being strong

We start with the best of intentions
to share the load,
the weight of life.

When others falter
we catch their hand
and lift them, and shelter, and console.
We carry what we can.

and this, we think, is how it should be.

Until, after time,
we notice, we cannot see the horizon.

The weight we carry has bent us
and we have spent so long looking down.
We have forgotten to let go.

We carry worries and fears and debts and doubts
in a basket we’ve woven from our own hair.
We struggle to shrug it off our backs,
but it has become part of us.
Our body has grown around it.
We would need to cut through the braids
that hold this weight against our backs
but in doing so, beware,
we would cut away part of who we are.

Why do we carry so much for others?
We do it because we can.
We do it because they cannot.

This does not mean that we cannot sit down to rest
with our backs against a rock.
Perhaps, we wonder, if we rub against it
the burdens will shift, become uncomfortable,
crawl out from between the strands.
Perhaps, we wonder, they might prefer to start walking on their own.

Still, when we come to rise
we must lift our own bodies,
press against the rock and breathe.
There is no-one to take our hand.

We do it on our own
because we can.

We lift our eyes to the horizon –
it is still there.
We step forward
and intention becomes action.

There is no-one to take our hand.
We do it on our own
because we can.

and this, we think, is being a woman.

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

a deeper impression

my body holds me close to the earth
I’m grounded, weighted
no risk of losing myself
of being overlooked
of drifting away

when I was younger
I was insubstantial
innocent and inconsequential

oh, but I could dance

I could lose myself in the music
it would carry me and I could fly

now walking leaves a deeper impression
air moves to give me space
leaves bend but may not straighten

my body has caught up with my mouth
full and curved
but it is heavy now, and its harder to fly
my hands the only slender thing about me
as they dance across the page

I am present, barefoot
feeling the wild pulse of the earth
light passes over and around me
my shadow stretches and contracts

gravity is drawing me home

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

 

the visitor

fantail1-223

the decision had recently been made to leave
but the heart was torn apart, and still struggling to accept it
standing alone in the centre of the square kitchen
the inside light was subdued and everything quiet and hushed
bright afternoon sun shone outside, the back door stood wide open

a fantail entered
flew silently around the room
and then calmly back out the door

it felt as though time had slowed to a standstill
barely breathing I turned following the bird as it circled the room
feeling both highly aware and slightly stunned
recalling the meaning given to visitations like these
but still, welcoming it, feeling chosen
aware of what I was seeing, how incongruous it was,
and what I was sensing
space and time expanding with every wingbeat
then contracting as the bird left
snapping back to the pace of a heartbeat and the blink of an eye
the wild world had crossed the threshold,
had stepped in to my time and space to be present with me
it was an affirmation, a reassurance

and ever since
I’ve kept the door open
the thin veil pulled aside
an open invitation
and ready for my own departure

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

photo by: D. Mudge
image sourced from : http://www.doc.govt.nz/

 

the fallen

IMG_4226
the ground beneath is hard and dry
not a place to rest, not a place to lie
this far down was only ever for foraging
wind-rivers here can not carry
but blow dust flurries into eyes
dust rose and settled, glossy black coat undone
reaching into air but finding no purchase
eyes opened blind to the sun
fallen
fallen
this far down
all horizontal, all solid, all still
body cooling under sun
hard nest of stones and dust
bones and black
sight gone, shine gone
fallen
still

walking home she saw the contrast
black against the blonde ground
small lost body in the dust
she sensed fragility
approached cautiously
blew gently revealing the dull eyes
fingers nested, lifted
warm hands enclosed
one finger stroked away the dust
revealing the shine
compassion carried him away
her quiet voice shared secrets
whispered into tiny ears

she found a box and a doll’s blanket
and made a bed
she lay her black prince to rest
she knew this sleep was forever
there would be no wakening kiss
she tucked the blanket around him
to comfort and protect
a final nest
and blessed him in silence
a small child’s sacrament
a small child’s attempt
to honour the wild world
to care for the fallen

to an only child
anything could become animate
anything could become the voice of her imagination
he was her pet, he was beloved
he was a sleeping prince
a treasure, a secret
a gift from the world she walked in
at one with the raw pure energy of childhood
not yet disconnected

she felt the need to share
this treasure felt too much for one so small to hold
she showed her mother
expecting softness and awe and sensitive respect for her care

the mother snatched the box
threw it in the bin
half-filled with ashes from the coal-range
clouds of grey ash rushed up on impact
then settled slowly over the small black body
this last wind
this last nest
a desecration
a child’s heart broken

looking down
the blackbird thanked her, blessed her, kissed her tears
she would remain known to the birdworld, the greenworld
the elemental consciousness of nature
granted access
and held the thin door open

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

 

the earth shifts

The earth shifts –
moving
she stirs to wake me.

