Category: rhymes

Day 23 – rain

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Writing into Life

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

When I wake this morning I hear the sound of rain, and my thoughts go to the reminder that has come through the Buddhist teachings: welcome wholeheartedly whatever. I also think of RARE: recognise, address, reduce and eliminate delusional thoughts.

I’ve always liked the sound and feel of rain and generally been an all-weather girl, providing I’ve been wrapped up to face the elements or under cover to relish being cosy and dry. I have loved this long summer though, with the warm and sunny weather that we’ve had and thought I would miss it more than I am doing.

After a cup of tea, a recitation of the meditation prayers to myself (I don’t feel up to chanting them out loud at the moment, not when I’m on my own, anyway), and a meditation followed by the Liberating Prayer*, Lydia and I get ready to go out. 

It’s a later start than usual, still damp outside and as we start our walk there is some very fine rain. Not enough to make me wish I’d worn a hood or anywhere near enough to persuade Lydia to wear her raincoat.  She really doesn’t like to wear a raincoat and I only persist in getting her to wear one if it is particularly cold and icy.  Today it is still warm and the rain holds off as we walk.

It’s quiet, with only a dog walker who I regularly see passing by in her van. I wave, Lydia starts to lunge, I ask her to sit, and she does.  What a clever girl.  She is doing so well.

Back home, after putting her bag of ‘poopie’ in the bin, I wash my hands and give Lydia her breakfast in her food ball. Before I have my breakfast, I put some dry washing away and put some more in the machine.  It’s good to keep on top of housework and doing a bit at a time works for me.  I’m not a domestic goddess but I do like a clean house, even if it’s not clean all over all the time. I do it on a sort of rota basis as I concentrate on other priorities. There’s a part of me that wishes I could be motivated to go round the house with a duster every day but I’m not.

Lydia tries to get me to give her some more food but I resist.  I do, however, take a bag of cooked chicken pieces out of the freezer, to give her as a surprise treat later when they’re defrosted. For now, she’s lying just a couple of yards away, watching me type and looking very relaxed.

It’s just the two of us at the moment as Trev’s away visiting places in the UK that I don’t want to visit. It’s Corfe Castle for him today. For me it’s the Buddhist class tonight.

Quite where I would be if I hadn’t had access to these teachings, I don’t know, except that I think I do, and it wouldn’t be a good place.  Thankfully, I am in a good place and I’ll keep working at it to keep it that way.

My thoughts turn to a friend who introduced me to Buddhism many years ago. He’s not in a good place at the moment so I hold him in my thoughts for a while and hope that he soon is.

*Composed by the Venerable Geshe Kelsang Rinpoche and recited at Kadampa meditation centres throughout the world: https://kadampa.org/podcast/the-liberating-prayer

The Pebble, the Picture and the Plant

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First published 26 May 2020

Perfectly placed on a shelf, they appear to have arrived where they were always meant to be, the pebble, the picture and the plant. Which is odd really because pebbles are meant for beaches and pictures for art galleries or walls; plants can be anywhere that nature calls.

I’ve no idea where the plant came from apart from the supermarket where I picked it up. Or did it pick up me, with its green and white simplicity?

The plant is now closely proximal to the pebble and the picture, in a ceramic pot.

Three things together that I like a lot.

2020

Rules, Rhymes, Recovery, Recipe, Random – Glad About Life:
https://amzn.eu/d/6Ptwe4S

A Woman, a Dog & a Blog – Writing into Life:
https://amzn.eu/d/6Ho21L8

Shoes & Boots

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I desperately needed a new pair of dog walking boots and have just found the perfect pair at #shoezone.

Also bought some black patent shoes, which made me think of some patent shoes that I had when I was a child, with a buckle. I loved those shoes, as I did a pair of purple patents that I had a while ago.

I loved those purple shoes so much that I wrote a poem about them. Here it is:

Perfectly Purple Patent

No other shoe
Looks quite like you do
Purple patent perfection
You don't just give my feet protection

Your bright shiny uppers
Light up my soul
When I'm out wearing you
I can only be bold

Bright yellow stitching
A statement of strength all around
Air cushioned and confident
A complement of colours profound

I love you purple patent shoes
You're perfect in every patent way
And every time that I wear you
My heart and soul become more purple
And less blue

Potfest 2022

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Next weekend I’m taking part in an event called Potfest in Melton Mowbray #potfest. https://potfest.co.uk/potter/maggie-baker/

Maggie Baker

This completes a cycle for me that started many years ago.

