If you want to know what four middle aged (what do you mean that’s optimistic) people can get up to when they’ve had a few drinks – well this is probably the worst of it! Lovely friends have given up the suburban existence for a cottage/smallholding in Shropshire. The building renovations are ongoing but that didn’t stop us having a great time there on Saturday last. My friend’s husband decided that as the wall paper was stripped in the living room I should write some of my poems on the wall! My memory was not too good at that point but I dug something up (you can see the mistakes) then we all ended up scribbling. Maybe some future Time Team will find my poems and say “Oh wow! Examples of the famous poet June Palmer……" Yeh, right. The poems are
Believing in the moon – a Tritina
All’s left is a sliver at dawn, fast fading bright shadow
in the opal sky. A fleet glimpse of the ship’s grey cat.
Two lonely pelagic nights below the Dark Moon.
Ocean-stranded, star-drowned, we believe in the moon.
Insubstantial; a pea-green boat, in the tide’s shadow,
envies the light-gathering eyes of owl and pussy cat.
Made night; watching, waiting, the familiar cat
knows her reflection in the full looking-glass moon;
understands herself in midday sun, time of no shadow.
Believe in a shadow, well-hidden as a cat: the new moon.
I wait to hear him at the wolfish hour
making me feel less alone
a brief roar on tarmac
beyond my bedroom walls
audible song of rushing air
imagine him head down, in leathers,
flying, spinning, like waste matter
around a star
until he becomes space debris
an Armageddon asteroid