This air I breathe –
is your breath.

This land I walk –
is your body.

All that time away,
the image of this land burned
on the back of my eyes.
I saw nothing –
but through the after-image
of mountain, lake, forest, river, sea.

Here now, whole again,
to read the map of my land
to walk my own path.

                 I would be one with you.

© Claire Griffin 2016

We had an earthquake last night –
and I remembered this poem,
written after the first earthquake I felt
after my return to NZ from the UK.

silence

IMG_4221

silence
is all I can offer

I hold my hands out
and lying in them
my fallen children
my crafted acts of love
my gifts to you
my words lie crumpled
orphans of war
you forgot them when
you turned to confront me

your words have desecrated
the space between us
I cannot offer mine
I cannot risk losing them
in your wasteland

any words I offered now
would be seeking
your understanding
you cannot give me that

silence
is my only offering
while I am
trying to keep the peace
trying to be peaceful
trying to piece together
the fragments of memory
that I can hold with love

you turned to confront me
I turn away

all I can offer
is silence

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

This is a companion piece to “screen“.
I wish I didn’t need to keep writing these sad, dark poems
(don’t worry – I won’t be putting them all here).
But for now – they are still helping me to process and understand
a significant relationship, myself, my past.

the listener

Version 2
she listens
reassures
sitting quietly
feet floored
being present
giving space
giving time
waiting for the words to circle
find their place
tell their story

she listens
she waits
sees through the confusion
and the pain
asks questions
offers thoughts
that draw me forward
and bring me home

she listens
and I am heard
every word she allows
to float around her
gives me strength
every word she hears
rebuilds me

by being heard
these words
are given weight and value
and as they settle
they are reformed
and rearranged

a story told
a new understanding

she listens
and I hear myself
in her silence

© Claire Griffin 2016

reflection on introtopoetry challenge

Warning: This is a long post. Self-reflection and analysis exploring the results of the eight poems written in response to this challenge. Please feel free to enter if you have the time and the interest  🙂

The WordPress introtopoetry challenge – well – I didn’t finish all ten. Life and work got in the way. When I began the challenge I was interested to see whether I could write in response to the prompts – and was pleased that I could. This confirms what I’ve discovered over the last few months – I don’t need lightening to strike in order to write. I can call on my experience and imagination to begin, and then let the words flow.

Some of the technical terminology of poetry eludes me. It was either never learnt, or since forgotten. I’m not too worried, but if I really want to know my first place to search is my copy of “The Poet’s Manual and Rhyming Dictionary” or the ubiquitous internet.

So I may not always be that precise in my poetic descriptions and analysis – but – at least I’m giving it a try :). I thought this was a good opportunity to look back at these eight poems and give some serious thought to what I was doing. Hindsight is often a very revealing tool. I’m going to choose favourite lines from each poem – and I’m wondering what that will show me.

 

1. water – haiku

I enjoyed the challenge of working within the syllable pattern of 5/7/5. I tried two or three possibilities, before settling on the “dog at the beach” scenario. The image it formed in my mind made me smile, and then remember taking my dog to the beach as a kid.

I noticed the “break/shakes” rhyme as it occurred, and later realised there was a long “ay” vowel rhyme that recurred within the first two lines – “waves, break, shakes, tail”. I think the repetition of this sound served to connect the first two lines, and the absence of it in the last line perhaps made it more effective.

None of this was a deliberate act at the time. Words will often present themselves and be chosen because they just “sound right” in the moment. Its not until later that I can look more closely and recognise what I was doing. In fact, the more I try to fit within a rhyme scheme, or a particular model of writing, the more uncomfortable I feel – because it is difficult. So it is good for me to try, to push beyond my comfort zone. I just feel that sometimes the results feel overworked, and don’t seem to have a life of their own.

I recall how as a child I was aware of the sounds of words, in the syllabic sense, recognising “chunks” of sound within words. I’m sure this helped with spelling. And now, if I have to spell an unknown or difficult word, I’ll say it aloud, listening for each syllable and almost being able to see each one, so then I can spell my way through the word.

Favourite lines:

wet dog shakes from head to tail

 

2. face – alliteration

I began by looking at a poem I wrote in January this year, and thought of “cheating” by just submitting that. But it didn’t meet the challenge of alliteration.

So I started again with the same subject, holding her image in mind and the challenge of alliteration – and started describing “black hair braided, pulled tightly back”. And there they were – b/b/b. I think “posed, poised and passionate” it a bit too “try hard” and I’m thinking of editing this, perhaps cutting “posed”. “Dark eyes…” was originally directly after the description of hair, but I moved it to the end and changed the word order to make a stronger closure.

