Penelope Shuttle

3 Poems

afternoons at the bedside

a sequence

changeable life
of a cloud

chair
with nine lives

glow-worms in Wales
buckling and unbuckling the night

*

my bygone fortune
crouching
like a dwarf in a well in a fairy tale

*

the pleasures of being so

*

white concrete steps
of the new dam at Argal

long troughs
full of white foam

*

a coincidence of zebras
beehives of the world
a cobweb of common sense

*

to keep the colours fresh
she dips her paint brush
into the clear water of the burn

*

when the hare dies
the fox mourns* 

*

cedar tree by a waterfall
pinches of light
seven Septembers done in shadow-stitch
the field’s nickname
afternoons at the bedside

*

near-dark darkening away
on the drumskin of estuary water
last faint light going
from the water runnels
night coming

*

blue-painted shrine
cut into the massive trunk
of a old chestnut:

the holy family
(votive scraps tied to the lower branches)

*

these are the paintings he painted
after his wife’s death

*

cats
have inspired
many choreographers** 

*

day shining
like a new pitchfork
grace-notes
of the clouds veering away
abstinent light
slanting through the open fan
of the birch tree
a grammar of light
long-lost alphabets of light

*

a bridge built
solely by women
over sixty years ago
across a wild stretch
of the river

*

a compendium of ancient sighs

*

the prayer room
and the prayer garden
with a fountain
where the saint washed his hands
bloodstained
from carrying his severed head for miles

*

this year
so much daughtering
so much mothering

*

only a ditch of muddy water
remains
where the Tower
of Babel stood
but when the Babylonian scribe
made a clay map
of the known world
he put Babylon at the centre
ringed by a protective circle
of bitter water
and paid great attention
to the houses of gods, monsters and heroes
dwelling at the rim of the world
in eternal deliberation

*

a tiny thought
takes heart in me
how beautiful to be used
by unknown hands
especially those I was friends with
long ago
in the wedding ring era

 

 

Sources:

when the hare dies:

from the Middle English poem, sourced here from The Leaping Hare by George Ewart Evans and David Thomson, Faber 1972

 

cats have inspired:  source untraced

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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