Poetry & Pottery: The Perfect Partnership

There is no way I would have completed that cycle without all the help, inspiration and support I’ve had from family and friends.

And the wheel is going to keep on turning!

https://facebook.com/events/s/potfest-in-the-pens-melton-mow/5401131706671190/

Bicycle pumps & bananas

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The other day I went through a box full of pieces that I’ve written in the past, and picked out seven items: poems, essays, ramblings. These are the titles:

  • Stirring abroad, without … within …
  • Bicycle pumps & bananas
  • Memories of a difficult day
  • Memories of a distinctly different day to the one I had yesterday
  • Surfing the Turf
  • Ms. Carriage
  • Written on the train to London some time in May

I also picked out a couple of pieces that I hadn’t written: one about learning and the other about ‘Being Human’.

I think the most important thing that I’ve learned about being human is to be able to accept that I get things wrong because I’m human, and for no other reason.

In any case, ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ in my experience aren’t always clearly defined, particularly since our lives are always unfolding, never fixed or final. We have expectations based on concepts of ‘normal’ but when we can drop those then all sorts of other possibilities arise.

There was a time when I thought that if I could do nothing else other than make sure that my cat – Bertie – had a good life, then that was enough. Who’s to say that it wasn’t?

I might publish ‘Bicycle pumps & bananas’ eventually but, for now, here’s ‘ Surfing the Turf’:

I'd like to roll myself
In earth-warmed turf
Like a bug in a rug
Snug
Safe from harm

The grass would tickle
My nose and toes
The worms would squirm
Warm and
Alive

I'd have to put an elastic band
Around the roll of turf
To stop it unfolding
Unfurling
Exposing
Me

But if it did
I'd need to find
A sleeping bag
To ease my mind

And then I would
If I could
Sit by the river
Forever watching
In awe and wonder
At the world
Flowing
By
Bicycle pumps, yeh!

Doing Again

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At the turn of the Millennium, I completed a project under the Mind-Millennium Award Scheme.

My project – the Lifelines Project – involved collecting and publishing poems, pictures and self-help strategies from other people who, like me, had suffered from enduring and debilitating depression.

I had not met many of the contributors, and was amazed – honoured – that they trusted me with their personal expressions, all because of the underlying intention of reaching out in the hope of helping others.

If you, yourself, are suffering with depression, I would like to wish you well and tell you that you are not alone.”

Since then, there’s been increased awareness about mental health and how it can be improved.  While there remains much to be done in society from the ‘prevent’ and ‘promote’ perspectives, being able to – and even encouraged – to talk about mental health difficulties more openly represents a start.

In my own experience, I eventually got fed up of talking – I’ve never been much good at it anyway.  I knew that I needed to take action, to find ways of turning my life around, however difficult or painful that might be.  And I knew it would be difficult and painful, to rebuild from a below zero level when I was in my forties.

From somewhere, somehow, I found the resolve to put my head down, prioritise, and push myself through.  For a long time I concentrated on work and on developing my internal resilience.  Just before I turned 60 I decided to take the plunge and commit to a relationship. I now have a much fuller and richer life than I have ever had before and I’m thankful for that.

Even so, life continues to be difficult and I still take antidepressants – probably always will. But I have other coping skills and strategies, and have also been able to recently retire, taking away work pressures that I could no longer deal with.

I wasn’t able to keep in touch with all the people who contributed to the Lifelines Project but they’ve always remained in my thoughts and I hope that they too have been able to find a way through; a way that works for each of them:

Sylvia

Marcia

Maggie 2

Peter

Virginia

Henzie

Maggie 3

Jonathan

Fiona

Sean

Christopher

Polly

Christine

Caz

John

Caroline

Frances

Susan

Patricia

Mary

Dave

Mark

Tony

Iain

I thought it was fitting to include a poem by one of the Project contributors – Mark:

Recovery

The night has been terror:
depression, cold, confusion.
               – Ears scream.

Grey – the morning in my front-room.

A tear on my cheek and
a child’s grizzle
for a few seconds
               – From my adult form.

A small rebellion
               – The beginning of action.

A tiny sunbeam through the window
               – Doing again.

