Quatermaster not quite the same as lecturer, but after the session sharing sonnets today, I realised that lecturer is in charge like Q and my sonnet was rather a sorry Petrachan attempt. I had not managed to integrate the word fuck or whore, or indeed actually constructed the rhythmng scheme, although the iambic pentameter was the only constructs that made it recognisable as anything approaching a classic sonnet.
We swiftly moved on from Sonnets to Haikus. Isat rather transfixed, having opened the windows to blow covid away, the fresh air was welcome distraction from the five seven five rule, this coincided with my tutor assuring me that the follower of this blog in Uraguay was not he. Although Ihave not met him (Private Eye contributor hiding out !) he assured me he was not on holiday. So the south american fan ( Hello ) must be following on the Q.
So answering emails panicking about my Sorry Sonnet and answering emails I realise am considering that focusing on three lines about a grain of rice would be a welcome release. Ihave lost count of the number of Insta calls from all over the world I have received, since Instagram went from zero to five hudred followers in a week. With so many distractions in the classroom, I left the lecture and happily took refuge in the Gun Wharfe. Retail therapy helped calm the rising panic of creating Japanese poems. This two pairs of boots and taking in the beautiful Christmas tree lights and waft of Olde English fragrance from Phenhaligans, my favourite Elisabeth Rose.
Then as I sat over my Hot Chocolate that arrived without Cream, but steaming and the right side of gloopy, I gazed out of the window and my mind filled with the memories of the years of raising my babies, shopping trips, Christmas parties and work gatherngs. Then further back to the pre children days my arrival in Portsmouth and then the Haikus flowed.
Water clean my face
Cold head under air replaced
As you pushed under.
Stainless made of steel
knife cuts either bread or meat
you point it at me Shit !
You touched my hair
caressed my skin with finger
tip bruises on my face
“I love you darling”
“How dare you doubt me dear ?” No!
said as you fucked me?
Smart uniform yours
Badge, boots, belt, baton and gun
home ok hit me.
These little Odes to interpersonal violence tumbled onto the screen,