Tag Archives: geopoetics

Pot-au-feu

Pot-au-feu is a traditional French dish my grand mother cooked through the crucial seasons of my early childhood.

Pot-au-feu

Stock memories inside a pot

wide, deep enough to

let the marrow from

the bone melt and

flavour what

you

picked up from

the garden,

what you harvested through

the years –

sprinkle with salt, pepper and

thyme,

tie-in fresh parsley and

bay leaves,

nail them with

cloves,

let

all simmer for a lifetime.

Scoop and savour hot

with

mustard.

NH 2019

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Winter Haiku Strings

Tis the blog’s tenth anniversary and since we start in the dawn of the year, I would like to offer you a string of seasonal haiku penned within these past few years.

First light –
Two hooded crows
found breakfast at Fladdabister.
#haiku fae #60N #geopoetics

The edge –
samurai’s sword,
dawn redefined the horizon.
#haiku fae #60N #geopoetics

Crisp –
icicles clad every pavement,
Bressay bathes in pink & blue.
#haiku fae #60N #geooetics

Kirk –
an austere house biggit by man
to park their folk into one faith.
#haiku fae #60N

Happiness –
as magical as Geminids,
furtive shooting stars in winter.
#haiku fae #60N

Imbolc –
from indigo dawn to snowflakes,
Brigid’s spirit rises from ice.
#haiku fae #60N #geopoetics

Look at
our planet as a peach –
that wee layer right at the top
is where we walk…
#geopoetics fae #60N

——————

Ice Age

in absence of your human warmth,
I feel heart from wandering
wolf that
trudges through
silent snowflakes, still
framed icicles from a sky,
once forgotten
as they
touch down.
I
without
one
never makes 2.
Will be looking for
long shadows, howling echoes
around Yule, since I ran
away from the
pack.

Sandwick, 8 Dec 2013
—————————-

60N Yule

When sky awakes,
smell green of pine, cinnamon night,
Yule has its ghouls,
gales and gold
gifts.
#micropoetry fae #60N

———— Lerwick, 16 Dec 2013

Mother Night –
dreamer of
light,
clad inside lace,
whatever crescent of the moon.

-//————————– 20 Dec 2013

Upside down world –
icicles inside Everglades,
power from the polar vortex.
#haiku #geopoetics fae #60N

Arctic vortex –
Stalactites downtown
Manhattan,
the latest trend in media world.
#geopoetics fae #60N

Polar vortex –
16 km up in air,
where jet streams yield to 60N
#geopoetics fae #60N

—————–/————- 8 Jan 2014

WonderWorld

Who wants a world filled with silence and
empty
chairs, where
shadows hang coats on
slate roofs, and bold
divas sing to
slugs,
snails and
sniggering starlings on
starved snow?

Don’t tell me twice,

winter wanders like a brother
without socks, shoes or
wooly hat.
He’s
just aware of
my glowing green
solitude you too can glean on
every blade in a garden
left to wild gales.

——-///———–

Come to
Mareel when all is dark;
its gentle light
shines
through the surface of raindrops,
slides against panes of
icy glass,
as
music
feeds high moon and
tide – as she keeps
her voice in
a jar…
Cette
conversation de
l’absurde.

——————————- 8 Jan 2014

Winterlight 60N –
in between first light & pale blue,
fire Phoenix above Mousa.
#haiku fae #60N #geopoetics

—-11 Jan 2014

Bressay sprinkled with icicles,
blackbird hides –
a little closer to Norway.

— 17 Nov 2016

With seasonal greetings fae Nordicblackbird at 60N.


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change

On the fourth day of the tenth month, I found a way to break my day, sit and obey my headteacher, as she encouraged us to celebrate #nationalpoetryday through the tannoy. To find, read or write a poem on such fine day.

My lunchtime turned so creative. My after-school behind splashed glass, here, at Mareel, to re-draft it and share with you.


And now, our star looks a beacon out of greyness, I have finished what I began.

This year’s National Poetry Day challenged the pen to the theme of change. Already, I contributed to my Federation of Writers (Scotland) by submitting a few lines to a massive collaborative poem which is to be read today, in Glasgow, I believe under the watchful eye and voice of former Makar Andy Jackson, the very man behind it all.

That peerie offshoot adds to the millions of poems written today to celebrate the spoken word.

So, Happy National Poetry Day 2018 fae da island in da far North, and enjoy Change. 🙂


Change


Open your eyes to a new day.

Ask me again,

… So, what is change?

Something exotic on your tongue,

say hello in a new 

language –

collect laces to please your heart,

lace up your shoes with

unkennt loops,

pick a new path to love pavements;

that biggest box of CaranD’Ache where 

colours burst out of pencils to

break the dullness of

Tarmac, 

allow you to grow from darkness.

Dare it,

         dare it, or

                        just die now –

harness your fears,

                 bite da bullet,

dare to step out on new cobbles,

light that new road that

needs beacons;

hands on

tight ropes,

               Carrick-a-Reede,

what you once dreamt,

                                 incidental.
© Nat Hall 2018

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Mørkin (2)

I toy with the thought of
touching the Moon that
hangs out in
this dark blue sky;
and as
tide turns in
your favour, on that last weekend of
July,
I feel its pull, rolled up in
clouds.
I lit a tea light in your name, and
let the lantern on the deck, for
you to find me in
the dark,
mørke, mørkin, in murky night, where
the Moon shies here in
thin clouds, between my world and
summer tides – where Angle shades fly to the flame, where your voice vanishes with
night.

