Heatwave - Staying Cool!

 

We spend the chilly, dreary, dark days of winter hoping we get a decent summer, and then when it comes it can be too much. Luckily, here in the North West, the temperature touched about 32 degrees centigrade, which I think is slightly more comfortable than the hotter southern areas. Small mercies. Is it safe to say the heatwave has gone yet? I’m fine with the warm 22 degrees today offers, along with a fresh, gentle breeze. I’d had enough of feeling sticky and having streams of perspiration running down my back. Anyone wearing glasses may relate to the annoyance of them sliding down their nose, frames sticking to their cheeks and being a thorough nuisance. I would take mine off except that I can’t see a thing without them.

The garden has had it for this season. Vibrant colour of vital blooms looks parched and neglected for all my efforts of conserving water from the kitchen to use outside. Being away for two separate holidays with only one week at home in between is the cause of ruin. Normally we might expect two days of sunshine to be counter-balanced with three days of constant rain. Not this time, no rain for ages and what came wasn’t enough to stop the damage. Within the next few days I will attempt to tidy out the dead stuff and make an effort for autumn and spring. I can live with whatever happens in my small garden. I feel sad for the farmers who are trying to make a living. Some counties have declared a drought. Not us, though, yet.

I think I was the only person carrying a cardigan into Bloomfield Road football stadium at the last home match. It was an incredibly hot day and I was in shorts, sandals and my team shirt, but we sit in the shady and cool west stand so I anticipated shivering. Shady it was, as always, but cool, certainly not. It was roasting, not a breath of air. Away fans in the sunny rows of the east stand must have been melting.

The heatwave of 1976 was widely mentioned in the media as a comparison. I remember the warm sunshine day after day, seemingly forever and walking up and down Blackpool promenade in platform sandals, flared jeans and cheesecloth shirt knotted at the midriff. Oh I was at the height of fashion in those halcyon times.

With global warming, summer heatwaves are to be expected. It is up to all of us to do what we can to lessen the effect, and to look after ourselves and each other when the temperature rises beyond comfortable.

I found this on PoemHunter.com,

A Wail of the Heat Wave

The usual thing it used to be
Our summers to decry,
Because they were too wet, you see,—
We longed to have them dry.
But now for months, from morn till night,
We've basked in Sol's bright rays ;
Yet few you'll find who show delight,
Or speak in terms of praise
Of these aggravating, irritating,
Half-cremating, wrath-creating,
Mercury-raising, semi-blazing, scorching summer days.

One feels much like a jelly-fish,
Or limpet washed ashore ;
If this is getting what we wish,
We'll crave for it no more.
Each man you meet reviles the heat
In none-too-classic phrase ;
To be polite, one cannot write
Exactly what he says
Of these hot, oppressive, fierce, aggressive,
Sweat-producing, fat-reducing,
Liquid-yearning, throttle-burning, parching summer days.

O, for a trip to either pole,
With Peary, or with Scott!
Where icebergs rear their white forms tall,
And heat waves trouble not.
A month or so 'mid Arctic snow
Our drooping hearts would raise ;
And soften down the angry frown
Which everyone displays
These roasting, boiling, toasting, broiling,
Record-breaking, sweltering, baking,
Ultra-torrid, beastly horrid, melting summer days.

William Baron,   October, 2010

Thanks for reading. Stay cool. Pam,x

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Spring Fling

Spring has sprung (sort of). It’s still freezing here in St Anne’s! Hopefully warmer days are coming.

This poem was inspired by a young women who I watched on YouTube who described that falling in love felt like a flower was growing in her chest. I think this is an incredibly beautiful and poetic image as being in love makes you grow as a person.

I’m not a girly girl, but I do adore flowers as they colour the world and they remind me that life is wonderful. Even if you feel left in the dirt, you can grow and achieve anything.

Though I must admit that I definitely do not have green fingers!

