Or circle around, Andrew.
Bill
On Thu, 12 Mar 2020 at 2:25 pm, Andrew Burke <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Ah memories go up in smoke!
>
> Andrew
>
> Sent from my iPhone
>
> > On 12 Mar 2020, at 10:27 am, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]>
> wrote:
> >
> > Thanks, Patrick. Doug, I take your point and have had another crack at
> it.
> >
> > Cracker night at Crouch’s (2)
> >
> >
> > Crowded with lego pieces and meccano whatsits,
> >
> > Crouch’s kitchen bristled with red and yellow.
> >
> > Waxed Home Pride bread wrapping added orange
> >
> > Jamie leaned over the laminex table, wheezing.
> >
> > From somewhere under the house an engine burbled.
> >
> > Jamie’s mother could be heard pottering, somewhere else.
> >
> >
> > Let’s go outside, I suggested.
> >
> > Hunks of fibreglass and metal
> >
> > landmined the unmowed backyard
> >
> > Footwear was essential. No back fence
> >
> > to mark off the yard from the lane behind.
> >
> > The very place for Guy Fawkes Night -
> >
> >
> > Jumping Jacks popping on cracked concrete,
> >
> > the cordite stench of exploded penny bungers,
> >
> > eyes hauling into night sky tracking skyrockets
> >
> > launched from a brown beer bottle or lead pipe
> >
> > by Jamie’s older brother, Peter, obeying the directive to
> >
> > ‘Ignite the blue touch-paper and retire.’
> >
> >
> > The bedrock bonfire blazed and sputtered,
> >
> > fed by garden trimmings and grey fence palings.
> >
> > Sparkler-lit words hung in the air while thoughts fizzed.
> >
> > A Catherine Wheel, nailed to the garage door,
> >
> > shed coloured sparks as it twirled and spat,
> >
> > leaving things not-quite-dark when it finished.
> >
> >
> > Stringy, grey-white wicks linked our
> >
> > rippling green and red cracker keyboards.
> >
> > Jamie, bolting back from the detonation zone,
> >
> > lost a thong and never broke stride, landing
> >
> > back in it with his next still-running step.
> >
> > He stood, heaving, in his oversized hand-me-down shorts.
> >
> >
> > The yard a week later still bore cracker detritus,
> >
> > remains of red print on damaged white paper,
> >
> > door scorch-marks, broken glass.
> >
> > Jamie plodded back to his Lego bricks.
> >
> > Started snivelling again.
> >
> > Mrs Crouch somewhere inside.
> >
> >
> > bw
> >
> > 12.3.20
> >
> >
> > Bill
> >
> >> On Thu, 12 Mar 2020 at 3:06 am, Douglas Barbour <[log in to unmask]>
> >> wrote:
> >>
> >> A finely tuned memory, Bill, but it only really takes off in stanza 3.
> >> With active verbs showing us the event. But all the ‘was’s, all the
> >> passive voice in the first 2. Can you find a way to actively ‘see’ that
> >> kitchen &year, who does so?
> >>
> >> Doug
> >>
> >>> On Mar 10, 2020, at 2:48 PM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]>
> >> wrote:
> >>>
> >>> Cracker Night at Crouch’s
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> Access to the Crouch kitchen was via concrete steps in the backyard.
> >>>
> >>> The kitchen was full of Lego pieces.
> >>>
> >>> Not just clickable yellow and red, also windows, chimneys.
> >>>
> >>> Jamie Crouch constructed buildings on the laminex table.
> >>>
> >>> Jamie’s black-bearded father was seldom seen.
> >>>
> >>> His mother was home but not in the kitchen.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> The house was made of white bricks.
> >>>
> >>> Burbling boat engines revved in the garage under the house.
> >>>
> >>> The unmowed backyard was full of hunks of fibreglass and metal.
> >>>
> >>> Footwear was always required.
> >>>
> >>> No back fence marked off the yard from the lane behind.
> >>>
> >>> The very place for Guy Fawkes Night -
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> Jumping Jacks popping on cracked concrete,
> >>>
> >>> the cordite stench of exploded penny bungers,
> >>>
> >>> eyes hauling into night sky tracking skyrockets
> >>>
> >>> launched from a brown beer bottle or lead pipe
> >>>
> >>> by Jamie’s older brother, Peter, obeying the directive to
> >>>
> >>> ‘Ignite the blue touch-paper and retire.’
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> The bedrock bonfire blazed and sputtered,
> >>>
> >>> fed by garden trimmings and grey fence palings.
> >>>
> >>> Sparkler-lit words hung in the air while thoughts fizzed.
> >>>
> >>> A Catherine Wheel, nailed to the garage door,
> >>>
> >>> shed coloured sparks as it twirled and spat,
> >>>
> >>> leaving things not-quite-dark when it finished.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> Stringy, grey-white wicks linked our
> >>>
> >>> rippling green and red cracker keyboards.
> >>>
> >>> Jamie, bolting back from the detonation zone,
> >>>
> >>> lost a thong and never broke stride, landing
> >>>
> >>> back in it with his next still-running step.
> >>>
> >>> He stood, heaving, in his oversized hand-me-down shorts.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> The yard a week later still bore cracker detritus,
> >>>
> >>> remains of red print on damaged white paper.
> >>>
> >>> Jamie plodded back to his Lego bricks.
> >>>
> >>> Why did he snivel so much?
> >>>
> >>> More engine noise below, door scorch-marks,
> >>>
> >>> Mrs Crouch somewhere inside.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> bw
> >>>
> >>>
> ########################################################################
> >>>
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> >>> https://www.jiscmail.ac.uk/cgi-bin/webadmin?SUBED1=POETRYETC&A=1
> >>
> >> Douglas Barbour
> >> [log in to unmask]
> >> https://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
> >>
> >> Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations &
> Continuations
> >> 2 (UofAPress).
> >> Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
> >> Listen. If (UofAPress):
> >>
> >>
> >> Done in by creation itself.
> >>
> >> I mean the gods. Not us. Well us too.
> >> The gods moved into books. Who wrote the books?
> >> We wrote the books. In whose dream, then are we dreaming?
> >>
> >> Robert Kroetsch
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >>
> >> ########################################################################
> >>
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> >> https://www.jiscmail.ac.uk/cgi-bin/webadmin?SUBED1=POETRYETC&A=1
> >>
> >
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