© Nat Hall

Sandwick, 26 July 2018.

 

Note: Mørkin, from the Norwegian, mørke, dark(ness)

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#worldpoetryday

With the Vernal Equinox, that sense of joy and revival, as Mother Earth awakes and grows deep in her bounty and belly, comes an invitation to create, celebrate, as today, Wednesday 21st of the third month, was chosen as our World Poetry Day. 

The chance to reconnect with ourselves as Mother Earth’s children, and allow creativity to flow like sap inside our souls.

It is exactly what happened this morning during Period 3 in the classroom with Fourth Year pupils who wished to practise their own creative writing skills through poetry. 

They asked me for the first theme, whilst they picked the second.

They sat down inside our world, and, with a few words of guidance, began to write their poetics. Not only happy to hint them into using their own senses, they asked me, the poet, to write my own.

Theme 1

The Rain

It drips and clops like

a metronome against time,

Clop, clop, clop, clop… 

that sense of Spring past Equinox, as they lash into their 

trillions, clones,

cold water unleashed from clouds;

aborted, unborn icicles,

unwanted so late inside March.

I hear them crash against windows, on every corner of

meadows, and feel them

drop inside the

warmth of my collar, as 

morning vanishes in

vain.

——–

Theme 2: 

The Beach

There isn’t a pebble in sight,

heart-shaped, 

polished by angry tides, 

riptides and rollers 

rolled in wrath

a jealous moon pulled & twisted.

But there are prints from

our own past, 

hundred of footprints in white sand

a gale will blow, obliterate through

hands of time, like

a school slate wiped by a child,

timetables & mathematics in

an attempt to unwind 

Pi.
NH 2018

————-

Now your turn to be creative and celebrate the spoken word on this fine day! 🙂 

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2018

Yule and now Hogmanay behind us.

The tidal loch remains frozen at Wadbister on New Year’s Day, and it may well stay in this state for a while…

Wadbister is the place where I buried 2017 with good friends & two of their neighbours. I woke up this late morning and breakfasted with my hosts, Sharon and Andy, looking at a brand new sky. Blue, serene, by a garden and bay that homes a wonderful wildlife. If I missed the otter, I was blessed with my first avian visitors – starling, blackbird, sparrow and robin – when an unusual visitor (to our latitude here anyway!) graced the garden, a great tit. What a grand start to the primal day of the year! 

By the time I left my friends’ home, a West wind was recolouring the heavens, as light rain showers began to christen the land… 

2017

A year of contrasts – a tale of two halves, with its kaleidoscope of emotions – that took my heart across headlands, bays, the English Channel and the North Sea. 

A creative year, as it has anchored my pen into this second collection of poetry in the making… Writing on both sides of the North Sea, with a fabulous return to West Norwegian shores last September.  


And our descent to Yule marked by the shifting of our AHS to its new 21st building at Lochside, which proved an extraordinary exercise. 


Yet October was graced by extraordinary moments, reunions and meetings that began to pave my way into 2018. For this, I feel humble, blessed and grateful to 2017. 

Christie Williamson and Hazel Frew, see you both in your great Celtic town in April! 

November also graced by new humane and creative connections thanks to friend and poetess Choman Hardi, who made me discover Barbara Cumbers, a kindred spirit based in London, and regular visitor to Shetland. Magic slices of life shared since, including two readings at the Book Fest and in Scalloway. 


December crowned by many smiles

The joy of reaching Yule marked with many delights – a poet’s working blurb published in Shetland Life, a poem inside the Yule Issue of the New Shetlander. 

The island clad by sun and snow on the eve of a well deserved break. 


A peaceful end to a year that felt a real roller coaster, and as the twelfth month was about to draw to an end, a brand new project now at my writer’s table in the translation of a manuscript. Wonderful challenge and task that began on the Eve of Hogmanay.

So,

Thank you, 2017, for your joys and tears, harvest of adventures, new friends across headlands and seas.

Today, on the primal day of the year, there burns a fire in my heart, like a beacon for the twelve months ahead.

Hello, 2018. Let me welcome you with fresh eyes, a shameless smile, heart filled with hopes.


The road ahead feels both very exciting and promising.

A very happy new year to you all, wherever you walk on this amazing planet. May 2018 grant you good health and happiness.


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wild

starlings in black n white

October, the month of heaven & grace

Marvellous moments of lightness, privileged times among paired swans, preening and sharing love in grace at last light… Statuesque haigries (herons) around our bays, the joy to reconvene with our beautiful Earth. I observe them from the distance, with that humble feeling, so intimate the moment. The light is soft, nearly sunset. The air is charged with tenderness and love in that autumnal sense of rawness…

Intimate. So privileged, I feel.

Sensual, magical.

This north end corner of Spiggie Loch gradually welcomes them back, as the Arctic winter dictates. They will flock in and preen, share a few weeds with a few ducks – gather on the shore for bathing and arrange their feathers, and roost by twos… A bit of love inside a world so few can taste.

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