Flowers
I feel like there's flowers growing in my chest,
There’s a spring in my step 
You push away the autumn leaves.
The dust.
The dirt. 
So I can finally
breathe.
Your warmth radiates 
And hydrates my dandelion lungs.
Spring has just begun
And soon our summer of heat 
Will commence.
Don’t build a fence 
Around my hyacinth heart .
Let my love grow
Freely and unruly, 
And we will see how it goes,
You never know how long it takes for a flower to grow.

Helena Ascough x

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Verging On Vernal

It is supposed that all poets like to write about flowers, even bad ones  - flowers that is, not poets.

As Saturday's Dead Good Blog prepares to celebrate the indisputable arrival of Spring (after a couple of false starts it feels as though we're verging on vernal now), I figured a botanical-themed piece would be apt.

Accordingly, this week I give you my favourite - and least favourite - flowering plants. I know, contain your excitement! It's a bit like those 'nominate' fads that work their way around Facebook from time to time - e.g. nominate your favourite film by just putting up a picture of the poster, or your favourite album or book by just posting its cover. I always thought it was, if not a pointless exercise, at best a bit of a frustrating experience. I would always want to tell people why I love the examples I've chosen and to understand in turn what it is that they find so compelling about their own choices.

So here first of all is my favourite flower - and I'll just let you enjoy it for a lingering moment before I explain why...

This is primula vialii, more commonly known by a variety of names including Vial's primrose,  orchid primula, red-hot-poker primrose and Chinese pagoda primrose. It is a rosette-forming herbaceous perennial hailing originally from south-west China where it used to thrive in the wet meadowlands of Sichuan and Yunnan provinces - though sadly it is now a rare find in the wild and is classified as an endangered species. (The plant's Latin botanical name was bestowed in honour of Paul Vial, a French missionary priest and scholar who lived and worked in Yunnan province at the end of the 19th century and who is credited with bringing the first specimens of this lovely primula back to Europe.)

Primula vialii is a very striking plant, as I hope you'll agree. Its leaves are typical of the primrose family, lance-shaped and hairy, but its distinctive blooms have an appearance unlike any other in the genus, a beautiful conical spike on top of a stout stalk, with hundreds of lilac corollas opening out from red buds. It is best grown in clumps in a border or cottage garden in a relatively moist (but well-drained) or shady position, grows to a height of about 40cm and flowers through June and July. This lovely plant was granted the RHS Order of Merit in 1993.

I think the reason I like it so much is because of the shape of the blooms and the vibrant and unusual - almost garish - combination of colours, both of which put me in mind of those rocket lollipops on sticks which were popular in my youth. (Maybe they still are?) I intend to be planting some out in my own back garden over the Easter holidays.

Just as Vial's primrose is a herbaceous hero, so another oriental plant must rank as the villain of the piece. I nominate as my fleur du mal  reynoutria japonica - better known as Japanese knotweed (though also called monkeyweed, Hancock's curse and donkey rhubarb)...

It is quite the last thing anyone wants to see springing up in their garden. It can grow to a height of 4 metres and has been classified by the World Conservation Union as one of the most invasive species on the planet. Brought to Europe even earlier than Vial's primrose in the mid-19th century, it was originally favoured by Victorian gardeners for its bamboo-like appearance (though it is not a bamboo) - but it broke out of its cultivated confines and started to spread in the wild via a rapid-growing underground root system. There are now parts of the UK where it is endemic and attempts are being made to stop its spread, even eradicate it. That can entail bringing in heavy plant (no pun intended) to excavate and destroy the root system. The mere existence of Japanese knotweed in an area can send house-prices tumbling. It is a horror loved only by bees! Avoid at all costs and report it if you see it.

Finally, today's poem isn't about my favourite (or even least favourite) bloom, but rather it tries to capture that almost giddy sense of nature exploding into Spring at this time of year along the reaches of my local river, the rippling Wyre...

Wyre Sprung
Sweetened by showers,
hawthorn and campion
burst into confusions of joy.
Bluebells and daffodils ring out.
Blossoms in profusion float
on wind-tide resuscitation.
The blanched rime
of winter's sickness
is thrown off in a flash,
in this flush of timely fresh fever
as quick-coursing Spring
flows up the banks of the Wyre.

