“In June’s Time, Lost.” – Poem + Film

Walking through the woodland with my two companion  hounds, I was amazed how tall the grass had suddenly become. – Which came to me in the lines “lost in grass” / “lost in June” and that’s how this poem began…. the rest of that walk completed this poem

– Enjoy

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In June’s Time, Lost.

In June’s Time Lost,

– Earth on her Summer wave, flung

In the years green-tonic slung,

On the fresh canvas among

Mothers patchwork cover wrung

In the companions ‘scape, among

Dragon-flies and butterflies and pen-friends young.

Amidst untamed hay flung,

Where the sun-strikes and feet un-slung

The restored chaos and nettles left, un-stung.

The floodlight days hung,

In wild warm days sung.

– The tree-house upon earth, flung

In the emerald surf clung

– In June’s Time Lost.

~ K.S Blackmore

 

Perhaps go get lost in July’s time instead……?

Please comment below

#junelost

 

 

Made with the help of many a cups of tea & too many chocolate bars

Thank you for reading & watching

(Ssshhh ~ Next poem stirring under the title “Rose petal perfume and Wembley goals”………)

“That Little Esprit.” – Poem + Film

When May is nearing the end and you realise you have not heard Mr Cuckoo……

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That Little Esprit.

I take a saunter in this moon of May
Open wide ears, for two notes conducted,
Composes my Summer….. but thus far, dismay!
I foot-slogged….. to bleakness! The cuckoo abducted!
What of a kingdom, silenced of the king?
To perceive my Summer days adhere.
A glum, glum land, ourselves we wring.
But blue not I, for tomorrow, next week too, me and my ear
Will come back still. For that little esprit
Will not steer clear of me!
~ K.S Blackmore

 

A question for you

Q – Does hearing the Cuckoo start your Summer…..?

A – Comment below
#thecuckoo

Thank You for watching & reading

“Ode To Yesterdays Angel.” ~ Poem + Poem in Film By K.S Blackmore

Picture the scene – your in a job you actually love, it’s enjoyable, and it feels like your calling, this perfect job you’ve been doing for some years now….. then one morning it’s gone, just like that! Perhaps the first thing you would do call home, phone mum in despair for help & advice ….. Or Maybe realise deep down it’s not the end of the world……?!
Well for me it was – there was no phone call home, or a visit to mum for a cuppa and chat. For that amazing job involved mum, – I was a carer, I was my mums carer. – Five years of being by my mums side through thick and thin, tears and laughter and more laughter and tears. Watching (bowel) cancer slowly take mum (aged 63) away from me.
The shock wave the morning after mums passing and the realisation hits in two life changing blows – mother- less and made redundant (care no longer needed), still hurts now (year and a bit later – a Little TLC needed for the ex-carer would of helped me).
– No one prepares you for that day, be it the person gone or the job that you learnt on the spot, and even the fiance aspect of it.
The whole world that you lived and breathed 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, on call no matter the time – no walking out the door just ‘coz i fancied a day of! – Snatched away, with the feeling of being left in the middle of a ocean, struggling to stay afloat. – A angel mum to often called me, now that Angel starts falling…… through no-ones fault, just the way life turned.
But every angel deserves to be caught
~ This poem sums up the first couple of days or so after that life-changing event (more-so the no longer caring side)

Ode To Yesterdays Angel.
Tears into a twinkle, a twinkle into tears bursting,
From eyes that miss the rainbow surfed.
Walls of blue weathered in yesterdays echoes
This haunt wiped a home as dust settles.
No footsteps came, no footsteps goes
Chatter muted, notes taken, stand-stilling.
Scarce of breath that play stopped,
In silence hit, silence drowns, silence welcomed.

To embers etched in stale crumbs, in cold cups, sheets pulled,
Pills un-swolled, petals stained.
A house colding, lone company, no breathes.
A hand freezing, a hand yawning, hands bereaved.
Surplus to needs the badge unpinned
Passed return, in ashes smouldering
Heart-burnt in yesterdays love ceased.
This tree uprooted, as winter settles
Only ticking clocks haunt in this furrow ploughed.
At peace, – unmasking battle scarring
From the label striped.


Yesterdays angel
– This mourning a angel falling….


Q ~ Have you experienced becoming a falling angel, a yesterdays carer?
Please share your thoughts and how you come through the experience, how you managed to move on, what you done next, Advice, help ?

~ Please Comment (click link above ⤴️)

#fallingangel

“March.” ~ Poem + Poem in Film By K.S Blackmore

When winter starts to tail of and March with a feeling of Spring like peeps in the window befriending us all….. inspired this poem…..
Spring is in the air – yay

March.

Is Winter dispersed till the calendar ends?
Through windows unlatched Spring befriends.
The bore of snowdrops and trees penned,
In sepia last season now rended.
The chain released and the lock descends,
The alarm trends and starlight ascends
With the slumber party ending
Turns day light dreaming
Ears re-tune and life`s re-tuning
On washing lines spilling.
Crumbs thrown, the cake tin refilling
Romance recites in gardens singing.
The black and white still turn lullaby
In a patch work of pastels untie,
Crocus and daffodils and cherry blossom high,
Brimstone butterfly and the wild roses untie
With a warming embrace March befriends.

