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Poems Which Sound? That sound, that whine a wailing saw, the hammers bang my neighbor’s house across the street is taking shape at snail’s pace (two years and counting). The wind blows cold and gusts along the sidewalk hits their porch that sound, that clang the metallic chimes do bang and toll for me, next door. That sound like ocean’s constant roar that sound is traffic high on highway spans that bridge each other in loops and coils just down the hill. That sound, ah yes, that sound that sweet and trilling song a mockingbird up on my roof (sounds more like three) breaks through the man-made clamor. ©Pauline C Scott 5/16/22 Our City We all felt and lamented the loss - our city was losing her feminine slant her nurturing, her charming looks and vanity. In a moment of weakness she let down her guard and macho techixicity took over, grabbing her by the throat strangling the quaintness and how-it-always-wasness that mixture of familiarity and surprise around every corner. Masculinity looming large and threatening, the construction guys the hard hats the blueprints and plans, the concrete and steel Change and more change and relentless change until… Until this happened Now, she slumbers behind shutters - businesses boarded up, deserted streets her people imprisoned, jobless, hopeless in the path of a deadly virus. Her heart is slowing, the blood barely trickling to the extremities. And yet nature flourishes, birds return, coyotes bask in the quiet city trees bloom fresh blossoms, green buds burst into life. Our city is waiting , waiting for rebirth, waiting to emerge from lockdown waiting to rise again from the fire. In her soul she hears an awakening a pumping of the blood of compassion the essential fluid of life She will return, my city of quirks and contradictions She will return to comfort us before too long She will come back and release us from our silent cries She will forgive us our trespasses. ©Pauline Crowther Scott 3/27/20 It's a Beeping World (with added relationship tips) Beep beep beep beep Are you mocking the microwave? I asked him as he beeped in a high-pitched imitation of our beloved appliance. It's a beeping world he said and I had to agree. I do agree now and then it keeps the relationship running smoothly nothing like telling someone they're right works like a charm every time. Beep beep buzz buzz my cell phone tells me I have a new email. Even though its annoying I was quite concerned when it stopped beeping recently and I had to restart the phone to get its voice back. That was his idea, what a good idea I told him another phrase that works really well. The kitchen is the center of our beeping world. Along with the microwave the cooker has a vibrant beep. the new dishwasher however is very subtle - everything about it is quiet and self-effacing it offers a fairy tinkling when it finishes that I only heard for the first time last week when I was standing right next to it. We got a handsome rebate on this new appliance, due to a few missteps we took on arranging the installation (yes I'll share the blame for this, another tactic that can only help a relationship) then had to endure six weeks of miscommunication and no dishwasher until the final day-long hook up. (One might call it a botched Bosch). But the toaster is silent, as is the electric kettle, both of which wait coyly to be discovered rather than trill their accomplishment. That is not a tactic that sustains a relationship in my opinion. One needs to advertise one's daily achievements so the other can praise and thank, unprompted is better of course, but not always an available option. Giving thanks - now that can really help a relationship. ©Pauline Crowther Scott 12/19/15 I Want/Storm Cloud I want the infant to sleep another minute time to want clear rain something already, somebody new opaque ordered to arrive I finish crashing against his equity through the house last time make warmer and cooler so hot the sun is cold. When the instant floats by on gleaming surfaces that's close to ten minutes short to rain on my headache cloud spits your seconds no, just waking sneezing so can this poem. PCS 6/1/15 Nothing and Something : Analysis of a painting (Pink Parchment) There's no denying there's something there. Is it nothing? No, it's definitely something But what? It's not recognizable or realistic or photographic. What is it? Let's call it abstract. There could be glimpses of things That remind us of things So those bits are something Then the shapes and colors in between What are those? Spliced pink ribbons across the corners pale yellow/pink/gray striations in the background shapes with torn edges almost like burnt edges, black lines enclose, describe. Random? Purposeful? Unfinished. Not sure what to do next. I've been working on it upside down. But it looks wrong when I turn it around have to leave it now. As is. PCS. March 2015 Passage From my spacious childhood garden with its spreading rhubarb leaves to the dormitories of boarding school and thrilling walks out of bounds with a fellow law-breaker; wading through fresh clear rain puddles following streams in Wellington boots. Back to suburban home life up the lane to the Downs walking the dog, admiring autumn berries and fluffy Old Man's Beard growing on hedgerows. Along the by-pass to the big city of railways and grey brick buildings. Our end-of-terrace house, the old yellow Post Office van that would only start with the handle. Across the skies to the land of light of wooden houses and Muni buses burning October heat and steep steep hills A place to stay for a while, to raise some children, to discover the fog and the overhead wires crowding the streets the strange customs, the fierce ocean and the blistering wind. A place to stay. ©Pauline Crowther Scott 12/1/14 Monday’s Journey: Helen and Chartwell Caterham, Surrey Hello Helen comfy in her armchair coffee and biscuits (tea for Helen) shares her magazines handbag bedroom upstairs Helen’s passport of signs and gestures Goodbye Westerham, Kent Tree lined lanes Chartwell house not grand very lived in low ceilings uniforms gifts hats books books bookshelves Kitchen Garden glowing gold marigold pumpkins wallflowers against rain cloud sky Brick wall patterned like a quilt hand built by Winston Studio filled with Churchill’s paintings large box of old oil paint tubes solid easel round back chair Child’s Cottage wooden play food Beatrix Potter books Café recently expanded lovely cakes all gone by 3:45 except 2 slices of Victoria Sponge and 4 slices of Fruit cake ©Pauline Crowther Scott. October 2014 Figments Filaments Tangles and Neurons Linear threads tumble and swirl then embrace, pierce and dissect. Linear threads disassemble in a diabolical dance entangle and submerse. Linear Threads float freely, repel then cling, encircle and flow. The Filaments Series or Figments Filaments Tangles and Neurons Maybe Figmentals or even Neurofigaments. Finding just one word the right word to describe them is almost impossible, but maybe throwing a lot of words together en masse in a hodge podge a jambalaya or a poem might work. Tangles tied and enlaced Knots in yarn or flowing tresses Neurons and tendrils displaced. Capillament, capillary, cilium such fibrillous wisps, such funicular coils of cobwebs, gossamer a network of veins threads, tentacles, arabesques and filigrees. As I draw and paint the lines am I creating a new language for beings from another universe? An unknown vocabulary of sentient life forms? But no - these are from a planet much closer, a place inside my mind - they are my own neurons that flow out onto canvas and dance and contort in exquisite delight ©2015 Pauline Crowther Scott Olema Sunlight catches a patch of forested hillside momentarily, then slides away A buzzard soars above the distant green expanse, lichen-covered fences enclose nearby fields Swallows swoop and dive through a wooden shed with steeply sloping roof and open windows Two horses stand waiting by a fence their ears twitch and heads nod in expectant silence A bird’s shadow ghosts across the rusting corrugated roof of a sun-bleached storage barn Three wheelbarrows sit unused and empty amid clumps of yellow flowers whose long spindly stalks sway gently then dance violently in a sudden breeze that swirls through the sun porch where I sit A dragonfly floats by as two white butterflies briefly ascend together then disperse chaotically Clouds separate to reveal a beckoning blue sky and it’s time to go, to leave this quiet reverie and join the day-trippers at the roaring tumbling beach lean back against the dunes and listen to the ocean. ©Pauline Crowther Scott July 22, 2014 |