(It first appeared in the Lancashire Dead Good Poets'  publication Walking On Wyre, 2014)

Thanks for reading. Enjoy the onset of warm days, S ;-)

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Spring - Hello Sunshine

At last, the long awaited hint of spring sunshine is here. I don’t care that it shows up how much my windows need cleaning or draws attention to dusty surfaces, I’m happy to have daylight into the early evening and I don’t mind the sacrifice of an hour’s sleep to get it. Spring. I can wake up, renewed as I begin to feel some energy.

 A few years ago, I recognised that I develop some symptoms of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) from November to March / April. It varies in severity, but nothing unmanageable, so far. Usually it is just the desire to hibernate brought about by fatigue and generally feeling a bit fed up. The change of scenery offered by a couple of breaks in Dumfries & Galloway works wonders and on this occasion, took my mind off other health issues that are being investigated. The SAD is lifting now.

There is cheerful new growth in the garden as plants come back to life. Spring flowers have been bursting through the borders and filling my patio pots with bright colours. I’m particularly proud of a tub of orangey tulips. It all gives a feeling of well-being after months of darkness.

Spring cleaning and sorting out is on the agenda. I’m aiming for retirement and I want to organise belongings in preparation for a possible future move. It will be a slow, meticulous process because I’m easily distracted and have to look at everything. I spent ages this afternoon going through personal memorabilia and deciding what to keep. It was good, singing along to Jack Savoretti and reading old newspaper cuttings, but it didn’t really make much of an impression on the task. There’s no rush, luckily. Tomorrow, if I feel like it, I might attempt to clean some windows and dust round. Oh and there’s a couple of cobwebs that must have been manufactured during last night and need sweeping away before one grandson in particular goes on a spider hunt.

The poem I’ve chosen is Home Thoughts from Abroad by Robert Browning. It is one of my favourites and I’ve probably featured it before but it’s worth another airing. I’m so fortunate that my secondary education included poetry and learning whole poems off by heart, this is one such poem. It's a discipline that seems to be missing now. I had wonderful, enthusiastic English teachers that introduced a world of poetry and literature of which I’m still firmly placed in.

 

Home Thoughts From Abroad

 

Oh, to be in England

Now that April's there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware,

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough

In England—now!

 

And after April, when May follows,

And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!

Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge

Leans to the field and scatters on the clover

Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,

Lest you should think he never could recapture

The first fine careless rapture!

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew

The buttercups, the little children's dower

—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

 

Robert Browning  1812 - 1889

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

 

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Resilience

I love Spring. Not too hot, not too cold, it brings hope, beauty and the Sun, which in turn gives us some much needed Vitamin D after months of harsh and gloomy weather. The air itself is fresher and it is all I can do sometimes to restrain myself and not make a complete spectacle by standing and enjoying the weather and taking in a big, deep, over dramatic breath.  Although, if there's no-one around, I do that anyway. I feel happier, and my smile is wider for it.

Believe it or not, one of the best places to appreciate Spring is in a Graveyard or Crematorium. On my visits to Carleton Crematorium it is absolutely stunning, so a while ago now I penned a poem about it.  Over time, I have re-visited that same poem and edited and expanded upon it.  It now sounds like this:


My Tranquil Haven
 
A warm embrace from the Sun up above,
Bringing life to nature abound,
Flowers stretching, shaking off Winters Cold,
A rainbow sea all around.
 
Purples and Pinks, Whites and Reds,
Yellows, Oranges and Blues,
Offerings marking affection and respect,
Differing plants in all manner of hues.

Tree's standing sentinel offer a welcome shade,
Diffusing and dappling the Sun,
Cascading catkins veil and bow low,
Cherry Blossom petals dance, not to be outdone. 

The verdant grass and leaves whisper softly,
Caressed by a tender breeze,
Birds aloft sing their sweetest of songs,
The World seemingly at ease.

New life burgeoning above the earth,
Below, our ancestors, in natural shroud, 
In harmony together, just like our love,  
I recall fondly, it was emblazoned so proud. 

