This year the weather changed with rain
and cold in the North, hints of autumn.
When our children were small, we always held a party
when August began. Each wore a crown.
The barley fields wave theirs in a golden sea.
Farmers will begin to gather the grain.
My mother took us bilberrying up on the moors.
A whole wild day scrambling through heather.
Special sandwiches and pop.
photograph and poem Rose Cook
poem from Sightings available http://www.greyhenpress.com
When John O’Donnell
And when this ends we will emerge, shyly
and then all at once, dazed, longhaired as we embrace
loved ones the shadow spared, and weep for those
it gathered in its shroud. A kind of rapture, this longed-for
laying on of hands, high cries as we nuzzle, leaning in
to kiss, and whisper that now things will be different,
although a time will come when we’ll forget
the curve’s approaching wave, the hiss and sigh
of ventilators, the crowded, makeshift morgues;
a time when we may even miss the old-world
arm’s-length courtesy, small kindnesses left on doorsteps,
the drifting, idle days, and nights when we flung open
all the windows to arias in the darkness, our voices
reaching out, holding each other till this passes.
photo Rose Cook
Poems in the Waiting Room project
I am honoured and happy to have my poem Love’s Camel shared in a poetry card to be left in medical waiting rooms, rest homes, hospices and prisons throughout New Zealand. The poems are presented in a three-folded A4 pamphlet, printed on both sides of the card. These free cards may be read and left on site or taken away for sharing or further reading.
Each poetry card contains a children’s poem, a haiku, plus poems from NZ and international poets.
The poems are also transcribed into Braille, bound into booklets and distributed to interested members of the sight-impaired community.
And so, it snows for her.
February opens white, to shine around
and she brings us together –
this midwife, this fertile goddess of the field.
How we love her, that she brings light.
And Seamus’ wife speaks on the radio
of how he loved Brigid particularly
and all womankind come to that,
which she celebrates by reading his love poem
The Clothes Shrine for Herself and herself.
And there is love on this day of Brigid
and we are not afraid.
note: Seamus Heaney’s last words were a text to his wife, Marie, saying nolle timere (don’t be afraid).
poem and photo Rose Cook
From my new book ‘Sightings’ which is available from me or: email@example.com