Beth Brooke

@bethbpoet

Poet, Quaker, retired teacher, socialist, runner (just) , proud Omi . She/her

1.054 Folgt2.241 Follower1.944 Posts

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Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· 14d

Let’s have a poem

Marriage Portrait

When my mother was a spider, she ate my father;
liquefied his insides and gobbled them up.
She hung his desiccated exoskeleton
by a single silken thread to persuade the world
he wasn’t dead, but resting.

And so he dangled, twisted in the breeze.
The sun made shadows of him which danced
through the changing light of afternoon.
Then autumn blew and carried him away.

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· 20d

I’m doing the afternoon shift at the museum and it’s starting to get a bit quiet, so let’s have a poem. This one is from my chapbook A Long Way Down.

I Begin The Business Of Remembering

A white cockatoo.
Though caged, it laughs,
bobs along the branch,
demands attention.

The child in me remembers
its laughter,
the voice in which it speaks.

Talk to me, I say to the bird,
laugh me back to myself.

On the branch the cockatoo
speaks of light gathering
into morning, of sunlight that
throbs in the breast and bursts
in glittering blooms above the sea.

The bird has feathers
so white,
a beak and tongue
so black.

With the delicacy of a surgeon
it takes a nut from my hand,
peels off the shell, eats.

We will always feed one another,
it says.

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· 26d

This pair have now fully fledged -thank goodness!!!

Fledgling herring gulls making a mess of my kitchen roof!

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· 28d

Missing my Canadian son today

My coffee mug,
hand-crafted by Gloucester artisans.
Full-bellied, I curl my hands around it;
the outside glaze is shiny, smooth,
the colour of a blue ocean, inside
my mug is dark, rich as a java brew.
You bought it for me years ago,
have its twin.

I use it every day, cradle its comforting
warmth, hug it,
imagine you doing the same with yours
so many miles away.

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· 29d

#waterfallWednesday Thanks for telling me Debbie! Here’s Glencar near Sligo

Little waterfall pouring into a natural pool. Trees edge the waterfall

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· 29d

To celebrate finding some of my work in an actual bookshop, let’s have a poem.

Vase

The vase stands on the hall table,
cracked, water seeps out
in cool rivulets that trace a path
down the glazed exterior of
rich green, blue, cloud-swirl white.

This is the only vase in the house
but the flowers in the garden
are so beautiful that

each of us cuts a stem,
fills the vase with blood-red peonies,
irises the colour of midnight,
roses like the blush of evening sun.

Flowers in a cracked vase,
a burst of reckless beauty.

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· Jul 11

Maybe this fits the mood today.

We Dream Of Babylon

Enter Babylon only by night,
when the heat of the day
seeps out of the walls
to soften the evening.
Wander its narrow streets
by the flicker of torchlight,
when the air is rich with scents
of jasmine and rose.
Stand in the courtyard;
listen to the sound of water,
to the flutter of moths' wings
around the lamp. Then,
when the evening azan
sounds the call to prayer -
to sleep - be comforted,
knowing that the morning's
inevitable journey
is still a night away

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· Jul 11

I’m halfway through this. When I have finished I am going to read it again, straight away. If you are a parent, grandparent, teacher, politician or just someone who cares about children you should be reading this too.

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· Jul 8

An early poem but one suited to this summer heat

TheTaste Of Summer

In childhood I ride the hill,
stand on the pedals, propel myself
to the top,
throw down the bike,
and flop exultant under a peach-fat sun .
It hangs ripe in an endless sky
heavy with the scent of August.
I reach up, plunge my hands
wrist -deep into summer's flesh;
gouge out the fruit,
cram my mouth, eat
until I am nectar-drunk with joy.

In childhood, chin and fingers sticky
with summer juice,
I ride down the hill.
Legs stretched out above the pedals,
I shake with laughter.
I am eight years old and I can eat the sun.

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· Jul 5

16kms hike this morning. We set off early to make sure we weren’t too much in the sun. Called in at beautiful Whitcombe Church which happened to be open. Such a treat.

There’s a maize field on the right and a view down the hill to a thatched barn. There are trees on the far horizon

The interior of the church at Whitcombe. The font and pulpit are in the background. You can just make out the remnants of a medieval wall painting on the right

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· Jul 3

#OddChallenge #FutureTense

I Will Miss You Today

the morning will be full
of your absence.
The hook where you
used to hang your coat
will glare at me
"See? He's not here."
Empty, it will insist I recall
the touch and blueness of
your winter second skin,
the way it smelled of you;
the way it echoed your shape.
And for the rest of the day
my heart will leap
at the sight of every passing man
in a navy blue overcoat
who isn't you.

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· Jun 29

My friend gave me some sweet peas this morning and they smell so beautiful.

A posy of sweet peas in a jug. They are shades of purple, pink and red.

Beth Brooke@bethbpoet· Jun 28

Well it’s gull fledgling time and once again we have two learning the ropes of life on our kitchen roof. Here’s a poem. These critters are annoying but cute.