So calm and serene, a place to reflect
To remember someone so dear
Tranquillity reigns in the Cemetery
I visit without any fear.



I realise that some may find that a little morbid, but it wasn't intended that way at all. I'm sure it will perhaps change again before I am completely happy with it.

Any-hoo, thanks for reading. x

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Seeds

Today is my birthday. It is also the first day of spring and so I thought, rather than getting all depressed in a blog post about being older, I'd simply share a poem.

Seed - by Paula Meehan

The first warm day of spring

and I step out into the garden from the gloom

of a house where hope had died

to tally the storm damage, to seek what may

have survived. And finding some forgotten

lupins I'd sown from seed last autumn

holding in their fingers a raindrop each

like a peace offering, or a promise,

I am suddenly grateful and would

offer a prayer if I believed in God.

But not believing, I bless the power of seed,

its casual , useful persistence,

and bless the power of sun,

its conspiracy with the underground,

and thank my stars the winter's ended.

'Seed' was taken from Poems on the Underground (tenth edition) and is edited by Gerard Benson, Judith Chernaik and Cicely Herbert.

Thank you for reading,

Lara.

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Springy stuff

As I walked my little chimps to school this morning I looked around me at the gardens bursting into life and pondered a bit. Then pondered some more. Then felt happy because it was spring. Spring is where I come to life, after being a grump all winter as it's freezing and damp. I watched the little daffodils standing bright and tall and thought to myself, they don't let a bit of cold weather get them down, they make their merry way through the soil regardless of what the weather man says at the same time each year. They don't moan about their electricity bills, how much baked beans cost these days they just burst up like little bubbles of happiness ready to brighten everything around them. Their smiley little heads bobbing side to side in the breeze wondering if the little kids on the school run are going to decapitate them and give their heads to their mums. Yes they don't last too long but they'll always come back next year.  Daffodils, and spring, make me smile and give me that burst forward into the future, that lovely optimism that makes me think yes, life is going to be good. They aren't just plants that produce a lovely flower, they are fearless, relentless little soldiers lined up across gardens everywhere, saying "Bring it on, I can take whatever you've got." Daffodils are good.

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What we below could not see

A guest post by David Riley

What’s the best poetry about spring? I’ll tell you, it’s my job to pontificate. It’s when humans are, at most, at the edge of things. Take Seamus Heaney’s Rite of Spring, for example. Spring is there and does better than people can, who can only imitate its liberating effects.

Even more, people can be removed from things, as Ted Hughes does in The River in March. His river is an elemental force, it might even be a deity in itself. In Heaney and Hughes there are things the river and Spring can be and do - they don’t stand for something, they are something.

Wordsworth knew it too - his daffodils are beauty on a hillside, whether there are people there to see it or not.

Jane Hirschfield is excellent at showing how nature is really something other. We may dress it up and give it names, develop amnesia every year when the same seasons come around and trot out our same banalities but it is that something of itself, beyond us, that she shows.

Edward Thomas in his many meditations on nature sometimes links human activity and the seasons. At other times, he urges us to take a step back or rather to another position altogether, where we might see nature as other creatures do. Read his Thaw. See what you think. 

Rooks are back again by Alexei Kondratyevich Savrasov

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Golestan

Words seemed keen to demostrate their mood-altering prowess to me yesterday.  While waiting to brew up in the staff room, I asked a colleague the ubiquitous "Y'allreet?"  This is usally greeted with the traditional, "Yeah, y'reet?" Instead, she pestered a bloated teabag around a bulbous mug which was wistfully painted with pink flowers and grey curls.  Leaning on the worktop, she didn't answer but let out a long sigh.  I think I saw her soul fall out of her mouth and into the tea but that might have been steam.  This is what Winter does.

My workmate told me that she was fed up with feeling cold and holidays seemed a very long way off.  I could relate.  A client had phoned the department only minutes earlier to book an appointment, pointing out that he couldn't make the end of February as he would be in Mexico on his jollies.  I wished him a marvellous time.  Well, someone ought to be cheerful. 