~ Q – What of March befriends you…..?
(comment below)

#marchbefriends

– For me the sight of a daffodil, alone or in a clump

“Ode To Ruby.” ~ Poem + Poem in Film By K.S Blackmore

A poem I penned thanking my choc labrador “Ruby” for giving me a reason to wake up each day, after the death of my mum (being her carer was a double blow for me to face – my mum gone and my job gone too). Ruby as this look she gives me – head tilted and a deep look in her eyes (- I feel she feels my pain) and this poem came to me…..
Thanks Ruby (my fur angel) this ones for you X 🙂 …..

Ode To Ruby.

A rainbow in fur befell my way,
`Coz with you there is no grey.
– A angel portray,
In that face with eyes that say.
Wipes a grin across the mood each day,
So much patience’s drifts sorrow away
Shelters me before tears out-weigh.
Get me up for-noon, no lay!
Lead me out the door aweigh,
Where the blue skies convey
And rays of sun light spray
Spare me, before cloud survey.
Your tail not once does grey,
`Coz with you there is no grey
A rainbow in fur befell my way.

~ K.S Blackmore

~ Q – Has your dog become your angel…..?
(comment below)
#dogangel

“Ode To Milk Flower*.” {*Snow Drop} ~ Poem + Poem in Film By K.S Blackmore

January’s first sight of a milk flower inspired this poem….
Before the last Snow Drop melts……

Ode To Milk Flower.

In this grave of Jan a welcome sight,
Site of sorrow yields bright
Hold faith for the year show-light
Starlight gazing in this dead-light,
Delicate beads spilling white
The years first tender bite
Drawn up through earth tight
Angels drawn in earths night
Flirting in Winters unloving bite…..
Milk Flower emerges in sight!


~ K.S Blackmore

Q ~ What does the sight of snowdrops bring to you….?

#milkflower

Comment Below

Woolgathering. ~ Poem Collection By K.S Blackmore

Yep still scribbling away! 5 more verses composed, scribbled and set free ….. Enjoy 🙂

 

Basking summer days away…… –

To Bask.
The sun out to play, for all to bask.
To perch on the fence with a flask,
Of tea. All only oneself asked.
Eyes heeding, ears untroubled, mouth masked.
Reflecting. The land grows, crops ripen. Earth too basks.
Percieving bees, birds, butterflies too, raid brimful casks.
So leave me here, leave the world at task.

 

Thanking the land…… –

This Land.
Bewildering this land, just now in green,
All yesterdays long hidden under-scene.
Seen of the snowman in wintertide,
Spring burst upon, tears spilled far and wide.
Yet to gaze outwardly upon this stage, is to see
The land a bake, bestows we,
Heavens thanked for our daily dough.
Vitality, might, grieve, all infuse the land green, go.

 

One happy farmer….. –


A Farmer A Smile A Beer.
Acers of fields sweeping with ripeness.
Behold that combine harvestor, done with greyness!
All tuned-up with fields to comb,
Called upon to usher the gold home.
The heavons sober! Summer skies of cheer.
Fonder back in store, fuel for next year.
And a farmer, a smile released, to tomorrows beer!

 

A nod to the glorious summer evenings –

Summers Evening.
The summers evening is a glorious gifting.
No lights out, just sunlight difting.
The travail is done, the day is not!
Straight out the backdoor chasing the sun. Got,
To saunter the evening away.
That polaroid from wintery nights is aweigh.

 

Me – Musing X …..

This is where i currently am, longing to be on the canal side of life, but life is dragging me towards the other side….!!

On The Tow Path.
To watch cricket bats grow,
To reside where clover bestow.
The unhurried pace that grass to hay bring.
To be a cuckoo, be the fisher king.
Skating without rush upon murky reflected earth,
Six foot above. A differing world, yet same earth!
To be blessed, the tow path only the chaser.
i the captain. Not the acer.
To let man out speed, my own steam now.
Beneath heavens of blue, alongside neighbours the only cow!
To be awaken by the choir at day-break.
Be in awe, history of naure to betake.
To good days where cheery folk speak, of greetings!
To see for-ever-green, no red self-defeatings.
With bright skies a fore no nimbus cloudburst,
To the joyous path bestowing direction to the sunburst…….

Woolgathering, passing footnotes a slow,
On this path where hooves before did tow.
With the script of ones existance to sow,
To steer aright path, forgo…….

Not to end where the buddlia seed.
To out pace house-boats…., only to recede!
In bovine trunks. Full aboard.
Stuck a ships mate, for a sentence a bored!
Be in circles going, cuckoo gone. The einstein frazzled.
Satisfying only greedy felines razzled.
In a clog, abide! Narrative of tomorrow creating.
Through nettles be pushed, to end beneath, stagnating.
Perceive stampedes of red, nah green. Tomorrows,
Path to the lustreless of nimbus, and the blue of sorrows…..

