Delancey Street

*© JPolamzKing asked me to write a poem to accompany this photo by  +Lynn Terry​ for #poetsprompt Here it is:

Whenever I drive through Claremont 

And turn from Frobisher Lane

Into our street

My heart leaps 

And skips a beat

I am coming home

There’s the tree 

I used to sit in

To watch the comings and goings      

At our neighbours, the Browns

Particularly young girls 

Visiting Nat 

Their son

Captain of the rugby team 

With the looks to match 

And the long low

Reassuring silhouette 

Of our house

With its perfectly

Manicured lawn

Nummber 64

Delancey Street

© Text Caro Ness 2016

© Image +Lynn Terry​

Late

+Maricris Cabrera and +James Polamz King both very kindly suggested that I write a poem to accompany this wonderful photograph by permission of +Irene Riz  for #poetsprompt
I was late and so I hurried,

Everywhere I looked,

There were clocks,

So I was always aware,

Of time passing,

Each second,

Each minute.

Statues, adorning the rooftops,

Lined along the ridges,

Seemed to stare down,

Mocking me,

In my blind, infectious panic.

I was late, so I imagined,

A huge, ghostly clock,

Imprinted on the sky,

The hands moving slowly,

Around its face,

Marking my transgression.

I was late,

And I so knew it.

© Text  Caro Ness 2016

© Image +Irene Riz 

The Sea View

This beautiful photo was taken by Jane Carson and she has very kindly given me permission to write a poem to accompany it.

My father was a sailor,

And one day he set to sea,

It seemed he’d fallen out of love,

With both my mum and me.

He left us broken-hearted,

For we truly loved that man,

So each day I’d go and search for him,

As only the desperate can.

I’d sit for hour on hour,

On the decking by the shore,

And dream of our reunion,

And the life we’d led before.

The years flew by and gradually

My expectations changed,

And somehow my emotions

Were revised and rearranged.

So now when I gaze out to sea,

It’s not of him I think,

And there’s no raw emotion

From which to hide or shrink…

No, that enormous ocean

Spells romance and mystery,

And, at last, above all else

Goodbye to history. 

© Text Caro Ness 2016

© Image Jane Carson

The Band Played On

+ JPolamzKing suggested that I and a number of other poets provide a poem to accompany this photo, supplied by +Lynn Terry​. My poem is called The Band Played On. #poetsprompt

He held her hand,

She held his back,

But nothing went as planned,

So her touch was slack,

As the band played on….

What she felt right now,
Was a strange unease,

That overwhelmed her somehow,

In degrading degrees,

And the band played on…

When had their values changed,

Their intentions reset?

Their hopes rearranged,

 Could she forgive, forget?

As the band played on….

She had trusted him,

But he’d let her down,

Had affairs on a whim,

Chased women all over town,

And the band just played on…

Did her glasses provide

A slim disguise?

For those  tears she’d cried,

For those sad, bruised eyes?

And the band played on…

© Text Caro Ness 2016

© Image 

Photo: +Lynn Terry​

The Nap

Excuse me for resting on your lap,

But I’m dog tired, I need a nap,

Usually bouncy and full of puff

I’m exhausted, I’ve had enough,

So please don’t wake me and make me leave,

I’m only a puppy, I need a reprieve.

© Text / Image Caro Ness 201

Grigol’s Dog

I had a message from Grigol on FacebookWould I very kindly take a good look

And write a poem about his English spaniel

Who fills his heart to the very last granule.

She’s loving, giving, aims to please,

Her affection takes you over by degrees,

She really sets Grigol ‘s heart aflame,

And Daisy is her name…

© Text Caro Ness 2016

The Boardwalk 

#poetsprompt.  #allaroundme

© Image +James Polamz King. Used with his permission.  Image: Obudu Cattle Ranch, Cross River State, Nigeria. 

I stepped onto the boardwalk.

It stretched out before me,

Almost straight as a die…

And disappeared out of view.

It seemed confined and limitèd,

In such a huge, impersonal,

Yet beautiful landscape ,

It crossed my mind,

That it resembled

A metaphor of my life,

Without the twists and turns,

That characterise my soul’s journey,

To date,

I set out, undaunted,

To discover

Where it would lead me. 

© Text Caro Ness 2016

© Image +James Polamz King. Used with his permission 

Image: Obudu Cattle Ranch, Cross River State, Nigeria. 

Gin Junky

When it comes to gin, we’ve a huge selection,

Each one is distilled to complete perfection,

And we’ve just added this one to our collection.

It’s Spanish and it’s got a lovely citrusy kick,

I think out of my gins this would be my first pick,

Served with ice, tonic & lime, sliced fairly thick.

© Text / Image Caro Ness 2016

The Urban Fox

The urban fox comes out at night, 

And shelters through the day,

He finds a safe spot out of sight,

In which to hide away.

If it is dusk, he has more trust,

He’s confident, cock sure 

This time of night is a delight, 

Has a certain strange allure.

So what is it that you’ve thrown away, 

That brings him to your door?

A carcass or stale canapé?

Once eaten, he’ll want more! 

The urban fox comes out at night,

Searching for delicious  things,

Don’t leave a feast for this strange beast, 

Largesse disaster brings.

© Text / Image Caro Ness 2016

A Love Of Creating Flavours 

Our world’s peopled with invention, a myriad crazy dreams, 

We apply ourselves to everything, to ideas, plans and schemes…

We like to think outside the box, in all we say and do,

We’re anxious for a challenge, of tackling the new.

So let your imagination take wing, yes take to flight,

Go for everything you want in life, that brings you joy, delight.

Our passion is in cooking, any nation’s is ideal,

So admire our creativity, here’s an example of one meal.

© Text / Image Caro Ness 2016

Image:  spices for sweet and sour pork c/o http://www.loverofcreatingflavours.co.uk

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