Personal Blogs

I've been having a bit of a creative spurt recently, knitting, painting, writing a bit of poetry, so the blog has been a bit neglected.  Anyway, I found this poem which I had started many months ago and then lost. It was started on a scrap of paper one wet afternoon at work but then I couldn't find it and thought I had thrown it away accidentally but I was having a rummage through another notebook the other night, looking for a photograph I wanted to paint and found it and finished it.  Well, finished for now, because I've found poetry is sort of evolutionary, I keep going back and changing phrases and words, so this is the version for now which may change in the future.  The thing is, I carry notebooks with me all the time but sometimes, actually often times, I just grab a piece of paper and jot notes down or memorable phrases as the muse strikes, for future use, my kitchen table is full of them and there are pieces stuffed everywhere in handbags, books, pockets etc:  well, here it is - 

Wet Day (working title, liable to change)

The dreary rain,

dribbled down the dull, grey stone

as the woman in the dull, grey shirt

stared out the window and dreamed

of warmer places 

with kinder faces -

far away from the dull, grey streets

and rain-washed lives,

drowning,

in apathy and quiet despair.

The steady drip, drip,

d

r

I

p,

of the broken guttering

on the ledge of the window,

at the edge of life,

beat a soggy rhythm

against the drabs of water

that fell on the dull, grey roof

and formed

a puddle,

between the invading moss

and

the reckless shrubbery

that dangled precariously on the edge.

The adventurous offspring of some windblown seed

who dreamt of bigger things and better places.

The woman in the dull, grey shirt

stood up;

put on her bright red coat,

and left.