Postcard home

‘Verse in Unexpected Places’ recently returned to its roots.  The picture accompanying the verse on my postcard is of a steam train pulling in to Harmans Cross railway station, also shown in the header of this blog.  Here is one of the postcards is at the station itself.

I could try to form draw some profound and meaningful conclusion from that.  The fact is, I took the orignal photo at a place I visit often, near my parents’ home, and I published the postcards.  So, highly likely really. 🙂

Still, I hope that someone found this, read and enjoyed  it.

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A fair exchange is no robbery

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 Verse in Unexpected Places took a new turn this weekend, during a visit to Cheltenham.  Whilst walking with friends around the town centre, I spotted the words ‘Free Art’ above a little bag which was stuck to the window of an empty shop.  Never one to miss an opportunity, I took the offered freebie, finding it to be a couple of beautiful handmade bracelets.  The note enclosed directed me to the Free Art Friday Chetltenham FB page, and I duly posted a picture of myself and my gift as requested.

I then returned the favour by using the tape on the window to hold one of my unexpected verse postcards.  The rest of my meander around the town was accompanied by leaving more cards in strategic places.  I figured that Cheltenham during the Folk Festival would be a perfect time to do so.  If you are reading this blog as a result of finding one, or being sent it, please leave a comment to let me know.  I would love to hear where they have got to, and who is reading them.

Here’s to the liberation of more free verse (pun totally intended!) 🙂

Releasing postcards into the wild

So, why have I started a new page entitled ‘Verse in Unexpected Places’ on this blog?  I’m glad you asked.  I have been having a bit of fun with one of my poems recently.  This one, in fact:

  • Unwed Welsh Boyo
  •   
  • So much depends
  • upon
  • The unwed Welsh
  • boyo
  • At the station
  • waiting
  • Inside my pulse
  • quickens

Those of you who know the work of William Carlos Williams will recognise this as being a tribute to his poem ‘The Red Wheelbarrow’, which we studied in class sometime last year. As with the foot poem in my previous post, I initially wrote ‘Unwed Welsh Boyo’ as a bit of nonsense.  Once again, I was surprised at the positive comments it received.  So, when an slightly daft scheme involving postcards popped into my head, this poem was an obvious choice.

I took it and printed it on a postcard along with the picture of the steam train which I am using as the new header for my blog.  I then had one hundred copies made, and subsequently started the process of release.  Free the postcard hundred!  So far; trains, station waiting rooms, platforms and even the loos at one station (by the hand drier) have become temporary homes for these creations.  Only a few cards abound in the wild at present, but this will change over time.

There is some blurb on the back of each postcard which exhorts the finder to keep or send it as they see fit.  The web address for this blog is also there for people to follow, fnd the ‘Verse in Unexpected Places’ page and leave comment if they so wish.  So far, no-one seems to have taken the bait.  I live in hope, though…

Incidentally, for those of you who may be wondering, the ‘boyo’ in question is now my husband.  The poem relates to the first time we met. 🙂

Playing with the eye doctor

When I awoke from the operation for which I had entered hospital, I encountered some new challenges. I had entered with a squint and emerged with a new set of eyes. Well, one eye that was starting to co-operate with the other at least. To help my eyes play nicely together, I had to go and see Miss Field.

The ‘eye doctor’ was a slim young woman with short dark hair whose own eyes twinkled when she smiled. She seemed to smile a lot and the things we did together were fun. First, she would position me in front of a complicated piece of medical equipment and move my uppy-downy seat into place. The shiny tubes, black knobs and strange wires absolutely fascinated me. I’m sure I must have squirmed to take a better look at the buttons that Miss Field was playing with on the other side of the contraption. When she had finished her part of the game, it was time for me to start mine.

“Right, look through these eye pieces here”

Ah, yes, the binoculars which would show me the pictures hidden somewhere in the belly of the big machine. I did as I was told.

“Okay then, put the bird in the cage.”

Bird in the cage, I knew this one. The blue bird needed to be moved by turning the knob on the side of the machine until he was sitting in his big brown cage. There.

“Is it in there?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes”

“Okay. Well done.”

I would fidget contentedly, enjoying my ‘well done’, whilst Miss Field found the next pair of pictures. This could be a flower pot for a window sill or a car to be put in a garage. I think there was a cat, too, and he may also have gone on the window sill, but I may be wrong about that one. Whatever the bold colourful pictures were, this part of the visit was always fun. It did not make sense to me at the time, though, why Miss Field would take time to play games with me. She was a busy ‘eye doctor’, surely she had more important things to do.

I could understand the why she changed the patch on my ‘good eye’ which was there to make my ‘bad eye’ work harder. I could also understand her shining the bright light into each of my eyes and looking at them. I could even understand why she talked with Mum about me and asked questions. But why did she play that game? And how could she tell if I was lying about the bird being in the cage? I was telling the truth, but how did she know that?