Lynne Rees's Blog, page 5

Poem ~ It is so still today

It is so still today
smoke rises from an allotment bonfirein a pillar of disbelief
the motorway’s drone is a singledull wall of sound
muted birdsong reaches meacross a frozen field
I am the most disruptive element in the landscape
feet slapping the groundragged exhalations of breath 
on unexpected inclinesbut when I stop and listen 
I realise I am not the only interruption ~
a passing train, the criesof children in the yard
of a school half a mile awayand then in the next moment
the peals of the school bellcalling us all to order
and I am a childin another schoolyard
in another landscapebouncing on my heels
turning towards this futureI have yet to imagine. 

run/write

I started running at the end of 2015 in an attempt to get as fit as I possibly could before reaching 60. Then it became a series of challenges to see what I could accomplish: 5k and 10k races, an alpine-like trail race across the mountains at the back of my hometown, Port Talbot, in South Wales, running 1000k in a year, a half marathon, and another half marathon, so I could at least say I'd run a whole one! 

It became social and supportive, running with a group of women every week. And it became a tool for my emotional and psychological well-being too. That became startlingly evident in 2020 when the first Covid pandemic lockdown coincided with my diagnosis of recurring breast cancer.  I ran throughout that Spring and Summer until surgery at the end of October. Then my Dad died of Covid in December and, three months later, Mam died, her failing health exacerbated by losing her partner of 72 years. 

It took me far more time to start running again than the surgeon had suggested, undoubtedly a response to grief as well as physical healing. And it was only a year after Mam died that I woke up one morning, suddenly lighter, able at last to process the details of my post-surgery pathology report, and, after more than a year, to feel grateful again, for life, for each day. A gift. 

I'm back to my pre-surgery level of running now: 7 and 8 miles with my women's running group. Aiming to build this year to 10. Running on my own a couple of times a week too, along the fields and lanes of the Kent countryside, or across the beach and mountainsides of Port Talbot. 

Those solo runs feel as if I am freeing my mind from a leash, letting it roam into the landscapes around me, and, at the same time, watching it settle, internally, to understandings and insights. Sometimes answers. Sometimes more questions.

And sometimes those runs give rise to words that feel worth sharing: I run/write. 

The play on the word 'write' that sounds like 'right' is deliberate. Not that there is a right way to run. Or a right way to write. Just that it's right for me to be doing both.

run/write 18/01/2023

sun on hard frost
there's forgiving and then
there's forgetting 

Haiku

winter solstice

always running back

to the beginning 

Haiku

where the river meets the searemembering my parents

Poem ~ Pulse

Pulse
Mam, I found an acorn while running along Comp Lanea month ago and Tony put it in a jar and now look,  
the promise of a tree: both root and leaf.
I would have called youtoday to tell you this, on what would have been your 90th birthday. Instead
I am holding this jar, a gift, and proof of something 
I am struggling to find the right words for, soI am leaving it to Einsteinwho said energy cannot be
created or destroyed, onlychanged from one form 
to another, like the pulse of this new life pushingtowards the light. You are never far from me.

Haibun ~ The Reality of Dreams

The Reality of Dreams
The sour dregs of last night's dream are still with me this morning as I run through wet leaves, mud and puddles, my mind irrationally wondering if I could have shown more kindness to the woman who brought me a small white coffee instead of the cappuccino I'd ordered more than 30 minutes earlier, because the rest of her patrons were on her side, glowering at me when I told her it was wrong and too late now, anyway, and placed it on the windowsill by the door and left. I remember the name of the cafe began with M. I remember the clink of cup on saucer when I put it down, that the woman was rushing and anxious. I remember it was raining.
Bear with me now as I unpick it all, if you have the time, or sometimes feel haunted by your own dreams. I am, of course, the anxious woman. And yes, I qualify as a judgemental clientele. But I am myself too, opening the door and stepping into the clean, cool rain. And I am both the absence and presence of kindness which is, perhaps, something we all struggle with at times, when we must choose to bless ourselves over others. 

Poem ~ Invasion

INVASION n. (i) invading with an armed force, (ii) incursion into a place or sphere of activity, (iii) unwelcome intrusion
Sometimes it’s not whata word means but how its usecan blunt the heart or fuel fearor ignite the cankersof anger in the already fearful.
I do not knowwhat the answer isonly that I have totry and understandthe storiesof thosewho really need us. 

Poem ~ Daughters, Fathers

Daughters, Fathers
When a friend tells meabout her father, his Parkinson’s,his dementia, his shuffling feet, we are no longer
two separate womentwo separate men  but a small congregationof daughters and fathers.
Daughters whose hearts achefor the dads who were rocksand heroes. Fathers who worryover losses they cannot name. 
What can we do but listento each other and say, thank you.Remember when our little handsfelt safe inside our dads’? The warmth.   

Poem ~ Grass, Hay

GRASS, HAY 
We grubbed out the apple trees, ploughedand weeded, and waited through the winterthen we harrowed, seeded and rolled. 
I would never have guessed the beauty captured in the movement of long grassthe sway and flow of it in the wind.
And now, after mowing, before the first of three turns, I am entranced by the felt weight of it already turning gold.
If you wish, you can add your own analogieshere: effort, timing, patience, reward. Or, you can just stay with the grass
watch the wood pigeons settle on the layered tresses searching for seeds.Close your eyes, breathe. The scent of it.  

Haibun ~ Words

For a year I have been thinking about getting back to fitness with each run I take but back is surely the wrong word to choose when ahead is where the gift of full recovery lies. And today the lane I am running along reminds me that neither word serves and it is only the now of the cow parsley, the fields of beans, the North Downs holding up a sun-bright sky that matters, this moment, this breath  
here nowstopping to listento the skylark’s song