Early morning, before dawn
rain on the water is mesmeric,
performing dances of its own,
unidentifiable steps
like nothing seen before.
Swirling, cavorting
waltzing – performing
an intricate pas de deux,
all its steps known
only to itself.
Pelting rain now
dance becomes a
battle, like throwing
small, solid pebbles
giving rise to huge
ripples in
ever
de-creasing circles.
July 2009 Baltimore
Jean A Isherwood Farley
Lights dim, music quiet, flying insects
inspecting wherever they land.
Silence in the silvery glow of the moon
on water, dancing stars’ radiance shining
from above.
Lying here, under his yellow blanket,
driven from sleep by my
imminent departure, head reeling,
thoughts dizzy,
returning to what? Recriminations,
interrogations, for why?
At least in seven days he will be
there for interviews.
I will join him in London,
catching up with faces from
our past, renewing old contacts.
Yet again departing for an airport
to say good bye again – hoping
for not very long, before realising
the dream of:
together for whatever may come
Baltimore 2009
Jean A Isherwood.
Another Day
Sentient lights on the water
radiate soft rippling glows
illuminating what lies below.
Soft quacking of ducks as the
day begins, signalling to all:
it is near dawn, the perfect time of day.
As the dark gently lifts over
the Baltimore skyline,
buildings become silhouettes
on the sky line.
Creaks as the lines stretch,
moving their charges so
gently with the tide.
All is well with the world.
Anchorage apartments begin
to show lights as people rise
for the day,
for yet another day.
Baltimore 2009
Jean A Isherwood Farley
An excuse for very little to get done! Not me, writing will get done any day, and it is a discipline one needs to adhere to, no hardship when one loves what they are doing. Had alarm bells yesterday, my daughter thought Tommy my 19 month old grandson had broken his arm, thankfully a false alarm, but always serves to bring home the fragility of life somehow!
Looking at the local paper, there seems to be an inordinate amount of mindless thing to entertain this weekend, but nothing that appeals to me, or will even force me to move from my computer screen.
Well I must now go and look at the Telegraph on line, see if they published a poem I submitted, here’s hoping!
Water, rain, sun and light:
all it takes to make rainbows.
I find rainbow patterns in metallic
colours in the water, on the roads
and paths, vibrant in their colours,
shimmering like stationary
butterflies waiting to fly.
But sky rainbows are few
and far between, with pallid
subdued colours, and often
unable to depict the separate
colours I know are there,
all seven – red, yellow, indigo,
violet, blue, orange and green
so often faded into one another,
no clear distinction between
them. For such a thing of beauty
this I find sad, why can’t
rainbows be shimmering
metallic colours like those on land?
So forever, I remain in search
of Rainbows -
July 2009 Baltimore
Jean A Isherwood Farley
Today I took Tommy my grandson of 19 months for his first swimming expedition in the sea, he loved it and is a complete natural, not caring about water in his face or mouth, just raring to go. With just my hand supporting his little tummy his little legs and arms started kicking and he was moving. Look out future Olympians!!!
Watching families on the beach and in the water fed my creative bits again, and I started scribbling more thoughts, which will later end up in some form on here.
Candy coloured Wild West façade
beautifully designed for today, for that
feeling of wonder at what went before.
A far cry from how I was.
In my wildest dreams, I have never imagined
buildings of a Wild West town so clean and colourful.
Deception seems a pre-requisite to this place.
Casino after casino all vying
to seduce any one to part with those well earned
dollars. Row upon row of gaudy lit slot machines
fed with dreams of a
quick fix for financial dilemmas, not realising
the casino owners’ scorn.
Only a very few will hear
and see the shinning lights and tinkling bells as
the jackpot falls.
The lights and the glitz continue to seduce fools
into gaming rooms, seeking to part them from both
their dignity and their cash. Succeeding so well,
on a card or a dice. The house remains laughing
as the number of losers grows.
The majestic boardwalk, 80 feet wide and 3 miles long,
is peppered with shops, eateries –
funnel cake to snowballs, to a three, four or five
course meal, hot dogs to seafood, all demanding attention.
The board walk rickshaw carriers all competing
for trade, to carry bodies up and down the charade!
Tacky shops compete for trade, everything
cheap and foreign made. Clothing in every spectrum
of colour – beautiful Indian dresses, I could buy so many
but I refrain, they are not fair trade,I imagine the sweat shops
and I still need to de-clutter my home, ready for my new life
to begin.
Small blue buses run continually around the city,
between casinos, at each the driver calls out, ‘Taj Mahal’
‘Resorts’ ‘Trumps’ ‘Tropicana’, just to name a few.
The standard price of $2.25 wherever you go, nobody
standing to ride, all must sit.
Open your eyes as you ride, through the back streets,
the poor neighbourhoods,
see clearly the disparity between the two.
