Evocation

blood moon
Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

Stepping down from the last train I walk home beneath a summer’s velvet, midnight sky. Myriad stars twinkle around a corn coloured moon lighting my way. I catch the scent of her perfume, sweet and soft as a whisper, before I see my mother come to meet me. The evocative fragrance of sweet peas permeates my garden today. Amongst the cabbage and potatoes, riots of multi-hued flowers climb crazily over the canes. Each precious petal as soft as a kitten’s ears.

Mary Younger

The book of all things

blurred book book pages literature
Photo by Caio Resende on Pexels.com

I am in a dark cell
my book is on my lap
a ray of light falls on it –
suddenly it springs open
and beauty flies on wings
of butterflies and birds
sunlight floods the cramped room
and where there once were walls
there are trees

I am on the edge of a forest
I part some saplings and
enter a world of light and
blue sky, and the perfume
of unseen flowers fills my being and
in the distance I see Michael –
he is walking towards me. I
run to him and we embrace
He can see well again. We

run and run and laugh, until
exhausted we fall on to the
forest floor and listen to the
music of the trees –
my book has no name
it is the book of all things
all possibilities, all joys
and I never want to close it

Sylvia Stevens

Fly

focus photography of a ignited firewood
Photo by Lum3n.com on Pexels.com

I reach to take my jacket from the peg
and my eyes again are drawn
to the next peg just along
where hangs a collar and a well-worn leather leash
and once again my eyes begin to mist

Then I wander back in time to when my old pal Fly and I
would go to gather sheep from off the fell

I didn’t need to speak much or tell Fly where to go
for there were no hiding places – not from Fly

She knew each nook and place of shelter
where sheep huddled in bad weather
and turned their backs against the wind and rain
eyes half closed as though in contemplation
deep in thought and cheering on the cud

I did not have long to wait as I stood there by the gate
until faint bleating I would hear above the crags
below the mists that swept and swirled
up in their rocky rooftop world
then single filed they showed upon the trod.

An odd one would make a dash but Fly would turn her in a flash
snapping at her heels in reprimand –
there was no doubting who was in command

Then all were down ‘in bye’
where for winter they would lie
until Spring when they would lamb beside the farm
more sheltered in the valley
from the elements and foxes on the prowl

Then we too would go ‘in bye’
and again I’d welcome Fly to my abode –
no kennel, not tonight
for she had earned herself the right
to dine in and lie beside the kitchen fire

And never will I part with her collar or her leash
or from the friend that in memory I fondly still admire
as now lonesome and in solitude
with misted eyes and heavy heart
I sit alone beside the kitchen fire

Colin Armstrong

Thank you & Homework!

tea-time-3240766_1280.jpg

Angela Locke writes …

Dear fellow writers,

What a brilliant beginning to our term at Mungrisdale! It was a packed session, with such fantastic writing. Unforgettable, and ‘glorious’, to borrow Julie Carter’s word. I hope some of these pieces will find their way on to our mungrisdalewriters.com website. How lovely to see old friends after the summer. And to be delighted by special cakes to celebrate the meeting – a year ago – of our first MWG romance! And a double celebration as it is our 20th birthday, since we began at The Mill Inn, Mungrisdale in 1998, only much later moving to the brand-new village hall. It is wonderful to me that there are original members still attending, providing that precious continuity, as well as the wonderful flow of new people who have come to bring fresh lifeblood to our dynamic group.

As a celebration of our 20th year, I am asking everyone in the group to step up and begin to write that book which has always been there, nurtured with passion, something you care about profoundly. It can be a poetry collection, a novel, or even a collection of short stories. We began today in the class, and it was stunning.

Homework is to continue for another two pages, at least 300 words if it is prose. I echo Ann Miller’s words today, after that first writing session: ‘I really am going to write that book!’ That book is what is inside all of us, if we are writers.

I would like you to think too about the cover and the presentation, as Julie Carter so evocatively described, for her new poetry collection. And a title! This is the book you could open if you were in a quiet room, in isolation, by yourself, even in a cell. The book you would like to read, which says so much about you, which gives so much back to you, and to others.

Every session I am going to ask you to write at least another two pages. There will be other homeworks too, as options, but not something you have to do. This is a discipline. I would like you to keep going for the whole of the term, and at the end you will, if you keep going, have a surprising body of work. We may only have time to read the next 300 words in class, but please do more if the Muse takes you. It is your work, what defines you!

I am looking forward so much to hearing you all.

Love and light, Angela x