#somerset poems on Hello Poetry

neth jones Sep 23

.
returning to my childhood home in thought
returning to mallard quacks tolling
and the hour toiled
                    by ever thirsty church bells
cold damp rock house with ammonites
and belemnites coiling in the walls
and a cooling ichthyosaur
futilely trying to swim in the silty soil
struggling to catch prey
                      beneath the foundation
            its darkness is rummage
.
a flush lawn  planted nilly and obscene
monkshood  mint  cotton grass and ling
warm mentions an evening fire
                     and the family room
i'm mooding through the memory
               and it grooms apart  organic
birthing  not  river  not  smoke
rat sized earwigs take to the air heat
over the boiling tar garage roof
and i return home back through time
child swinging on thick vines suspended
by the yew over the stream
the willows dapple and paddle
the fir trees return
fierce sproutings of involving shade
ridding the house
of the intruder new extension
riding time back
and the caravan my parents
            would later park on concrete
                             is swallowed
the storms of a bad year return the old wall
at the property edge
and the cottage reforms an ancient pace
                          with its surroundings
.
it's no longer my families claimed place
re-seemed with ghoulish history
the workhouse returns
           and files with hard poverty
the wall punches through
         in what will be the kitchen
and the cottage runs through long
with the neighbours space
dormitory takes the whole upstairs length
and the legend of the garment thief
drops ghost and rumour to live again
and then all this too flees out of history
.
rushing back through time
          and this all sinks into the levels
swamp life takes over
and the ammonites
           moisten with anticipation
prehistory is sprout   to begin
.

[02/04/25 is the date of early notes. Parish Rash was the title. leave this version for reference : mallard quacks and the hour tolled by church bells/cold damp house flush lawn planted obscene/warm memories an evening fire and family room/i'm mooding through the memory and it grooms apart organic/birthing not river not smoke/earwigs take to the air over the tar garage roof/and i return home back through time/the fir trees return fierce sprouting ridding the new extension/that my parents had now still to add/and the caravan my parents would later park on concrete/the storms of one year return the old wall at the property edge/lean it back up and refill in its mortar /and the cottage reforms an ancient peace with its surrounding/it's no longer my families claimed place/reseemed seam seem with ghoulish history]

#nature #home #memories #childhood #somerset #dorset #history #prehistory #cottage #garden

Rhiannon Clare Aug 2020

Somerset, late August 2016

I take Jack to pick blackberries.

I’d spotted them earlier in the hedge
down the lane and over a stile,
brambles hanging heavy overhead

We each carry
what we could find in the kitchen:
me a jug, he a plastic box.

The clutches of fruit perch
like children sitting on a gate.
Rosehips and sloes peep yet
through the leaves, biding their time.

I say,
look at the colours.
Green then red and then
finally
shiny, glowing,
deepest purple.

And oh how the fattest fall just so
into your hand,
as if they have been waiting

Soft bubbles bursting with juice
Our fingers and chins
turn pink

I like the tartest ones, sharp as a high summer sky.

And Jack only looks and me and smiles, nodding,
his hand finding
the furthest blackberries just
beyond my reach.

#nature #countryside #foraging #blackberries #somerset

Andrew T Apr 2017

unsaid_Things

friday morning,
we wake up hungover
from last night's binge drinking,
because even though we love our jobs,
no one really wants to work for their entire lives,
when so many things are unanswered,
perverted, and misconstrued.
hashtag all of those millennial catchphrases,
to garner hearts from your friends
who you haven't seen in years,
friends who work in San Fran,
Chicago, Greenwich Village.
crank up your laptop speakers,
as Neon Indian's Polish Girl
plays that **** synth,
and take a drag from a P-Funk,
before your Grandma hits your
shoulder with the newspaper daily—
right after she speaks in Vietnamese,
asking you what is your name,
because she has Alzheimer’s.
but in these social media days,
isn't everything that is worth mentioning to your sister,
everything that is worth fighting for,
everything that is ****** in this world,
on the internet (maybe, just Twitter tbh).
screenshot the cat meme you like,
save it,
share it,
move on.
if only she wasn't allergic to cats,
maybe it could have worked out.
that was 7 years ago.
—*** ova it. Then, mix your red bull with your coffee,
because the next 10 hours of your life,
will be revolving around caring about people
other than your ungrateful and ingratiating ***.
don't cry,
when I say good-bye.
stay for a while, under the shade of the rooftop
where the deejay spins Frank Ocean
and Frank Sinatra records,
as everyone is drinking scotch, or Yuengling,
and ashing over the veranda bansister,
; the bad boys try to open their souls
to the good girls. and the bad girls,
reveal too much to the good boys.
we devoured those drugs, as though
they were jelly beans from a convenience store,
and then we broke into the store
and ate some more.
break the coals on top of the hookah,
puff, puff, pass—
inhale, exhale,
fit the deformed piece
back into the Dinosaur puzzle,
and crawl back into bed,
pull the covers over
your trembling body,
shut your eyes,
and reflect,
for the day is heavy with regret
and unsaid things.

#virginia #jersey #tennessee #richmond #chattanooga #somerset #northernva

— The End —