Pressed Moments – Poetry

I remember being young and my grandmother showing me flowers in a book

Not pictures of green stems and read petals

But small, paper-thin flowers

Colour pressed out over time

Held between tissue paper

A moment from long ago warped and frozen in time

A gift from my grandfather, who she met as a young man

 

I was given flowers, sunflowers and small purple flowers

They were beautiful, casting a large shadow on the wall beside my bed

I loved them

When they began to die I took the small purple flowers

Carefully wrapped in tissue paper and placed them inside a bible

To wait out time until they are as thin and faded at the flowers my grandmother showed me in her book

Moments from her past

 

These may not be flowers I show to my grandchildren

A moment of my past

They may become forgotten, lost in the story that is my life

But now they are a moment freezing in time

A moment stood still, unknowing when

If time and grace will end it

But now it is my silent symphony

A moment for myself

I have achieved a wish from my childhood

I have cared enough to press the flowers flat in the book

And in nurturing them I will leave them untouched

Because only time and patience will allow the moment to become fixed

 

 

In Reply to an Arse – Poetry

You say that words read from paper

Held in my hands are not worth listening to

If I cannot recall from memory the words.

Does that mean that the words must be memorised;

Stored in my mind to hold any significance?

Did Shakespeare have to hold every sonnet in his head

For it to be worthy of your ears?

Did Mozart need to play from memory his life work

For it to be justified as sacred to you?

 

The man who stumbled and bumbled does not appear humbled

Perhaps you would not have fumbled

If you held the words in your hands

 

Do works of wonder, held captive by paper or screen

Not make your heart light?

And does it make me any the less an artist

Because I cannot hold on the tip of my tongue

The words I think will entrance you?

 

I have papers stacked on my desk

I would struggle to recall a single complete sentence

Does that mean you should ignore what the paper holds

Your arrogant words do not need to tell me-

But show that you are a fool

You are not here with a room of Wordsworths or Byrons:

You are here with a room of wordsmiths who just want to be better

To share small thoughts with this small world

And make people smile, or think,

Or cry.

 

I will memorise this poem not to gain your respect

But so when I share it with the masses

I can look you in the eye and tell you

I am not Shakespeare or Burns but Sir neither are you!

So respect those around you

The ones who cheered when you rose to talk

The ones who applauded even though you

Fell over your own well memorised words.

So do not scold those who you do not know

Because next time you stumble I know I

Will be fucking smug

Remembering your previous words:

 

“If you cannot be bothered to learn your poem,

why should I be bothered to listen?”



I performed this recently at the Back of the Pub Poetry Club which was a fantastic spoken word event in Cardiff. I had a fab evening and the performance was recorded so I will hopefully get a chance to see myself perform.

Thank you to the lovely Hayley Cathryn who helped with editing 🙂