That Post-Holiday Feeling

A post-holiday rhyme

I’m trying to think of new stories to write.

It’s a new year. My mind should be brimming and bright.

But the ideas won’t come cause I have eaten too much.

Creativity’s choked by the Christmas pud starch.

The food has been constant, the dinners, the cake,

and chocolates - so many they made my gut ache. 

So I've gone on a diet of fruit and good stuff

cause I know that my tummy has had quite enough.

In a few days the goodness will reach to my brain

And then I can get back to writing again.

How do you cope with all the holiday excess? 

My body has lost all its zoom

I saw an advert on Twitter today for an intensive Lindy Hop/Jive session. I'd love to do that but I fear my body wouldn't hold up so I wrote one of my poems instead:

Where are my glasses? It makes me feel sad.
As a youngster my vision was great.
I’d thread needles for Mum and read small print for Dad.
Now those tasks get me into a state.

In the old days I never kept losing my things
And I knew why I’d entered a room
And I’d skip down the road like my feet were on springs.
Now my body has lost all its zoom!

I can’t keep up to date with today’s trendy youth.
And technology changes so fast.
Though I like modern music, to tell you the truth
I’d much rather play songs from the past.

So I live in what is, but I dream of what was.
It’s a common thing. That's what I'm told.
It’s expected. It’s normal. It happens because
We just can’t stop ourselves growing old.

Peeling Potatoes

I’ve opened a present, a bottle of Schnapps

My favourite, Archers, peach flavour

I’m peeling potatoes and just dare not lapse

Cause my roasties are something to savour.

I’ve eaten four mince pies laced liberally with rum.

I’m still peeling but feel rather weepy.

So I've gulped down some whisky. It's warming my tum,

But potatoes are making me sleepy.

They’re inside watching telly. That’s fine. It’s ok.

Come the adverts, they all want a cuppa.

It’s a Peach Schnapps for me. I feel better that way

When I’m peeling potatoes for supper.

I’ve made them all tea and they’re watching a play

So I’m peeling potatoes like crazy

But the kitchen is starting to gently sway

And I’m feeling incredibly lazy.

I’ll just rest for a while. I’ll slide onto the floor

I know one thing without any doubt,

I’m sorry. I can’t peel potatoes no more

Cause I fear I’m about to pass…

Beautiful Poetry

Last night on BBC Radio 4’s Poetry Please they read a translation of Nazim Hikmet’s poem ‘Things I Didn’t Know I Loved’. He wrote it while travelling on the Prague-Berlin train. It was the year before he died and knowing that makes it all the more poignant. 

I won’t even try to paraphrase it here and I certainly wouldn’t presume to create a version of my own. You may know the poem but, if you'd like to read it again, I’ve put a link here to the translation, or you may prefer to listen to last week’s Poetry Please programme here. There are seven days left to listen.

Is it just me or is this one of the most moving poem you’ve ever heard?

The Secret of Sleep

I watch both my cats as they sleep.

Mabel is at the back
Charlie is in the front

Not for them endless counting of sheep.

They curl up, close their eyes and away
With no angst of how they spent their day.

In the night my mind's full of concern
Consequently I toss and I turn.

How to rid my head of things I said,
All those gaffes that could make cheeks turn red?

How to discard those worries each night
Of what's not yet occurred... but just might?

The solution, I'm sure, is the way
Cats can totally dismiss the day.

It's a natural skill for a cat
So please tell me, why can't I do that?