Three Poems

By Sarah Dixon

Today my adventure is small

A tea-cup pig grown pot-bellied
drinks at the canal.

The bounce of a dog
with unharnessed freedom.

The weir takes words of other poets
I read to it and the trees listen.

A stick lies waiting for a downpour
to carry it onwards.

For now it feels the steps, the gradient.
The lap of water. And waits.

Dandelion clocks

blown by wind
filling the air
taken by childish hands.
Wishes counted down.
Days to a chocolate bar.
Weeks to a boy’s grin.

Months to a kiss.
Years to a boyfriend.

Taken by adult hands
hopes placed in seeded numbers.
Days to a phone call.
Weeks to a hug.
Months to a date.
Years to economic stability.

Cotton-grass high on Pennine Moors
Seen for the first time
on a summer solstice march
to be at the reservoir by sunrise.

Barbecues, sky lanterns, arson.
Moor fires broke out
four miles square burnt black.
The wildlife caught on the blaze
suffocated and decimated.

The next year purple Moor grass
carpets the ground
Molinia grass the National Trust tell me
as I marvel at the moor’s resilience.

How to be an ocean

Take the long view
from East to West,
from bay to opposite cliff.
Then touch it all.

Reach out, recede.
Reach out, recede. You own this.

Have held each rock,
every small shell
every scrap of sea-glass.

You will have days
when you rise up,
a pillar of briny might.
Smash against the cliffs.

This is okay.

This is you.

You will be changed.

Sharp razor shells
will slice small toes
encourage cautious edging.

Your rage will flood
rock-pools with krill
for the cut-toed child to find.

Rage reminds them:
dinghy sand-bound
tie up trawlers, shun the prom.

Take the long view.
It holds red clouds,
colours of the new day.

You go beyond
their horizon
but even for you light drains
the sun goes down…
…rises again.

Sarah L Dixon lives in Linthwaite, Huddersfield. She loves being by and in water and Moomin hours and adventures with her son, Frank (9).  http://thequietcompere.co.uk/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/QuietCompereMcr

I write poetry to make sense of the world, to record and communicate. I write poetry as something that is mine outside work and spending time with my son. Poems often wake me at 6am in the summer as it is light and they know I have time to write then. They are sometimes demanding and not always welcome. 

I have enjoyed being able to get to events without having to get child sitters across The Pennines. I have been able to attend events I couldn’t get to and collaborate on hosting events with friends from other countries via Zoom.  Events on Facebook and Zoom have helped me feel less isolated as a single parent, doing both school-work and work from home. Poetry friends have made my lockdown lighter. 

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Bea
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Bea
24 days ago

Oh, Sarah, I really enjoyed reading your poems! How you paint so vividly with so few words – I aspire to this! Wonderful work and very touching.

Moira Garland
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26 days ago

Fantastic poems Sarah, so comprehensive and so detailed at the same time. You have such a way with language.

Jenny Robb
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1 month ago

Loved these poems Sarah, I get a real sense of waiting, nature and above all hope.

pen kease
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pen kease
1 month ago

Such a real record of the experience of waiting, waiting.

sarah J Bryson
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sarah J Bryson
1 month ago

How lovely!

Peta Tucker
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Peta Tucker
1 month ago

Love the poetry Sarah , good descriptions ,

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