Through Which The Water Flows

 

   

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© 2014 expresseum poetics press www.expresseumpoetics.org.uk Authors retain sole copyright of their individual poems. The poems in this pamphlet were created from the Locks, Bells & Pealing Wallpaper series of poetry workshops facilitated by Mark Goodwin in 2013. The series of poetry workshops was a Writing East Midlands’ Write Here Residency. Funded by: Writing East Midlands, Museum Development East Midlands & expresseum poetics

   

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How does the water get back to the top? They always ask – and yet they all know that water only runs down – but canals are magic obviously, all can see that the water goes back to the top.

Mike Beech Water is the largest constituent of all humans and without its regular addition to the body, life itself would cease.

Brian Fuller Lock Keeper : tall, always there, skinny, lives in a tent at bottom of the road, has ten children each learning to swim, learning about nature, water and sound.

Ann Fuller

   

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The water glass part sipped, shadow falling on white paper. Curved sides holding hints of rainbow, reflecting shafts of light through glass Sheila Lockett

   

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Water sits still Squats Thinks Water wobbles, the ebb and flow of its wet breaths causing a ripple And the ripples sometimes turn to a tide That’s when water breathes its fiercest Tsunamis and storms are waters breathing waters choking waters feeling If water didn’t breathe –

1) Ripples are cursed waves forbidden to dance 2) Water was born of

a secret Each H and O whispering to the next Shh – don’t tell Shhh – just wait Patience Patience.

   

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The grey-green water is boxed into five brick walls Off-white bubbles collect and bob on the surface like cappuccino froth Waves wheel today Jackets and lace and white polished buttons welcome the falling weight of the mist

Shruti Chauhan

   

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The black gates with white markings are most distinctive and eye catching; lower down the wood is plain brown unadorned by paint. In places this is heavily stained by a growth of green algae which looks slimy. The gates control a weight of water which escapes through either damaged walls or gaps and cascades as a waterfall into the lower locks. The water contained within these locks is a dirty brown colour, weeds or canal growth float within trapped by the gates. Despite its murky depths the glass like surface of the locks show mirror like images of surrounding walls, gates and trees. The glass receptacle upon the plain white paper casts shadow yet reflects in clear light. Its transparency belies its strength, for without water man cannot cross the golden glowing desert sands, fish cannot survive nor ships sail to distant lands. Thick dark clouds carry this life saving property.

Pat Smith

   

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the judder of a paddle travelling its ratchet is every boat that’s ever passed here all hulls water’s held

Mark Goodwin

   

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Locks are a means of getting A narrow boat up or down a hill They are a series of basins Each with a gate at either end Water is let in or out Via sluice gates Which are operated By a key Once the water Has reached the bottom It has gone It can only be replaced By water from A river or Reservoir at the top lock Lock gates are made of Solid wood and are Very heavy to Push open or close If the water level Has not equalised They are very hard To move A boat can Get stuck under the struts Of the gate and sink When the water is rising

Ann Fuller

   

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the lock-keeper’s fingers curl round his lock-key’s startling iron as frost’s revolution inlays scrolls along a long black hull

Mark Goodwin

   

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A bit of the cut Silver ribbon draped around the hills, Man made river always still, Serving commerce bicentennial thrills. Uphill downhill boats proceed Staircase locks waters speed Ten times each the boatmen work

Mike Beech

   

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“kings crown of canal growth floats above waters depth” “delicate scented aromas distil on evening air biting inner senses” “reflections shimmer like times curtain” “billy goats gruff bridge passes over a deep water filled chasm”

Pat Smith Reflections in a looking glass, the water so hard it seems I could walk on it. I am welcomed but it lies to me.

Glenise Lee

   

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Five Canal Lies

1 Many black and white bollards Provided for easy identification Of lock and canal edges Prevent many accidents Over the years

2 Locks at regular intervals Along the length of canals Made specifically to allow Salmon to migrate upstream To their spawning grounds In the top section

3 Blue grey clay bricks are chosen To enhance the artistic merit Of otherwise deadly dull surroundings

4 Lock gates spraying water Shower baths for ducks And other aquatic creatures

5 Lock cills provide useful Tipping points for canal boats To awaken sleepy boatmen And assist in painting bottoms Brian Fuller

   

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In the army they say, “If it moves, salute it; if it doesn’t, paint it white.” The lock gates wear white gloves ... so Foxton is an army base? The legs of tall reeds, growing along the canal side, are exposed as the water level drops, like soldiers with their dubbined feet in the mud. Boats, dry-mounted, halfway up a hill. Like Viking longboats. Funereal Danelaw. Glenise Lee

   

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a lock-keeper’s pressed wet glistening bones stretch from hill bottom to hill

top his whole elastic

skeleton is rills & roars &

trickles &

hollow passionate glugs from hill top to hill

bottom Mark Goodwin

   

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The Cut A triangular reservoir, cut in the hillside, skewed at the corner by pressure of landscape. A pocket of beach, with its gifts for the countryside, dreams of the sea to allay its homesickness. Channels cut deep, edges neatened with brickwork, water runs sobbing through liquorice walkways. Fluidity framed in geometric conformity, tamed for the purpose of harnessing gravity. Chopstick gates rest over seaweed-green soup; Monopoly house guards handkerchief grass. The sinking red sun is flickered by traffic. The wooden seat groans, damp steeping its bones. A circle of colour stands sharp against darkness: a literal life-line for use in deep water. The poet emerges, a jacket-less saviour, letting the robin go free in the dusk. Alison Mott

   

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Evening at Foxton Locks It’s that slate coloured hour As dusk hovers On the crisp September air Faint familiar smells Of alfresco dining Remnants of Summer’s sharp light Dragonflies skate On the stretched green skin That sucks at the edges Of deep uphill pools And over the locks water Breath steams thin Like slow exhaled thoughts Pat White

   

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The water that hisses through the lock gates has passed by my village. I’ve already walked over a bridge, above this water as it slid through tall grasses in summer or fled chuckling in times of bank-full spring.

Glenise Lee

   

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The Lock keeper’s Brow Seeps salty silvery threads as August sun cooks ditch-stink his wife’s voice hides in the faint hiss of spray gathering on grass each paddle winding-post has a toothed bar like a child’s vertebral column dark grease glistens on the column’s metal notches on cool mornings dew collects on the grease Mark Goodwin

   

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Images of Foxton

Safety Holes in metal uprights hold railings, black and white. Four bolts through metal plates secure the fence to blue brick edging.

Solidity Set in concrete Black iron bollards One foot high White raised letters G J C Co

Descending Jets of water criss-cross, gushing through holes in closed lock gates. Drops of water make musical notes fall from overflow gully.

Dusk Sun setting in multi-coloured splendour pulls down the dusk. Day’s heat held in the rough wood of balance beams.

Sheila Lockett

   

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Paddles are used in the culverts through which the water flows, to act as taps. The paddles are of heavy timber or metal framed plastic weighted to allow them to fall when the tap is needed “off”.

Brian Fuller