Poetry : Sat 12 Aug
Something about the red-checked tablecloths laid out in the Soul Shack at the Plesance Dome last night attracted the shadows and inspired this
Slide across the floor to climb the walls
And as people walk through them, they grow into the filled space,
Shaped into a metamorph of shadow-play.
The black doorways admit new players to join the dark-fest
Of vari-textured flavours of metal chairs;
Adorn themselves in the gleam of gloss-painted doorways,
Then hide in black spaces and observe
Their body-bound soul siblings
Party!
And oblivious to all this, a man sitting in one of those metal chairs sat tuned to an internal music, drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair
And leak-strums out through
Glowing eyes and flickering fingertips.
At another table, a trio of women gathered conspiratorially around a bottle of wine and inspired this poem
Meet over a bottle of wine
Their blush-clad fingernails
Preen bejewlled ear lobes,
Cradle slim-stemmed glasses.
Carriers of memories and gossip,
They plan the next day's campaign
To paint the town rosé.
Overhearing a conversation between two Americans about Southern Style Cooking and 'the taste of home', I went on a nostalgic mind trip back in time to my childhood in Egypt and my memories of the food that I grew up with there, and that I miss - and what joy it was to find a Lebanese soulmate at the Pleasance Box Office who shared similar cravings, inspiring this poem
Tastes that I grew up with -
I realise a double delight in
Challenging others' tastebuds
With the unfamiliar slimy
Wonder that is Molokheyya.
An Egyptian national dish
Made of chopped Jews' Mallow,
A relative of Spinach,
With glutinous properties.
The result's a slimy soup
Which, when served with rice
And baladi bread (here known as
Pitta) and plump boiled chicken
Takes us back to childhood
And those around the table
Who don't appreciate it
Leave those of us who do
To share a memory, unspoken,
Of Mediterranean sunsets,
Yashmaks, Tarboushes,
Omm Kalthoum, Sayyed Darwish,
Maamoul, Mahallabeyya,
And three-toned blue seas
Served up on white-warm sandy beaches
Where memories of romances hang
Still flavouring the air for
Lovers there - even though
They may be unaware of it.
Our poetry competition is becoming more and more popular - the judge of yesterday's batch was Simon Rawson in the Pleasance Press Office, who chose the following poem as the winning one
At any time of day or night
Whate'er your need may be,
The thing that really sorts you out's
A nice hot cup of tea.
The boiler's dead, the bills unpaid,
Your food (somehow) is gone,
Disasters, weddings, funerals;
"I'll put the kettle on."
Lia Buddle