Unwanted gift? No wear

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Photo by Jan Kopu0159iva on Pexels.com

Jacket 1

It’s there, on the chair
The red fleece jacket
With hood and drawstring waist
That I don’t want to wear
Don’t want to keep.

It’s warm and soft when I put it on
But far too big for me
Drowned in a red sea
Shapeless, I feel
A baggy, saggy, faceless entity.

I look at the jacket
On the chair
In limp, loose folds of red, and seams
This isn’t the jacket of my dreams.

It’s theirs to wear
Not mine to keep
Their tears to cry
Not mine to weep.

It’s there, on the chair
The red fleece jacket
With hood and drawstring waist
That I don’t want to wear
Don’t want to keep
So I’ve put a price on its head
To let it go free
To someone who wants it
But who wants me?

Jacket 2

It’s there, on the chair
The red fleece jacket
With hood and drawstring waist
That I don’t want to wear
Don’t want to keep.

It’s warm and soft when I put it on
But far too big for me
Drowned in a red sea
Shapeless, I feel
A baggy, saggy, faceless entity.

I look at the jacket
On the chair
In limp, loose folds of red, and seams
This isn’t the jacket of my dreams.

It’s not my layer
These aren’t my lies
With drawstring waist
And nylon ties.

It’s not my jacket
They’re not my dreams
These aren’t my ties
They’re not my seams.

So I leave the jacket
On the chair
To go my way
While they go theirs.

Jacket 3

Now it hangs upon the door
That red fleece jacket
That I didn’t want to wear
Didn’t want to keep.

It’s warm and soft when I put it on
And not too big for me
Warmed in a red sea
Shapeless no more
No baggy, saggy faceless entity.

I look at the jacket
On the door
In limp, loose folds of red and seams
It’s not the jacket of my dreams
But just a layer to keep me warm
From frozen looks
And glares of scorn.

It is my jacket
With hood and waist
To wear awhile
From place to place.

Jacket 4

What next?

Jacket 5

Jacket
In?

Jacket 6

No!

(c) Maggie ‘Glad the Poet’ Baker, 2003

A Bag of Clay

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A bag of clay bought from ‘Hot Clay’ of Warrington

A bag of clay
some simple tools
it’s time to play
by my own rules

The place to start
is here and now
I’ll make some art
then take a bow

The bag of clay
is mine to mould
to use my way
until I’m old

Pinch, coil and fire
it will become
a bag of clay
in different form

Maggie ‘Glad the Poet/Potter’ Baker 2021

Poetry & Pottery: The Perfect Partnership

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1978

1978 was not a good year, for me
even though I hold it dear

Try as I might I could not find the key
to unlock my brain
work out its mystery

Lurching this way and that
never finding a hold
I fell so many times
but got ever more bold

Crashing right down
I broke back to the core
then inched my way through
to daylight once more

The clay in my hand
is the life that I’ve led
I’ve cried, ached and screamed
and wished I was dead

But I never gave up
and I never gave in
I just kept on going
and drank lots of gin

Joking aside –
though I do like a drop –
I feel like I’ve won
I’ve come out on top

For I have love in my life
a treasure most true
I’m here and I’m now
simply human, through and through

© Maggie ‘Glad the Poet’ Baker 2021

1978 was the year I graduated with a degree in Ceramics from Bristol Polytechnic. 

I’d reached out to art in my teens as a way of asserting a direction, without knowing where that direction might take me. It was driven by some deep-rooted instinct; an instinct which for a long time I thought had failed me. But it hadn’t.

As it’s turned out, my life has taken many “twists and turns, and loops and leaps”, most of which have left me struggling to find a foothold. Finally, however, I feel I am on firm ground, and astonished to find myself turning back to working with clay, after a break of over 40 years.

What’s even more astonishing is that I’m not only loving working with the medium, I’ve got ideas coming into my head from goodness knows where. I’m not having to push myself just to produce something, anything, as I did when I was at college (although I was proud of what I did produce in the end; it was no easy feat, considering the complexity of mental health problems I was dealing with).

Art didn’t work as a therapy for me when I was younger; the damage went too deep and I had to find ways to dig it out – just like clay has to be dug out.  What I’ve got now is malleable and mouldable in whatever way I choose. I can be creative in any way or ways that suit me; working with clay or words; working with my life.

I hope my pots can be poetic; and that my poetry will continue to be potty.

Solid and fluid at the same time. This one’s long gone; I’m making others now.