good thing to try.
There was definitely 'grassed air' in the tent for ‘Wool at Junction 13’ on Friday and Saturday afternoons. And cold air on the Sunday. I laughed when the air was cold because I had proudly announced to Kath on Friday morning that my bag was easy to pack and that it zipped up much more smoothly than usual, and Kath noted it was because I hadn’t packed any jumpers. Note to self… probably good to always squeeze a jumper in just in case!
Ronnie photographed well during the weekend. It’s a sign of joy when he jumps and somersaults for a photo and it was lovely to note that these photos raise a smile in others too. Disappointingly, Alt Text didn't pop up to offer any suggestions for this week's photo but I say it is Ronnie jumping for joy by a circus tent at a yarn show and temporarily ignoring the fact that there is a very high probability of landing in some sheep poo.
There was also joy in chickpeas. I took a lunch break with a chickpea curry and sat in the sun while live singing was happening and it felt so good to just be in the moment. A writing prompt once focused on gratitude and led to me listing things I was grateful for. On that day chickpeas were in the first line. Good little things aren't they? If you have a chickpea poem or a circus poem I would love to read it.
Good poems were in plentiful supply last week because Caroline Bird launched the new collection ‘Ambush at Still Lake’. It always feels good to hear the poems in the poet’s voice and it was lovely midweek treat to join the Carcanet webinar for just such a thing.
Midweek also marked the lovely occasion of the anniversary of a highly successful blind date. Twenty-two years ago I met Kath at Telfords warehouse. A lucky moment in my life because I had just realised that I was spending too much time looking at a couple of dating sites to see if I could meet someone. The very night I put my cup of tea down and went to the computer to delete those sites once and for all I saw a message waiting to be read. It offered me the choice of tea or beer on a Wednesday night and I took that final chance! The rest as they say, is history and there’s a particular bridge over the canal in Chester which holds a special place in my heart. The poem ‘Telford’s Warehouse’ in my most recent collection marks the moment well and ‘That Coin’ which can also be found there is a love poem for Kath.
I’ll leave you today with another circus poem:
THE FIRST OF THREE KNIVES
He fell in love with her silently;
from underneath.
Her legs flawless in tights, cheeks powdered smooth,
lips gloss-red.
She didn’t pout for him, but he took it anyway
held it in his mind.
When the tent emptied and the grassy air thinned,
he imagined her painted fingernails flirting against his chest.
The night his partner was delayed in Kent,
the ringmaster issued instructions:
the trapeze artist will be standing in.
He had never known his heart beat as fast
as when her wrists and ankles were secured
and he was offered the first of three knives.
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