Good Afternoon

 Dear Reader,

In the last two or three weeks absolutely no ideas have come into my mind as a subject for a poem.  I have always heard of 'writer's block' but I thought that was for novel writer's who had got stuck with their story or were trying to think of a new one, and nothing springing to mind. So this week I have read several poetry books trying to find out what other poets poems are about.  Of course, you will be thinking to yourself, she must have already, over the years, read an enormous amount of poetry.  Well I have but I was looking for something different in each poem this time. I was looking for its reason.  But I have reached no conclusion.  It seems each poet writes about her/his own or experience of life whether it is funny, sad, or whatever, or it is just a small water colour.

I rang my friend and tutor Sue Johnson and she was very helpful.  With her help I think I have some new ideas now and so shall be busy again working on a poem, which is a great relief.  Not having a poem on the go is, for me, very upsetting.

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I wish the old fashioned manners of yesteryear were still here today.  I found the old man I met in the woods completely charming and only wish his sort were still to be found all over this island of ours.

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From D.H. Lawrence, February 9th, 1919 in Derbyshire

It is marvellous weather- brilliant sunshine on the snow, clear as summer, slightly golden sun, distance lit up.  But is is immensely cold - everything frozen solid - milk, mustard, everything.  Yesterday I went out for a real walk, I have had a cold and been in bed.  I climbed with my niece to the bare top of the hills.   Wonderful it is to see the foot marks on the snow - beautiful ropes of rabbit prints, trailing away over the brows; heavy hare marks; a fox so sharp and dainty, going over the wall: birds with two feet that hop; very splendid straight advance of a pheasant; wood pigeons that are clumsy and move in flocks, splendid little leaping marks of weasels coming along like a necklace chain of berries; odd little filigree of the field-mice; the trail of a mole - it is astonishing what a world of wild creatures one feels about one, on the hills in snow.

    

 

Good Afternoon

 

 

I walked slowly through wild daisies,

clover and buttercups,

a quiet country solitary step,

no one to be seen,

the birds singing joyfully,

and a deer shyly running

through the wood.

 

Then I saw an old man,

walking down the path,

cap on head, long overcoat,

and red scarf.

 A sheepdog trotted

at his side.

“Good afternoon”, he said smiling

and raised his cap

 

Years fell away.

In childhood everyone greeted you

with ‘good afternoon’ hoping

it would be so for you.

And somehow those two words

filled my heart with love,

with tears not far away.

 

“Good afternoon to you too”, I said.

 

 

With very best wishes, Patricia                                                                             *