peel and portion a tangerine
claire.ewbank
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To the Riverside
I’ll come to the riverside and meet you,
greet you underneath the birds,
raging clouds and the sounds of cathedral bells.
I’ll come and meet you,
find you between the bridge and water,
hide in your arms and those eyes of yours.
I’ll come to the riverside and meet you,
we’ll wait and watch and listen
as we always do, and I’ll place an ivy crown
upon your brow and be grateful
that I am one who knows you.
During Lent 2015 I wrote a poem (or more) each day. Many were just because I was obliging myself to... but the challenge was fun and helped me think and pull on almost nothing to write something. Some of the poems below will have a day and a date with them, this is refering to the day and date during the period of Lent.
After the stories of Genesis chapters one and two in the Bible ...
Day 3
20.02.15
Naked
we were,
and unashamed:
We stood before creation,
Night’s hand on our skin,
stars achingly clear
before us in her palm.
Adam, your fingerprint was like her face-
a fractal sky, words
worked between the contours of the rings.
In my hair:
spring
remnants of the day’s trees,
leaves stuck to the soles of my feet.
I remember I wrote the name
c a t e r p i l l a r
in a row of circles down your spine.
Before her, underneath her, we stood,
Adam – I imagined God’s spirit
hovering over the waters,
like the myriad of colours
emanating from the lake in the wake
of the night’s moonlight.
Shadows around you, Adam,
like charcoal lines,
defined the arching of your shoulders,
the cut of your knee,
the tremble of your fingers.
We were unashamed.
Before all of this there was nothing,
not even the dust
from which we came.
no Night with her stars,
no creatures, no rings, no shadows.
After that
and before now,
we stood naked, Adam.
and we were unashamed.
Day 5
22.02.15
101 Notifications
Facebook you scare the life out of me.
I avoid you for days because of the way
You collect messages from the people I love
And throw them at me and they can see
When I see them but won’t know
How I’m feeling, that perhaps I am hating
Looking at screens on that evening.
Facebook you put life back into me
When you show me faces and places
So dear to me and tell me their messages
And let us speak and laugh so instantly.
There’s beauty in your technology Facebook,
But I don’t “like” our relationship, it’s more “love-hate”.
I avoided you on my birthday
Because I knew you’d not forget the date.
Day 37
26.3.15
Grandpa
Your breathing is in sync with the wind,
You exhale together,
Tired and sleeping.
Old like the weather
You dream, your cheeks awash with sunlight.
Day 41
31.03.15
Spine
Her spine is heavy, clicks as it climbs up,
Cracks as she straightens her back,
Cumulative pain, these days,
Seeps inside like clouds of rain.
Day 42 (a day at the spa)
01.04.15
Butter
My body is butter.
If you had a knife you could slice
right through it, lean to the left
and spread it softly, smooth
with the little grooves bread-knives leave.
She massaged me until my limbs melted,
you see, kneaded my knees,
dug dimples in my calves,
(I had to suppress the laughs),
she let birds loose on my legs,
they washed my skin with their wings
a silent, delicious, buttery caress.
Pestle thumbs in the mortar arch
of my feet, rubbed warmth, ripples
of heat pricking,
like the shiver of whiskey igniting
the throat, a whisper woken, kindled coast-
line, fingers streaming down
tracing prints in margarine,
a high-necked collar and the most gentle
garments you've ever seen,
bare bark whittled away, pressure
on the knots, knuckles collapsing houses,
dominos chasing dominos, her fingers
persistent in pushing out the pieces
weighing me down, bold
bruises of healing given, back rolled flat,
snapped and withered and slotted together,
sealed in oil, churned by her hands,
burned by her birds and their claws
I feel
yellow eclipses on my thighs, sigh
up and through my insides: this is
coming alive
You’ve got autumn in your hair
You’ve got autumn in your hair
Stole it, hid it there,
Now we share it: make it fair,
Take your beauty, take the beauty,
Yours, mine, theirs.
You’ve got autumn in your hair
The sun sits in your eyes
Like all the winter fireflies I’ve dreamt about
But never knew were alive,
You’ve made them mine
With your burning eyes,
Take it setting, rising, sun time tide.
You’ve got autumn in your hair.
Day 4
21.02.15
one line poem on cheese and wine
overwhelmed by cheese = overwhelmed by love
Day 1
18.02.15
2 weeks ago I became a vegetarian
because I don't want to be consuming
what I don't believe in,
thing is, it can be hard to make your choice
without it seeming that you're leaning
towards some crazy extremism -
but I'm just thinking about at least one part
of my decisions of 'being'
and as you sit here on the sofa
and chat about the owls and whether they should be brought in,
you're not defending elitism - with your moral grounds
and no-drinking, you're just thinking
that perhaps the owls won't be appreciating
drunk students and wanna-be magicians feasting.
