Evening recollections

Evening recollections

On a warm summer evening such as this
The years recede and I remember young loves tender kiss
Warm perfumed air enfolds us in its caress
You relaxed and cool, me in my summer dress
Two young people too young to recognise and know
The gentle flutter of first feelings from which love will grow
I still recall the tilt of my head as I gazed
Absorbed in your eyes but feeling quite fazed
By the strength of emotion
Recollected and still felt.

By Izzy Silver

Perfect weather.

Perfect weather

Lazy idyllic precious days

Bees buzzing about in the summer haze.

There is barely enough breeze to stir the grassy threads

Of tall foxgloves amongst the flower beds.

A cloudless sky of such clear blue

Bright butterflies dance their brief rendezvous.

The clarity of bird song on still warm air.

A day so beautiful, a jewel so rare.

An English summer sweet as strawberry

To be savoured in the mind, preserved deliciously.

By Izzy Silver

Waiting.

Waiting

Patience is a virtue

Sadly absent

Waiting for academic scores

On which future studies depend,

Letter to clearing already written, 

Just in case.

Patience is a virtue

Somewhat sullied

Waiting for potential employers calls,

On which financial life depends,

Further applications already written,

Just in case.

Patience is a virtue

Sorely tested

Waiting for medical results

On which life depends,

Letters to loved ones already written,

Just in case.

Running low on patience.

Running low on options.

Running out of time.

Still waiting.

By Izzy Silver

July poetry and pictures, Worcester.

July has been hectic, so it didn't help that the computer was playing up, but it's all systems go again so here is a bit of a catch-up. The next few entries will contain poems and pictures taken or written this month. For the poems I am starting with the blackest and moodiest, progressing to happier brighter stuff. So here goes.

Sometimes optimism isn't an option

The black dog rides again

A monkey on his back.

The demon with the pointy stick

Is going jab, jab, jab.

You smile and try to carry on.

You have to come what may.

Inside your on the floor and being kicked,

It's just another perfect day.

On the face of it the smile remains,

Though it cannot reach your eyes.

Politely you say, "Thank you"

Whilst inside hope dies.

By I. Silver

Staying young

When I was young
Life seemed so full of choice,
And as a coil to be sprung
Or a choir in full voice,
All energy and volume raced,
To every chance and opportunity,
Each new experience embraced
Without a shadow of anxiety.

Young I wish my spirit stay,
However great my years.
To find the joy in each new day,
Storing memories as souvenirs.
Don't let routine or duty
Suppress my capacity for fun,
But instead see beauty and comedy
In everyday until lifes done.

by Izzy Silver

Sometimes you just have to remember what is important.

Youth, Age and Passion

When the sunlight skips and dances on the water
And the warmth gently kisses dry my skin
My sinews stretched and pliant now from swimming
I want to commit some truly original sin.

Age has come to bones and we feel fragile
Years like days are quickly slipping by
Deep the lines are etched upon your face now
But still there is great strength within your thigh

Why should youth so green, have all the pleasure
Still the blood flows red through heart and vein
Still there's time for love, and pain, and pleasure
There's nothing that we cannot do again.

I never want to feel final,finished and all grown up
I always want excitement, thrills and joy
And even when were old and grey together
I'LL remember I'm your girl and your my boy


by Izzy Silver

Its not only the weather.

Its not only the weather making me feel blue, so today I will have a little wallow in the doldrums, before I promise tomorrow to be the bright and happy me. Feeling poetic, pathetic and melancholy I have another rather cheesy but not cheery verse to share.

A bit blue.

If misery likes company
Why am I alone with my tears,
Feeling lost and desolate
Overshadowed by my fears.
Solice is not found in solitude,
But lives where there are friends.
Everyone needs a hand to hold,
A knight who will defend
You when your feeling lost,
And cheer you when you win,
Or everything is valueless,
A waste of adrenaline.
Your whole lifes a story to tell,
The twists and turns, the highs and lows.
Life, the bright and scary carousel,
Until finally we decompose.

Izzy Silver.

Tanka, a Japanese poetry form.

