Tuesday, 29 November 2011

Bad Things Will Happen...

I probably wouldn’t describe myself as superstitious. I don’t mind walking underneath ladders. I always scuttle past the gypsy in Blackpool town centre when she tries to sell me lucky heather. I don’t mind if I only see one magpie, and I frequently pass people on stairs However, there are certain things that I do – but I feel that they are more learnt; little ticks, that have been passed on by a parent without me realising the significance. They’re ingrained, unconscious and followed – not because I believe something bad will happen, but because they are habit. They are idioms that creep into my speech: Touch wood, and without thinking I tap a table, door, head. I occasionally cross my fingers, I never open umbrellas inside (why would you need to) and I carry my Great Gramps’ Saint Christopher card in my purse, because I was told it would keep me safe when I was driving. I even used to believe that a pen – that had been used by a quite a few Coventry players: Robbie Keane, Darren Huckerby, Dion Dublin, John Eustace, Chris Kirkland – had magical powers and would secure my club’s return to the Premiership; but after four seasons in the Championship, I realised it actually wasn’t very special.

However, thinking about superstition dragged a memory from the depths of my mind. One of those memories you forgot ever existed, because it has been untouched and dormant for so long. But there it was: fresh, clear and intact – as real as when it originally occurred in 1992. It is a memory that includes my younger sister, a mirror and blame – and instantly I thought, It could be a POEM. Therefore, I set myself the challenge to write the poem and this is the result:


You broke it. Then tried
to blame me; but bad luck knew
the real culprit.

Apologies for a brief blog post and an even briefer poem; I’ve had a hectic week of online conferencing and my creativity is feeling a little battered.

Thank you for reading,




Ashley R Lister said...

Love the poem.

But don't dismiss the magpies. I'm sure that's one of the real superstitions.


Lara Clayton said...

I'm doomed! :)

sue sheard said...

Sometimes you can say a lot with a few words as your poem suggests. If you're really worried about the magpies there is a tree full of them across the road from us, we count about 20 a day. If anybody can come up with a ryhyme that goes beyond 9 we'd appreciate it in this house.