Sunday morning is a good time for me to gather thoughts and write a little. There are few distractions, there is tea in the pot and I seldom have other commitments. I have a bad habit of not doing the thing I should be doing, though, and this morning I ought to be writing some topical humorous verse to share as ‘News in Rhyme’ at our Voices open mic evening on Tuesday, but on Sundays I find myself more reflective and serious.
Despite being an informal and undisciplined type, I like the formality and discipline of writing to a particular form. Unlike many writers more creative than me, I also enjoy the challenge of a writing to a theme or a prompt. So I took up the challenge of writing a couple of poems on the theme of ‘Reflections’ and submitting them to the Sir Philip Sidney Poetry Prize for Penshurst Festival, taking place next weekend. There will be a poetry reading and free (donations invited!) ploughmans lunch at Penshurst church next Sunday, October 3rd. This promises to be a well-attended event, and will include a selection of poetry on the chosen theme including those written and read by local children. As last year’s joint winner, I will be reading that poem, and my partner in (c)rhyme, David Smith, will be reading his prize-winning Lockdown Limerick. I have just heard that I have a poem short-listed for this year’s prize, so I will be reading that too.
Here’s the one that got away.
Mirror, Mirror
It startles me, that face so like my own
it disconcerts with eyes that scrutinise
to see through secrets, filter facts and lies.
It knows the sum of everything I’ve known.
Beneath the skin the contour of each bone
is unmistakable. I recognise
my mother, whom I greet with wry surprise,
which causes her to pause and, sighing, frown
before we both resume the ritual act
of powdering and redefining lines.
Then I stand back so distance blurs the truth
of years I try to mask with this compact
and brush, defying time and all its signs
with blushes yet more foolish than in youth.
From bad to verse... 