A poem or a song in the time of Corona?

Being a writer is truly weird sometimes…
Last night instead of sleeping my mind nagged at me to write a poem… about music. Why? Don’t know. Just had to.

Can’t let the words go to waste, so here goes:

Incantato of adagio
A hum or a her.
The lilting life tune
Floats on the air.

Treble the trouble
Or double the bass.
The boom box is quavering
So lock down the case.

A monotone moan
Or a semi tone scoff;
My melodic mind music
Is truly brassed off.

But sing me a song
With banging blue tune.
I’ll beat out the chorus
And howl at the moon.

I’ll soar with the score
To conduct with a quell;
Taking my bows
And my curtain calls, as well.

Adieu adagio.
But… Encore once more.
Now adieu adagio
This tune is no more.

And I thought I’d written a poem, whereas I’ve been told I’ve actually written a song.

The Making of Me: A Poem to my Family Tree.

Peachey Letters cover Cropped

I’ve tartan running through my veins, along with Cambridge mud.
There’s peat bog in my DNA, and lots of English wood.
My gypsy blood, will, a wanderer always make me.
The ghosts of farmers, leaders and orators have spake me.
With so many Vikings in the family tree and Normans running wild.
A crazy mixture makes up me – the making of the child.

In my life line lies politicians, plasterers and trainers.
Tram drivers, cleaners, salesmen and entertainers.
My lineage has worked the land and riden on the horse.
We’ve driven trams in Glasgow and warmed the world with gas.
Weaving away in dark factories, we’ve skated, spoke and ran.
We all kept on daring and dreaming , through this allotted span.

We laughed, we cried, we broke, we healed and still we carried on.
We worked, we schemed, we loved and walked until we were all gone.
All gone but one, but then I remember – two; and then, that all my cousins count.
As me, we are all part of the mysterious family tree, in doing what we want.
So my words are my descendants and I birthed them all with joy.
Sometimes with tears and fears too, but who cares – whether girl or boy?

A life lived loud in solitude, full of feeling much, and friends.
My giving is my gratitude and may that never end.
I take, I make, I give, and I receive.
I play and rest and work, so long and lazy – all for my reprieve.

A legacy of love is mine, my influences and effects.
And I cannot know who I have reached, from this line or life, to the next…

Peachey Letters cover cop 2

Post Script: A collection of my ‘Love Letters to Life’ in poetry and prose, have been gathered together in to a book – ‘Peachey Letters’ – exploring all the facets of life and love, in its’ gore and glory. The book has been featured in Psychologies Magazine and The Lady, as well other local and national press.  In it you will find the dark and the light of love, in a way that will make you think, entertain you and let you know that you are not alone in life, what ever it holds for you… You can buy ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ by Sandra Peachey, from book websites any where in the world, including Hive (paperback and Ebook) and Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)… Or else ask your local bookshop to stock it and order it in…