{"id":160,"date":"2017-12-11T10:46:21","date_gmt":"2017-12-11T10:46:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/?p=160"},"modified":"2017-12-11T10:46:21","modified_gmt":"2017-12-11T10:46:21","slug":"sitting-on-a-bench-on-a-hill","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/?p=160","title":{"rendered":"Sitting on a bench on a hill"},"content":{"rendered":"

The challenge was to write something that was ‘against type’<\/em>; in some way opposite to how you would usually write. I identified that my poetry usually sticks to rhyme and meter, and is mostly reliant on metaphor and simile. I tried to write a lovely seasonal piece without any of these things, and this is the result.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The wind blows gently in the trees<\/span><\/p>\n

Your head is on my shoulder<\/span><\/p>\n

I feel the cool of the decades-old bench, covered in patches of moss and grass.\u00a0Cold or wet, it is near impossible to tell<\/span><\/p>\n

There is a spice in the air; the pepper-smoke of fire and twigs and mulch<\/span><\/p>\n

Slow heartbeat, no movement, save for the squeeze of a hand on my arm<\/span><\/p>\n

I reply with a grip of your knee<\/span><\/p>\n

Far-off bird calls and the gentle ever-present hum of a road, out of sight<\/span><\/p>\n

Slightly too warm beneath our coats, from the climb up the slope<\/span><\/p>\n

Slips of mud and flaked bark-scrapings adorn our clothing<\/span><\/p>\n

Black soil on palm, brown earth at our ankles<\/span><\/p>\n

Glad for the warmth, as the cold air stings us and turns our cheeks ruddy<\/span><\/p>\n

Clouds above and before us, lumpy and majestic, broken in patches and separated by huge expanses of the darkening blue-orange sky beyond<\/span><\/p>\n

The clouds are pinks and purples<\/span><\/p>\n

A range of hills at the horizon, hiding the sun, but gilt-lined and glittering; black at their bases<\/span><\/p>\n

Spots on a hillside, maybe cows, maybe trees, too far to tell<\/span><\/p>\n

Closer fields are bare now, the harvest long behind us, a stretch of winter ahead<\/span><\/p>\n

A solitary tractor, no longer used, but not yet put away<\/span><\/p>\n

You exhale, creating a fleeting cloud of your own<\/span><\/p>\n

I exhale to see my own cloud, but it does not linger as long as yours; perhaps you breathed more deeply<\/span><\/p>\n

You smile and close your eyes again<\/span><\/p>\n

I smile, tickled by our exchange, and plant a quiet kiss in your chestnut hair<\/span><\/p>\n

Your hair always smells this pleasant, but isn\u2019t usually this bright hue. Trick of the light? Time of the year?<\/span><\/p>\n

The wind changes, I feel it coming from the south side of the slope, I hear it shaking the branches behind us<\/span><\/p>\n

A dog barks. Did it also notice the wind change?<\/span><\/p>\n

A few leaves fall in front of my view; yellows, browns and oranges, in ovals and stars.<\/span><\/p>\n

The dog barks again, followed by the flurried beating of wings and the rustle of a hedgerow<\/span><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t see the birds rising, but I know they\u2019re somewhere. Probably a pheasant or grouse<\/span><\/p>\n

The clouds continue their slow pace across the sky, though they have darkened somewhat<\/span><\/p>\n

I look at my watch. It\u2019s harder to read than I had expected<\/span><\/p>\n

The last of the light is disappearing now<\/span><\/p>\n

I sit in this comfort and exist with it, with you<\/span><\/p>\n

My scarf around your throat. The chill on my neck begins to permeate my collar<\/span><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t say a word about it, though I hope you\u2019re warm, at least<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The challenge was to write something that was ‘against type’<\/em>; in some way opposite to how you would usually write. I identified that my poetry usually sticks to rhyme and meter, and is mostly reliant on metaphor and simile. I tried to write a lovely seasonal piece without any of these things, and this is the result.<\/p>\n

Read More<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-160","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/160","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=160"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/160\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":161,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/160\/revisions\/161"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=160"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=160"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=160"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}