Sitting watching the rain I decided to write a poem about something or other.
I was going to write using a Japanese poetry form. The Japanese traditionally use syllable patterns. The Haiku is a three line poem with a 5/7/5 pattern whilst the tanka is a five line poem written using a 5/7/5/7/7 syllable pattern.

Here is my tanka.

Something

Something meaningful
Something to grasp firmly to
Something deep and true
In the dark and lonely night
A hope blanket for the soul.

by Izzy Silver

The Beautiful Game, .

The Beautiful Game it seems to me

 Is a title full of irony

I can't name a player who isn't a cheat

Either on the pitch or the bed sheet

They don't seem to care about the score

Only about earning more

Every week fans invest time

And hopes and dreams and love

On teams of spoilt boys who whine

About how the results should've

Given them a win

Or at least a free kick

The ref's call was a sin

Making players feel sick

No it's never the fault

Of the guy in the strip

That wasn't assault

But good gamesmanship

In the end the winners seem  to be

The money men's bank balance

Which is wrong you must agree

So we should correct this abhorrence

And call it as it seems

A soul destroying waste of time

A raft of money making schemes

Long past its hay day at it's prime

Not beautiful but abysmal

By Izzy Silver

Peonies

Thrust from the earth
Phallic red columns
Hungry for warmth and light
Transformed into sturdy bushes
Green soft delicate foliage
Bearing expectant globes
Which open slowly to reveal
Puff balls or open bowl forms
Whites, yellows, reds and pinks
Light floral fragrant perfume
And then again they disappear
For winter they sleep
Warm and the hidden beneath      the soil
Buried treasure

A perfect bloom

A sunny spot with a glass of wine.

Mostly tulips

Aqueligia

A very busy day to end a very busy week.
But as my poem Perfect endings states,

Tulips and allium

The perfect end to a long week

 Sitting in a patch of sunshine

With a glass of wine

And time to unwind.

Allium

Chives

Mostly Bella

So I am doing just that and admiring the garden.

Staying in

Staying in

Its raining again
I watch drops on the pane
Great for slugs and for snails
But my plans it derails
Who would go walking for fun
In this weather its not done
When at home there are sofas
And films made by Pixar
Or books that engage
All the world on a page
So stay safe and warm
Till its over, this storm


by Izzy Silver

Lemon life

Lemon life

They say when life gives you lemons
Make lemonade,
But I don't like fizzy drinks,
So I made lemoncello, a drizzle cake and a meringue pie,
And threw a party.

Feeling sentimental, a poem.

An ode to a rose-tinted childhood

My childhood was not so long ago.

Outside all summer, collecting

Creepy crawlies, toads, butterflies and freckles.

Inside all winter by the fire reading a book.

(Children's hour on tv being just that, one hour)

Today childhood is all buttons and lights,

Whatever the weather watching tv,

On laptops and the very latest Galaxy i-lumiphone,

Collecting nothing but facebook friends and trolls,

(and clips of cat and dogs in clothes, and pranks gone wrong).

How I wish the only trolls they knew

Lived under bridges with an appetite for goats,

But at least unlike my great-great-greats

They know nothing of polio, cholera or TB,

(or war or rationing or teacher wielding canes)

And these days rose-tinted glasses are cheap

So we can have pink coloured days,

(But lets go outside and enjoy the sun,

and picnics, rain and puddles, wind and kites)

By Izzy  Silver

Magnolis in Malvern, Worcestershire.

 Magnolia, named after the French botanist Pierre Magnol, originated in the Americas and Asia. They come in yellow, purple, white and pink varieties, but most of the ones you see around here are either white or pale pink.


Magnolia, the tree
Much maligned by paint charts
And bland interior design.
Fine, waxy petals,
Of oriental providence
Light and exotic.

They are in every street and park a beacon of exquisite beauty at this time of year.

Weekend poem

Weekend

A few days in the garden
Trying to get things straight.
My muscles maybe tired,
But things are looking great.
Weeding, planting, raking, mowing,
Pruning, dead-heading, a little hoeing.

Then watering in the evening,
Enjoy the setting sun.
Listening to the bird song,
It seems we all had fun.
Work again tomorrow, daily grind.
But soon will come the weekend, so never mind.


by Izzy Silver.