Day 7
24.02.15
At the traffic lights it was raining
And my legs were tired.
Through the rain, though, came the sound of
Grease Lightning, perceptible
Above the pulsing engines.
I heard go go go and a thrumming hand
And smiled, thought of a student in his car.
But it was you
In juxtaposition to me:
White haired and wrinkled
And grooving your head to the beat,
Your blue shirt and your old car
And your lips singing Johnny's words.
You looked so calm, unperturbed
By the cold again, absorbed
In what was your refrain,
You were enjoying life,
Breathing music to the bass of the rain.
Day 25
14.3.15
citron lemon Zitrone
Zip up my lips Zitrone,
Zesty buzz you give, Zitrone,
Yellow jazz and bite
and kick, Zitrone,
Lemon-young I feel
with you, Zitrone.
Day 6
23.02.15
We start the day in prayer,
Greet Monday and lay ourselves bare
With tiny worries which knit our brows,
We can hear the clicking, the needles' sound,
So we stop
And lay them down
And bring them to the Lord in prayer,
Thinking outside our college-box
And pray for what we know out-there,
We're two (almost) women,
Young and not sure where to start
But it seems that on a Monday morning
Prayer before our King works well.
Prebends Bridge
Cathedral bells:
My heart swells
beneath the moon
and stars
on Prebends Bridge.
My hands are cold
but my love so old
for you,
I do not want to leave.
Day 22
11.3.15
you wrapped your scarf around my head
(tucked my hair out of the way)
so that I could know what it feels like to wear one.
I feel restricted and it feels heavy,
but for you, I suppose, this is the burden
of respect, protection and future promise.
Day 27
16.3.15
1.
Your face back in my life
And mine back in yours,
It's so normal I ask myself
What happened in-between.
I don’t like to downplay those days
But I'm so grateful
For how easy it is
To slip back into place
With you.
2.
Like slipping on my favourite shoes:
Me coming home to you.
Day 28
17.3.15
bracelet
I carry you on my wrist, colours of the sea
Link you, mysterious girl, to me.
Day 39
29.03.15
Alice (A true story)
Your ringed fingers tingle,
Magic sparks run down the lines on your skin,
entwined with the silver, the gems, melting
on the page into stories walking
around your London flat, sitting on the windowsill,
brewing in lemon-green tea,
swimming in tilted ink pots on your flower-growing table.
Your hair is alive: golden bees spun dreams
last night and threaded honey thoughts upon your brow,
a crown of plaited rhymes and time
rests patient above your morning-march-receiving mind.
You walk with style, indigo skirts swish-swash
around your nimble knees, like falling bluebells chiming
slowly in an almost spring-time breeze, your brooches
speak with your pendants, a current rushing
through all these metallic things: your creativity
breathing, sleeping in tartan scarves and fastened buttons
and fingers curling up and stretching out.
Your eyes change colour and expand
and gobble up light and love us back,
a leather bag on your shoulder, a twitched lip
and wholesome laugh, wholemeal bread on plates
as we wait for future days of Oxford houses,
freckles on fresh cheeks and lovely lashes.
Day 46
05.04.15
Easter Night
My stomach is full
of love and chocolate,
round and expectant
as I lie down to sleep.
Kenya's Mourning
Churches full of people weeping
And singing to God, looking to Him
For guidance.
He sent his daughter to university
And got a coffin back;
Now he sends his prayers.
Day 45
04.04.15
Your name slips off our lips,a conjunction between our clauses,a word between our pauses,we all know you so well,the contours of your shoulder blades and forearms,a gasping rocky desert plain where you,all alone cried out your father's name,a word between the pauses,each one caused you pain
Jesus(superstar)amid the mist of England rain and rich Easter eggs Your name is Sunday Morning Joy,a beginning of my prayers,a note on my computer screen.Our words dress you in crimson,lay down leaves,but it's hard to remember,hard to grieve,so I draw you a crown,gold for your head,Jesus,our King
Poetry
Words Sword(s) Do(o)rs
Claire has been writing ever since she can remember. She was commended in the Stephen Spender Poetry Translation Competition (2009, 2010) as well as in the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Competition in 2008.
Claire speaks English, German and French and is currently enjoying exploring Arabic and Kurdish. Writing is like a game for Claire and the more words she has, the more fun there is! Over these pages you will find some of her experiments from the last few years.