Tuesday Poem Blog - 'Shore Grass'

Shore Grass by Amy Lowell

The moon is cold over the sand-dunes,
And the clumps of sea-grasses flow and glitter;
The thin chime of my watch tells the quarter after midnight;
And still I hear nothing
But the windy beating of the sea.

From: Honor Moore, editor, Amy Lowell, Selected Poems, American Poets Project, 2004.

This poem reminds me of Stradbroke Island where we used to spend a week, sometimes two weeks, every Christmas holidays. This was years ago and the island was not top to bottom resort back then. We used to stay at Clayton's Cabins and the generator stopped at 10.00 pm so the lights went out! There was a small general store and surfies, who would frequently camp in the caves on the cliffs to save money, lived on milkshakes and hot chips from the store.

It was a walk along the cliffs to Point Lookout where there was another, slightly larger store. We'd buy iceblocks there and watch the surfies from the clifftop. Once I saw three sharks, quite visible in the clearest water, circling around a surfer. There was nothing one could do from the cliff except watch. He surfed in, but there were stories...

I love beaches at night - the shadows on the sand, the dark, glittering water and the track straight to the horizon made by the moon.

Do have a look at the Tuesday Poem blog this week which features an intriguing section of a longer narrative poem, 'Pen Pal' by Sugar Magnolia Wilson. It's great! I read it and immediately downloaded the pdf. Kudos for Cats and Spaghetti Press, too, for doing something so beautiful and then giving it away. Thanks, too, for Helen Rickerby for posting this - she's this week's Tuesday Poem editor. Sugar Magnolia Wilson's work makes my fingers itchy to write. (And what a wonderful name!)

The Tuesday Poem was rudely interrupted...

Mademoiselle Rouge departed for Spain last night. It's her first solo trip overseas. The first trip was a school exchange visit to Japan - very different from going to Spain by yourself and planning to walk 100 kilometres of the Camino de Santiago, not to mention couch surfing. It was all too stressful to think of poetry - although that might have calmed me down! But I was busy completing these:

Fingerless mitts to keep her hands warm. A good pattern from Ravelry - sized so you can make it for most gauges and for most sized hands. I shall be making more of these!  The yarn is Colinette Jitterbug sock  yarn. I bought a grab bag of odd yardages from the Colinette mill shop - not enough for socks, but plenty long enough for mitts.

When you've admired these and before you whisk out your double-sided needles to make your own, hop on over to the Tuesday Poem blog where you can read three intriguing poems from a debut verse novel, Bird Murder,  by Stephanie Lash, brought to you this week by Helen Rickerby. When you've put your order in for your own copy of Bird Murder, check out the sidebar for other Tuesday poems.

Tuesday Poem - 'That Cat'

That Cat

Leggy catwalk gait,

chocolate wedge face,

eyes as round as smarties -

the new cat is Naomi.

Forget that she was found in a box

on the Calder Highway,

she’s checked into our hotel now;

orders room service

practises photo opportunities with the dog

tells me in her bossiest voice

to get rid of those Blundstones

and buy some proper shoes -

Viv Westwoods  -

so she can feel at home in my wardrobe.

She sits on the ironing board

criticises my technique.

That cat, we say, kicking her out of cupboards,

off benches, another broken vase. That cat,

adding her cryptic notes to my emails,

scratching my favourite jumper into her shape.

Like living with a view of the harbour

or your own Picasso,

that cat.

Catherine Bateson.  

I wrote this poem just after a burmese cat came into my life. I can no longer have cats in my life - we live in the Melbourne Hills and the birdlife around our house is too lovely to threaten it with an agile hunter! (And Java was given away a long time ago, to a friend who adored her.) I do miss having a cat, however.

Check out the Tuesday Poem hub to read 'Crayfish' by Fleur Adcock, this week featured by guest editor, Helen Rickerby. It's a treat to read a hitherto unpublished Adcock - like Helen, I've long admired her work. From the hub, you can access other Tuesday poems - have a lyrical week!