Perfect endings.

Perfect Endings

The perfect end to a long day.

Sitting in a patch of sunshine,

With a cup of tea,

And a garibaldi.

The perfect end to a long week.

Sitting in a patch of sunshine,

With a glass of wine,

And time to unwind.

The perfect end to a long year.

Sitting in a patch of sunshine,

With a flute of champagne

And a few more of the same.

The perfect end to a long life.

Sitting in a patch of sunshine,

With a head full of good memories

And a heart full of love.

By Izzy Silver

The meaning and value of life.

The news can be rather depressing and the more it becomes a list of  world atrocities and celebrity happenings the more it screws with societies understanding of the worth of the individual. This is something we should rile against. I think each life and individual is equally of value..... and so I wrote this poem.

Scales

I have seen great beauty

Drank deeply at the well of joy.

My kind deeds and words outnumber

Those I did enjoy.

And yet the bottom line in life,

My value and my worth,

Is measured by all Those who Are,

By what is in my purse.

Is the life of celebrities,

Millionaires and Kings and Queens,

Really that much more valuable,

Than those who live unseen.

The same sun shines on me.

The same rain quench my thirst.

I may be last and lowly,

But breathe the same air as the First.

Weighed upon life's scales

This life is worthless found,

But eternally we all weigh,

In dust, about a pound.

By Izzy.B.Silver  

Why are the British so obsessed with the weather ? Worcestershire Beacon.

Steps up from West of England carpark

Today is a bit overcast to say the least. I decided as the views were going to be impeded I would climb the Worcestershire beacon right to the top. I might not be able to see much once I got there, but there would probably be few other walkers out today, and for a moment at least I would be the highest thing in all of Worcestershire. I am only just over 5 foot tall, so it's a nice change to be able to look down on others for a brief moment.

The weather however got me thinking. Why are the British so obsessed by it ?

Approaching the ridge

Tsunami, hurricanes, droughts causing famine and forest fires, monsoons and tornadoes, they just don't happen here. This years winter was one of the longest and most extreme in 100 years, but really it amounted to at most two meters of snow which melted in less than a month. So why does it affect us so ?

With no great extremes foreign travellers think our weather will be monotonous, but a stay of just a few day's on these shores highlight how great the repercussions of minor changes.

Turn left and the summit is in sight

Today is just two degrees cooler that the lovely warm idyllic few days that preceded it. Rather than dense fluffy white clouds floating in skies of blue, the cloud is a uniform thin grey blanket, veiling the sun from sight.

SAD, or Seasonally Affected Disorder is a recognised medical condition which I know causes it's suffers great pain. I am lucky to usually find the beauty in all weather, but today is the rare bland insipid sort of grey that causes my inner emo to resurface and relieve my melancholic teenage angst.

That said I was rather cheered by the poem it has inspired.

Under the weather

Exquisite agony and bliss

The frustrating tender kiss

To be surrounded by beauty

The Beacon

The inscription meaning I am "top" 

On a day so dull.

Without sunshine's blessing,

A hill is just a hill,

The landscape flat and lifeless,

Incline just a challenge to muscle.

The summit becomes the goal.

Its own point limited by pointlessness.

Arriving just to say you arrived,

The plaque

A couple enjoy the natural high

And then descend.

Shrouded in the grey,

Of a dull cloudy day.

Dark moods devour

Fragile spirits tenuous joy.

Unbidden fears encroach

A soul mired by solitude,

Isolated, lonely,

The scream no-one hears.

Just give me sunshine,

A little warmth and light.

Then life will feel worth living

Because and not in spite.

 By Izzy.B.Silver

Today's cloudy view

British Camp reservoir, Malvern Hills, Worcester,

Deep thoughts

I like to sit and think,

Besides a lake or pool.

Is it the language used,

That makes it seem so true.

To reflect on life where water,

Holds a mirror to our mind.

To see the light there,

Where sun skips on the surface.

To dive our deepest depths,

Where dark weeds drag and drown.

To let our mind view ,

Great vista's and vast horizons.

And finally focus on 

That one distilled answer.

A reflective poem, wirtten beside the reservoir at British Camp, by Izzy.B.Silver