 

Woolgathering was fuelled by too many cups of tea and many a jelly baby! Plenty of vitamin C, perfer being out of doors (well escaping to the shed).
The pencil is already scribbling away….. 🙂

Leave Me Not Grey. ~ Poem Collection By K.S Blackmore

Dealing with grieve – losing my mum, seems to have turned me into a bit of a “poet”. Most are of the theme nature. Scribbling as i call it {referring to the state of my paper!}, gives my brain something different to think about. I now seem to be seeing the world from a different angle. These “poems” i enjoy composing, & seems a shame if they just stay in my notepads……..

This first one is from the heart….. X

I Am Breath, Still.

Dearest kinfolk, I am breath. Still
A forgotten note, whitewashed in zinc.
Calendars turn, no thoughts. Stock-still.
Perhaps ones thinking, while others think.
A spider now, thus I feel.
A loss, in a night-dream. No leave.
Existing! On-stage, laundry pegged and wondering. Yet lips a seal.
In a forest sinking amid wild garlic, joined in grieve.
Frozen, numb. Eyes stare, emptied of screen-wash.
Submerged. To often the heart a squash.
My folk left stage. Yet I am breath, still
X



To nature with a smile,
 
In The Lea.

The world is looking really well.
In the lea, bumblebees and butterflies
A flutter. As paint of green, fresh, thrown! Comes a yell,
Action!! Green lights! Creatures fuel! Fresh again, tries.
For another summer with another year to flourish.
Straw hats? Rain coats? Best now to nourish!


But A red light.....

That Little Esprit.

i take a saunter in this moon of May,
Open wide ears! For two notes conducted,
Composes my summer….. But thus far dismay,
i foot-slogged…. to bleakness! The cuckoo abducted!
What of a kingdom, silenced of the king?!
To perceive my summer days adhere.
A glum, glum land. Ourselves we wring.
But blue not i! For tomorrow, next week too, me and my ear
Will come back still, for that little esprit
Will not steer clear of me!

 

Panic over. Take five……

Beside The River.

 

Beside the river. Close by a worn weir
Still. If only for five!
Swans. A broad, in no hurry, peer!
The rivers pace of life, a thrive,
Enchanting one and all. As always nature volunteers
The remedy. Not on ones own, basking
Too, wild creatures full of cheers!
Adams ale. Daily bread. All, asking!


Staying riverside with a promise ……

Leave Me Not Gray

 

When i run, to the river i head
With the drifting birds, i too return.
The river endlessly passing, sped
With a ton of innermost musings, free`d. As discern,
Oneself weathered back out, to where after?
Disembark! To immerse, wet toes or dry earth stay?!
Up river a thoroughfare of green chased after,
With a promise to leave me not gray

 

 

“Poems” fuelled by lots of cups of tea & a assortment of dark chocolate {what i call brain food!}. Composed with the help of vitamin D.

Gumboots Don. ~ Poem Collection By K.S Blackmore

Some more scribbling! Putting a smile on my face. Loving the place scribbling lets me escape to. 🙂

 

Wakey Wakey.

Mum nature`s wakey – wakey nudges a rapture.
With a grace, for today we have a woken.
Now up! No excuse this day to capture
For tomorrow maybe a heart-broken.
Only this day is given, and not waiting
No need a first coffee, the sun abuzz
Make hasten! The days already deflating!
So take hold the whole day, `coz
A tonic missed if snoozing outdoes!

 

 

Gumboots Don.

Dawning beckoning as woods awake
My gumboots don, keen to yomp. Nay naturalist still espy
The roe deer, hide and seek to laik
Trees galore with trees of short, trees of high,
Trees of age and trees of youth.
Those birdie folks country estate!
And betokening all is sooth.
With footnotes aplenty in black treacle, great!
Carrying`s-on courtesy of that woodland jester.
And booming the soundtrack, acknowledged Mr Black-Bird.
As up high certain a bird, his breakfast prey a fester.
And still the days not yet curd!

 

 

Bleak Days, Past.

Whispers of bleak days past,
Murmurs a stirring, natures a nudge.
Ensnared no-more. Released again at last
Warming up benumbed souls from the sludge.
Air fresh, filled a song or two subdued,
To dusting`s of hues, uplifting the mood.

 

 

Herald Of Spring.

Herald of spring is the morns epigraph.
Breathing once more, the great sallow is a go.
Too, the hearken of chiff – chaff. So on behalf
A shout of spring is so.

 

 

A Gentleman Of Age.

In a farmers field he stands
A gentleman of age.
At peace with life, he understands.
A chilled winter break off stage
Too cleansed, thanks too showers of April.
Eager now for this new year
The campsite vacant, queuing fauna squabble.
As I long, his secrets locked, to overhear.
In awl I stand, admiration full. Surely outlived?