Alliteration is something I’m comfortable with, along with internal rhymes that occur randomly in sentences, and vowel rhymes within words. I’m not that happy trying to rhyme at the end of lines, in a set pattern.

Favourite lines:

the rainbow halo frames
a flamboyant madonna of sorrows
dark eyes defined
by darker brows

 

3. friend – acrostic

This was a bit of a challenge. I started using the word “friend” itself – but it kept sounding too earnest and self-help-ish.

I changed direction using the name of a friend – Thomas. Immediately, the senses engaged, and I felt the emotion. This tiny poem wrote itself quite quickly.

Favourite lines:

turning, I see you
my open heart keeps your
memory close

 

4. journey – simile

Well – this was interesting! This challenge really confirmed that I am much more attuned to metaphor than simile. I felt the first simile I used was unnecessary, but I was trying to meet the challenge. The second simile slipped in more naturally, and I left it at that!

The topic “journey” was interesting. I was thinking quite literally at first, and as I wrote the first words “the journey begins with a thought”, suddenly thinking itself became the journey.

Favourite lines:

the journey begins
with a thought
an idea drops
and ripples spread
a multi-dimensional
map of associations

 

5. imperfect – limerick

I was interested in the prompt “imperfect” and quickly had the idea that something imperfect had its own beauty. This shifted to thoughts of self-reflection and different perspectives.

But – I couldn’t cope with the suggested limerick form – it felt like one experiment too many and decided not to try. But I took on the challenge to rhyme, arranging and rearranging until I settled on the rhyme scheme – a, b, c, d, c, d, a, b.

Favourite lines:

the torn leaf
the broken bowl
the lost belief
the damaged soul

 

6. screen – enjambment

The prompt suggestions referred to computer screens, movie screens – but somehow I began thinking of screen as a barrier between people.

Personal circumstances demanded release and I used this challenge as an opportunity to do that, then edited the raw, personal content (over 300 words) to something more focused, aiming for something that could stand alone as a considered poem rather than the original feast of personal angst.

I realised enjambement is something I’ve always done, continuing ideas – sentence or phrase – from one line to the next. Good to explore this in more detail though, and be able to give a name to the way I often write.

Favourite lines:

your words fall between us
a barrier projecting
negativity, and you are now trapped
behind a self-referential screen

 

7. flavour – found poetry

I saw the exhibition – “Frida Kahlo: Her Photos”, just a day or two after reading the next challenge was “flavour”. I sat in the exhibition and wrote the first six lines.

After that, I remembered her paintings of fruit and other foods, and the connection to flavour was reinforced. Searching for information on Mexican food, I found references to the old gods of Mexico – I hope they don’t mind the way I’ve included them here.

So I took some liberties with this challenge – reinterpreting the intent of “found poetry” by finding text and inspiration in the exhibition “Frida Kahlo: Her Photos”, in her paintings, and websites describing the food of Mexico, and using these to inform the poem.

There is a lot in this poem that I love, and wonder about re-working some of it.

Favourite lines:

six thousand photographs
taste of time and love,
and speak of a time
when you used colour
to flavour your life

 

8. pleasure – anaphora/epistrophe

Anaphora and epistrophe – the repetition of words or phrases, either at the beginning or end of a sentence, or both (when its called symploce). “the rain falls” was repeated, but not really achieving the emphasis this form usually seeks.

Attempting this form was enough of a challenge without thinking about what gave me pleasure. I remember wanting to step beyond the obvious – reading, dozing in the sun, rich conversations… I had this challenge in mind as I was driving to a meeting. Waiting in the car, wondering if the rain would stop, I realised I had two choices – battle against the rain, resenting it, complaining about it – or accepting it and being mindful of what I was experiencing. This poem about rain and the sensory experience of it was the result. Partly based on my experience that day, and part imaginative, wish-fulfillment – wondering how, if I wasn’t working, I might have immersed myself in the elements.

Favourite lines:

I walk out into the rain
barefoot, ankle deep
hands reach out
sliding over wet leaves

 

Reflections done – and interesting to discover that by choosing my favourite lines, I’ve managed to further condense each poem, and perhaps really capture the essence of each one.

Time to move on to some new works 🙂

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

22 May to 6 June 2016

the experiment

the price of whispering
staying at home, thinking
what is the promise, the secret?
where to search for the favourite
growing, flowering
found in the night forest
obsessively, drunkenly
the conversation turned to peace
and thanks
for the hidden sunrise
for the ordered breath
the typewriter thrilled
as we struggled with our
dangerous, sensitive
experiment

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

incomprehensible 2 – response to Steve Simpson’s post on “Inconstant Light”

“Found Poetry” – went through recent tweets in order taking one word from each (ok – skipped a few) – then cobbled this together with a few changes in order – mysteriously still has some sense of meaning.
Not sure incomprehensible is for me – now my brain hurts.