Freewheeling Up The Hill

By Margaret Hawkins

From painted nails to pilgrimages, red squirrels to red shoes, talking bikes to wedding blessings, power moves to pews on wheels, Irish rural writer, Margaret Hawkins, captures incidents, reactions and emotions to stir the heart and trigger a smile in this new poetry and prose collection

• Language: English
• Publisher: Margaret Hawkins
• Release date: Mar 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9780957534247

Book preview

POEMS

Intro1

Bikes – herds of them seen on a trip to the Netherlands. They seemed to need a voice

Freewheeling

We are abandoned

on the streets

gathered in herds

in the waiting places

street

station

at corner shop

tethered, fallen

erect, chained

handlebars locked

like stags at rut

old bikes, new

pedals askew

grey, silver

mostly black

kings of the road

in a land that is flat

proud of the lanes

preserved for us

pedestrians, keep out!

And they use us

when they need to -

people with long hair

and lean limbs

whose hearts pump

getting there

to work or play

children on carriers

or riding in front

plastic sheet

between them

and the wind

we transporting them

to shop and basket fill

return over bridge

or by canal

but betimes

we dream of hills

of the challenge

they would bring

and the joy of freewheeling

all

the

way

d

o

w

n

Intro 2

I love music – and watching people dance – and sometimes it’s obvious that the urge and the rhythm surge is so great that couples take to the floor even when conditions aren’t ideal

Dancers In Whitford

They stuck it as long

as they could

sitting at table

resisting temptation

feet tapping

fingers mapping

the steps

through Neil Diamond

and Don McClean

rhythm exciting

their souls

until the quick step

finally got to them

Big Tom

oh, what a song

You’re going out

the same way

you came in…

and Johnny Cash

they were up in a flash

I fell into a burning

ring of fire…

and they danced on a spot

no bigger than

a good-sized bed

constant corners

round and round

on the beat

what a treat

in a zone

of their own

and then they sat

the itch scratched

but not fully

for lounge carpet

and scattered tables

had put a brake

on their flight

Intro 3

A sudden death in a family can affect those left behind, particularly if they have been overly dependent on that person being a buffer between them and the world

Attack On The Heart

He was gone

the brother who

brought news

into the house

dead as a cock

no more tick tock

of valve and vein

no more dealing

with mart and vet

and chemist and shop

it had come to a stop

the fixing

collecting

delivering

and what will they do now

Peg and Jim

out on a limb

no longer insulated

from the world

he translated

negotiated

regulated for them

because he was the one

good at filling out forms

sorting things out

doing the things they

feared they’d make

a pig’s ear of

He had buffered them

yes, from doing things wrong

and now he was gone

but could this be

the making of them

bring them out of their shell

help worlds unfurl

let them know they’re alive

Or would it drive them

further back

this sudden attack

on the heart

Intro 4

Sometimes it’s far from shop-bought glamour that people live

Mother’s Painted Nails

She admires them on her lap

the now painted nails

on her now soft hands

pink, peach – even plum

the girls ringing the changes

giving her a turn

dolling up

Doing what

seldom happened

when time was short

and money tight

and fingernails were fringed

with pigmeal, pastry, suds

no time then for

the luxury of lacquer

Three strokes

side, side, middle…

And she marvels

at the speed

technique

as others wait

some aware, some not

of the titivation that will come

side, side, middle

masking ridge

smoothing ripple

putting a gloss on things

her mind wandering to the times

she painted them herself

a bottle of clear

bought in Buckley’s chemist

ahead of a wedding

knowing it would last for years