Those who have so little, to those risking all at the casino.
It appears to me that this modern gaming city has grown
up amongst the poor, in its own way helping by
providing construction jobs for the willing;
but I wonder, does it take more than it gives?
I believe the answer is yes, it feeds the poverty
by its greed.
The ocean to the left of the boardwalk, a huge expanse
of warm coastal Atlantic, breaking onto white sands,
must see its share of the hopeless, helpless suicides...
Baltimore 2009
Jean A Isherwood Farley
Tendrils
Spilling out in a fascinating array
like fern fronds
at a three hundred and sixty degree angle.
Light shimmering through the
water, picking out each tendril,
varying its shading wherever it lies,
enlarging the vision
like a magnifier, helping the
illusion hold its spell.
It is this split second
or never. Nothing is the same twice,
just as no two people see the same thing
in the same way, we, all of us,
use out imaginations as we view things,
describe things.
Some, like me, would see these tendrils
as fern fronds,
where another may see them as the
long hair of a cadaver...
Baltimore 2009
Jean A Isherwood Farley
Well first and foremost, results from Hospital were really good, no cancer, biopsies clear, lump is just side effect from other drug implant, talk about the relief. I am on a high.
So what else to tell you, yesterday I stopped pussyfooting about and entered three poetry competitions, results between October and January once judges have selected, so keep your fingers crossed.
Found a site:support@reviewfuse.com; and entered a poem and have had three reviews, which I am happy about, so will list more from time to time.
Have continued with the planning of next two children’s stories, both conceived and started whilst in Baltimore, so they are next in line for some work.
Have disciplined my day and routine to a more structured one, allowing me to write and research for between six to eight hours a day.
Done more de cluttering and really have found it liberating. Where I end up who knows, life is exciting!
Propulsion driving through the sea’s swell,
momentum rising and falling as she
glides effortlessly through the water,
showing her true colours and love
for the waters below her hull. Never
fighting, just flowing onward,
wherever the tide takes her. Obeying
her helm so readily, at the slightest touch.
Engines softly turning answer
to the throttle, again effortlessly
doing her will, fulfilling her need
to go – uncharted waters lying
before her, laying down new lines
for further information, she is aware
of the moon and her lunar affect
on the tides, and always she is alert,
along with her human eyes, she
watches for danger and for joy, for logs
and dolphins. Always she is ready
to change direction as asked.
‘Secret’ is her name but not her nature.
Baltimore 2009
Jean A Isherwood Farley.
Lights
Myriads of lights
bouncing their reflections
off the water.
Light filaments working overtime
exhausting the air around.
Giving off heat haze
into the night skies,
sending communications
to the stars.
Conversations between the
land locked and the lunar.
Neon lights, red, green and blue
depicting their messages
to the world.
Mast lights with their
white lights
standing tall and proud,
surveying the water world.
Jean Isherwood Farley
Baltimore 2009
Feeling somewhat more like getting things done, the weekends tasks include much more de-cluttering, in preparation for whatever maybe in store, either in the near or more distant future, (nearer I hope). So apart from clearing my Cat Collection ready to sell, and other ornaments and odds and ends, I have also halved my wardrobe, for me that is good going.
I also went out to the Forest near my home, with a notepad and a very black mood, I screamed, ranted, yelled and cried just generally letting off off steam. However I did manage to write a couple of Poems which when tidied up will make their debut here, they will be rather bleak and somewhat mood reflective. Still variety is the spice of life, I am told!
Early evening on the Chesapeake – Delaware canal,
peace exudes, feeling nothing can go wrong with the world.
As dusk falls, range and channel lights brighten
showing navigators the way to go in any direction.
Houses on the shore sides,
each a different external vista, no two the same,
lights twinkling as the occupants go about their daily lives.
Anchor in after dark, holding firm for the night we hope,
'Secret' turning and squirming
with wind and current, disliking being stationary,
wanting only to be free
to glide through the water – her element
never fearing conditions, not wanting to be reined in,
dancing among the waves.
Insects drawn to the light infest the salon,
screen door forgotten after dark.
Sitting up on the top deck,
watching the night skies, talking
laughing just being.
Night falls, we sleep under the stars
nothing could be more perfect.
Jean A Isherwood Farley
July 2009
Was just perusing blog site and would love to have some comments on posts, all feedback is really helpful, unless of course abusive, then I will report it and ignore it. So come on people out there. Feed me.
What does one do when they discover a lump in the breast? This is my current dilemma, I have a scan and biopsy at 9am on Wednesday. I do not now how I am meant to feel. I do know I am a positive person, and will continue that way for ever, but even being positive throws up insecurities. I know 89% of lumps are benign, but still that unknown fear remains, what if this is one of the 21% that is not. I guess I could look on it as a way of easily losing weight should a radical mastectomy be needed, ever the optimist, would I really be bothered at losing my breast’s, I think that is an unknown until facing the decision. I do however feel very alone right now, but will continue to put all my energies into my writing, and keep you posted of this dilemma.
