Three Poems

By Rose Kelly

Lockdown ballad

I begin to love the silence,
the collared dove’s wing clap,
falling in it’s mating flight.
Knitting needles tap.

Delivery lorry’s reversing beep,
neighbouring dogs bark,
starling crooning on the wires,
herring gulls yarp.

Water running in the sink,
mowers hum down streets
blackbird singing from the hedge
under foot boards creak.

Pumping blood pounds in my ears,
rising, falling breath,
pussy’s quiet snoring
all the sounds of earth.

Later the loneliness set in, beginning a feeling, do I really exist? Then I wrote, My Duvet is Haunted.

My Duvet is Haunted

The duvet is humped,
No matter how I shake it,
as if I had not left the bed.

Switch off a radio programme
On mass extinction.
Slip a disc into the player,
A stubborn flash, “No CD.”

Online dance class will not open
announces smugly,
“You are not recognised.”

I begin to wonder,
is the me tasting mint toothpaste,
rubbing coconut scented cream
into bone dry feet, really here?

Or am I the shape in the bed,
crooked knees feotally folded,
insensible,
whilst another me dreams a life.

When June Comes Around is possibly about hopes for the future, or possibly life’s end.

When June Comes Around

I will take a blanket and a book
out to the lawn,
shading my delicate skin with a parasol.
Under a duck egg blue dome
I will rest, warm,
in the yellow sun, while the bees hum
in the lavender and the thyme and rosemary
exude their balm.
My eyes will close, my book will fall,
my glasses slide to the end of my nose.
A buzzing swarm,
Loved voices softly conversing,
laughing, the living and the dead,
a dream well worn.
I will wake in the white shimmer of night,
in which melts a honey moon, low and large.
I will mark
my summer friend, the bat,
little flittermouse, bird of darkness,
night hawk
around the houses, hunting insects,
in the solstice brightness of the night.

I am a retired social worker, who wrote her first poem at the age of 5. My lifelong ambition was to be a writer, but the need to earn a living and maintain my children got in the way. Since retiring I have taken it off my bucket list, because I am actually doing it.

I wrote Lockdown Ballad during the first lockdown, when I realised that the world had become silent, and I rather enjoyed that.

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Philippa
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Philippa
1 month ago

3 wonderfully different poems.

‘When June Comes Around’ seems so hopeful compared to the bleakness of ‘My Duvet is Haunted’, with which I have very much identified during lockdown.

‘Lockdown Ballad’ is alive with sensory images. It cleverly brings the fresh air of life on the street into a hermetically sealed home.

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