River Art

The river has been busy these past few weeks, flowing forcefully, flushing out debris, bouncing boulders, flooding deep pools, emptying basins, cleaning and clearing, sand sifting, dredging and transforming .

Lost and found

you lay on the sand ,
taking a rest from a rough ocean crossing
by the looks of things,
you spoke
of stories, of secrets, of deep travels
and slow returns,
we smile and plan.

Rain

The small fall
yesterday.





















The main road
lies across the foot
of this fall,
where the schoolchildren
walk and the vehicles drive.



















No visitors
at
Annandale falls
today



















No jumpers






















but tomorrow
they will dive down
and clean out
the debris.

West Indian Sorrel

Hibiscus sabdariffa
firm red wax calyx
precision incisions
sharp steel
separates seed
and succulence
staining skin.

spice
simmer
steam
sugar
stir

Old rum bottles
sparkle clean washed glass
open mouthed
stand still
swallow slowly
and savour
season's sorrel

Poetry perspective

When I was a five years old my mother gave me a copy of "A Child's Garden of Verse"
by Robert Louis Stevenson. 'Travel" was one of my favourites , who could guess that I would live in the land " where the golden apples grow." ? A.A. Milne, "When we were very young" still speaks volumes to me. Poetry is? Our voice, our expression, our values, our human connection.
Two things, connected with poetry, caught my attention today. The first was the always excellent post by Ms Baroque who enlightened me with regard to the entertainment, diversion, solace and courage that some of the troops, during WW1, experienced. The second is present day and reminds us of the power of words and the price to be paid, in this case, a love poem, addressed to those hearts that will remain, forever, deaf to the poet in all of us.

Poetic justice

Ar rin bek ka pyaw dair
(Aaron Beck, the psychiatrist, said)
Nar nar khan sah dat hma khan sah hma
(Only if you know how to suffer painfully)
Yoo yoo moo moo go phyit nay hma
(Only if you are crazy – crazy )
Kyi myat tet a noot pyinnya lo
(Can you appreciate a great work of Art)
Hmoo hmoan hmaing way zay det dat poan model ma lay yay
(Dear little photomodel who makes me dizzy)
Kyi daunk kyi mah kya hma a thair kwair det yawgah det
(They say it is a broken liver disease, a great and terrible one) [note: broken heart in Burmese is usually expressed as a broken liver]
Than baung myah zwa thaw chit tat thu myah
(Millions of those who know how to love)
Shwe a teet cha hta thaw let myah phyint let khoak tee yway yair bar
(Laugh and clap those gold-gilded hands)

Postcard 1

"Nutmeg" watercolour.

Birds on the wire

Six a.m. the cattle egrets, on their nocturnal perch, preen.
Satisfied with plumage preparations the flock departs,
simultaneously receiving runway clearance,
dispersing towards, separate, bovine assignations.
Come dusk, their appetites for parasites satisfied,
the egrets, in elegant ghostly flight, leave
high hillside garden pasture cow pens,
descend in formation, settle back to the wire.

Our Fish Friday

In the late afternoon, on a hot and humid day, I hear the conch shell call. The fish van is on its' way into the village. There is still plenty of time to find my purse and hold a bowl. I feel for some jacks, small jacks, well seasoned and fried in a little oil, to a crisp. The conch shell blows, louder, nearer. Peeping out from the kitchen doorway, I can see the little red fish van, parked up by Waist's Shop. T, upstairs, and not one to wait until they reach our gap, shouts "What you have?"
Being downstairs, where the house is of wall, the reply is muffled. T shouts again, " How much for it?" The van pulls up on the road above our house. The conch shell calls loud, loud, loud. T takes the bowl and returns with two pounds of Rock Hind and a smile as big as if he had caught them himself. "When last girl?"


With thanks to Guyana Gyal for the inspiration.
Read about the famous Gouave Fish Friday.