Return to Baltimore
Last leg from Atlantic City –
cables disoriented again,
anchored out at no man’s place
before the Sassafrass, safe harbour,
sheltered from the night.
Morning cables adjusted,
‘Secret’ happy once more
ploughing through the swell,
grateful her anchor finally freed
thanks to trip line and brute strength.
Course set for home, her slip in Baltimore,
just four hours more freedom for
this water lady.
Manatees have been sighted on this leg,
albeit far north for them, how
do they return South against the
strong current, or like elephants
do they return to one place to die?
Horizon slightly hazed, sailboats
and cruisers in the distance.
Houses on shore silently watching all that passes.
Sun trying hard to force through
dark clouds, bringing its joyful warmth
to touch skin
that revels in its warm caress.
Jean A Isherwood Farley
21 July 2009
Eighty foot time three miles of wooden boardwalk
to the right white beaches and the Atlantic Ocean
to the left, shops, eateries and fortune tellers.
Block upon block, under the auspices of the casino
on whose area it falls.
Panhandlers, wearing odd shoes, amongst the wealthy
ignored in the main, rummaging through the trash.
Mothers and infants, weary and tearful.
Rickshaws Atlantic City style, carrying the load
saving the legs and feet of the lazy.
Less people today, less frantic pace
beaches a haven to both young and old.
Blue buses ferrying between the casino's
looping through glitz and glamour, but not
avoiding the slums and the down trodden people
reliant on tourism that the casino's bring.
Such a vast variety and eclectic mix.
A concert at the bandstand memorial, New Jersey
Pageant Queens of past and present, singing, dancing
giving their all, to entertain those sitting, resting.
Seafood buffet, a delightful end to the day – as we
return to 'Secret'.
Jean. A. Isherwood-Farley
July 2009
Concentration, fingers over keys –
applications, challenges,
resumes to be sent, willing, hoping
for the right opening
for his knowledge,
expertise and skill –
his need to excel, to rise
to meet the challenge, to focus
on the dilemma, and know
how to solve the problem.
His need to use his gifted mind,
to stretch, reach, to attain his goal,
purpose and intent intermarried.
The game when it begins is on,
important, pitting logic and
know-how to solve.
Using people, training a team,
hoping their minds are in tune
with his foresight and skills.
Observing D – Baltimore 2009
Jean Isherwood Farley.
I keep thinking to start posting Fleur as an episodal blog, to be returned to daily, but as she is currently with publishers I feel I should not do that, at this point. Just another confusing thing in my somewhat tangled life at present. I am researching a few American publishers also, in an attempt to get Fleur and the following 3 books into the public domain. Nobody told me how difficult it is to establish oneself as a writer, still I shall keep on knocking on those doors until I get success. Today has seen me doing even more de cluttering, in order to consolidate my new life, for me, this is my time now. I will be happy when everything personally is resolved and I can move on.
Dirty looking foaming wake
like scum ridden giants’ shaving detritus.
Nimble water sprites flashing and
turning with aerial manoeuvres.
Metallic dragonflies alighting
to mate with each other in a flurry
of artistic movements.
I sit mesmerised as we reach
Harte Miller Island,
weigh anchor, and all is at peace.
Time just for us to be.
Two days to talk and dream,
to practise before a longer trip.
Two souls out on the water,
long years between us.
To begin to know each other again.
Wait, we are invaded!
Deer fly in their hundreds, biting
drawing blood, no way to get rid of them.
Misery, they mar the days...
we leave early still much unsaid,
but enough to know we will go on
to another two day run before
the marathon six day trip.
But we know –
Jean A Isherwood- Farley
July 2009 Baltimore
Spent the last 36 hours in bed, high temperature and just generally feeling unwell. Today however have felt a little better, and have worked on some more of the poems I wrote in Baltimore, they will be posted over the next few days.
Life is very confusing, it is odd when one knows what one wants that one can not just achieve it without all the red tapes etc. I so do not want to be here anymore, I need my own space. Without constraints, where I can just be, and write when I want to write, to play music at all hours to talk transatlantic for hours at a time, without fear of disturbing anyone else. I guess I just want to be free, and to do that I have to really de clutter my life starting tomorrow.
St Mary's cove, sheltered and calm,
anchor weighed, 'Secret' still.
Replica wooden boat in the 1700's style,
a large wooden cross marking forever,
the beginning of the Catholic Church in America.
1672, St Mary's, capital city of Maryland.
A Catholic stronghold, held tightly against
the protestants of Virginia and around.
