Marmalade on my feast day,
ten jars and then some,
the final stage a rolling boil
till the slivers of peel cut yesterday -
with the smallest wooden-handled knife
- grew translucent. Earlier
at the water mill the sun just touched
the treetops and the frost on the old stone
hadn't moved all day.
Coming home
the fire was lit, a clean bright good one,
and the blanket curtain left open until six
to catch the last deep bluegreen glow
of twilight through the winter trees
(chestnut shoots, wych elm, ash keys)
and I am wished well of Sainte Lucie
THE FRIDAY FUNNIES
17 hours ago
12 comments:
Nice imagery. I really need to spend more time on poetry.
Such nice stuffs..I imagine your everyday life is full of nature's heavenly bliss..
A delight. Simple and clear.
Lovely. Sometimes, reading your posts, I want to live your life.
yummy day
Does your birthday coincide with St Lucie's day? The smell of marmalade emerges mysteriously from Box Elder. Or have I got it wrong and is your birthday at some other time of year? That was a lovely list, by the way. I don't lose heart and will continue to stroke the alabaster swan.
Thanks all.
Yes, my life is good, i can't complain!
Plutarch, my birthday is on the 12th, the day before St Lucy, (also I believe the feast of Our Lady of Guadaloupe!); I think my mother was vaguely aware of the proximity of it, and I learned of it from John Donne. Since living here, though St's days have gone by the board a bit, Ste Lucie seems to be one which people are more aware of, so someone or other will usually wish me Bonne Fete. I rather like it.
I got your first comment on the list, btw, you'd left it on the previous post by mistake! Not all of the list is universal, of course, Tom cannot take everyone's recyclables out!
Such a lovely post.i meant to come here yesterday and then *life* happened and i got swept away into "stuff"...So i'm finally here to say happy Lucy day, one day late!
Beautiful clear eyed and welcoming. Here's to plenty of welcome in your next year.
What could could be more mundane than a kitchen but, on the other hand, what could be more magical than a kitchen? The place where a list of constituents that couldn't be simpler - Seville oranges, sugar and water (no pectin needed, I'm told) - becomes jellied gold. What better point to embark on a poem. But as one who delights in squeezing polysyllabilism into metric form I tip my hat to "the smallest wooden-handled knife" not just for the dexterity with which it has been inserted but for the way you imply the importance, the centrality, of that tool. Mrs BB's knife predates our marriage, bought lawksamussie while we were living in sin.
Very satisfying, Lucy.
Marmalade is a mystical magical concoction which I admire the making and tasting of. Your poem picks up on the making and magically homes in on how the surroundings also seem marmaladian! Beautifully done.
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