Back in the staffroom, I decided not to tell my colleague about Mexico.  Instead I told her about the hyacinths I'd bought for my mother at the weekend.  I told her how the smell had hit me when I'd walked into the garden centre.  How it drenched the air with the sense of Spring.  I described the snow drops I'd seen flowering in a neighbour's garden.  This was enough.  A smile was wrought from the promise of blooms to come.  Anticipation replaced fatigue.  Imagined scent seemed to replace the breath she had expelled.

With this in mind, please enjoy these lines by Saadi, the 13th Century Persian poet best known for his works Golestan (The Garden) and Bostan (The Orchard):

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft,
And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left,
Sell one, and with the dole
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

And breathe...

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Winter is Coming

by Ashley Lister

As has been noted, there has been a confrontational quality to my writing over the past few weeks. This has been noted in my angst-fuelled poetry, it has been noted in my furious fiction and it has been evinced in the internal memos I’ve been sending to some of the a***holes at the workplace.

I blame it on the encroaching summertime.

I do not like summertime.

Whilst many people enjoy the warm weather and extended hours of daylight, I am not a lover of summertime. I find it is an affront to the senses:

In the summer time, I find, there is too much bare flesh on the promenade.

Those who know me will be aware that I’m not a prude. Truth be told, I have a penchant for bare flesh and could look at it for hours. However, I have little time for the pasty-coloured bare flesh that gets exposed on the prom during a British summer. Half the time it’s like looking at a skinned halibut in a bikini. The rest of the time it’s not quite so attractive.

I also find there is too much perspiration.

It’s been said that deodorants and common sense are never used by those people who most badly need them. I shall say no more on the subject except to mention that summer offends my sense of smell.

Our national anticipation of summertime is a constant irritation. Everyone in the UK acts as though we’re going to have a California heatwave starting in late May and continuing until early September. When the reality kicks in, three mild days before a Bank Holiday downpour, everyone acts with aggrieved disappointment.

Personally I think we should start investing our hopes in one of the other seasons. The other three are more dependable because of their consistent ability to deliver. I’m hoping for a really crappy autumn this year, followed by a dire, miserable winter and an unsatisfying and unmemorable spring. If we approach the seasons with this mindset, even if our hopes are dashed, we won’t be disappointed. 

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Spring has Sprung

Today is the vernal equinox. Finally we can say goodbye to winter. Goodbye to knitted hats and adult mittens. Goodbye to the SAD lights and vitamin d tablets. Goodbye to big coats and multiple layers. Goodbye to moody mornings and nippy nights. We can say goodbye to warring with winter because spring has started to push its bright colours into our days; fresh blue, budding green and beaming yellow break me from the grey. I start to feel alive again. Like I want to skip, do something impulsive, take a road trip, make a picnic, feed some ducks, play Frisbee, build a sandcastle, wear festival wellies on a sunny day, go open water swimming in the Lake District, drive with all the windows open, dive into a massive ball pool, hire a bouncy castle, buy a DSLR camera, start a photography course, send poetry out into the big bad world, laugh instead of getting scared, rebel, refuse to conform...

I’m not entirely sure if my current mindset is anything to do with it being the first day of spring, or whether it is in fact a result of today also being my birthday. I have a hunch that it might be the latter.

I find, as I get older, that birthdays are less appealing. That I’d rather avoid than acknowledge I’m becoming a year older. They have a similar effect to New Year; they prompt you into thinking, making promises and changes, and wishing the next year of your life will be successful, fruitful, happy. When I was four, closing my eyes tight and blowing out the candles was easy. When you’re young you believe you know what will make you happy, but as you grow up, becoming more aware, you realise that it is far more complicated than roller skates or pierced ears

Two paragraphs earlier I said that spring (my birthday?) makes me want to rebel and refuse to conform, and this post is taking a miniature step towards doing that. It is off-topic and disconnected from the theme – because I felt that daffodils were more important than gods...

Thank you for reading,

Lara 

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