The history of the place cries out, its
holding fast to its heritage.
'Secret' surrounded by jellyfish,
ethereal, eerie, pulsating through the water.
Looking impossibly beautiful
as ream upon ream come to the surface,
from the tiniest no bigger than a finger nail
to the largest the size of a dinner plate,
long filament tendrils, trailing behind and below.
Delicate lace could look no finer
than this living lace, gently propelling
themselves forever forward
onward and onward, towards whoever knows what.
An entire life to be achieved in 42 short days.
Why then I wonder, do we who have 3 score
and ten, struggle and drift against the flow,
creating immense problems
for ourselves. Why can't we just relax
and go with the flow?
15 07 09 St Mary's cove. Maryland
Jean Isherwood Farley
Perfect darkness surrounding 'Secret' on our return.
Eyes focussed on red and green buoys
marking the channel to follow, guiding us
to safe harbour.
From my peripheral vision, I see
a birthday cake, moving silently and slowly through
the water, base of yellow light, white above
and three vertical lights standing proud with
an orangey glow, like a candle on top.
Could I wonder, there be a mermaid party
or maybe a merman's coming of age?
Wait! No, I see it now, my birthday cake
is but a tug, pushing or pulling a barge.
Crushed my imagination? – never!
To me they will remain forever
Chesapeake birthday cakes.
Baltimore 2009
Jean Isherwood Farley
Stage is set, instruments tuned
light, reds and blues, yellows all ready
microphone stand silently waiting.
The auditorium starts to fill
still daylight it begins.
Guitars singing, raging, demanding
voice, drums escorting them.
The gutsy voice begins the set
Dave Mason in full glory.
"Hymn for my Soul"
Bass player fingering fluent perfect time,
lead guitar revelling in solo magnificence
the set ends, roadies change
all around, then it is time,
time for 'the boy from Sheffield', to strut
his stuff, for the guttural gravelly voice,
given in to the shrieking cries of
'Cry me a River', 'Delta Lady' and oh so very many more.
A saxophonist, with amazing range, the clarity almost
making you weep with it's perfection.
Lead guitar brings shivers to the spine,
slide enough to cause acute
sexual embarrassment with it's excitement.
His hands, forever counting beats as he sings, one could imagine
hands covering ones body, seeking to delve, grope and delight.
The voice, although older, still sends
a shivering excitement's thrill.
The two sing together -
a sexual explosion so waiting to happen.
Jean Isherwood Farley 15.07.09
Following Joe Cocker Concert in Baltimore.
Engines circling, helicopters ringing the area
small slow carts traverse the marinas.
Eyes peeled between each boat, looking
but hoping not to see,
a cadaver, a casualty, a man fallen in.
Currents below the still waters,
pulling and pushing, carrying the man
extinct of life.
Rotors turning, spinning the flat air.
What was he doing before he fell?
Reading, writing, drinking, going to
pee off the swim deck, and then no more.
What were his thoughts as
the water took him,
did he panic or just give in, did he
fight or was he unaware, his
judgement clouded by alcohol?
I wonder did he even know,
he was dancing with death?
Rest well the man the water possessed.
Baltimore June 2009
Jean Isherwood Farley
This virgin note pad cries out
for words – a formula to enchant
and intrigue you.
As I sit at Weldon's marina
people watching,
imagining their lives,
reading names of sailboats:
Elisa, Jeff's World, Totally Satisfied.
I wonder where they have been,
what they have seen, have they
been in storms or encountered
the unexpected in their travels.
Sitting proudly now in their slips
petted and primped after their journeys
facing their opposite number in the
slip across, as the water shimmers
and ripples around them, their star
spangled banners flying high
for all to see.
Their heritage, the short history
revealed for all.
Baltimore 2009
Jean Isherwood Farley
Soft lilting caressing waves
lapping all around the hull,
making love to this intruder,
lulling him into her territory.
Prolonged foreplay to keep
him enthralled, to occupy his thoughts.
A concerted attempt to take his eye
from his goals.
The breeze he wants arrives.
He works the helm
a true communion
of nature.
Jean Isherwood Farley
Baltimore 2009 June
Sky turning from dark night to dirty blue
skyline shadowed against cloud.
Amber glowing orb lights haloed with haze.
Masts and riggings penetrating the air
looming like sentries at watch.
Cruisers of varied shape and size
patiently waiting to fly.
The wooden slips welcoming the day
ducks exploring the reflective water.
Chorus of birdsong, as the moon departs
making room for the eventual coming
of the sun with her heat –
clouds run to hide behind buildings –
disguise themselves –
bring mayhem and chaos
to catch the unwary out.
The stars fade to nothing.
The dawn is born.
Jean Isherwood Farley
June 2009 - Baltimore
