Illicit Exercise

Gold cherry
Poem of the week
Pick of the Month

By Philip Sidney

Tue, 18 Aug 2020
  • 8420 reads
29 comments
 

I’ve taken to running around the field behind my house -

you might not call it running -

but there is an element of privacy the field affords

which enables me to drop the detail

of speed and style.

The field belongs to a school and strictly speaking

no one but they should use it –

but all the households that back onto it

have fashioned secret gates into fences.

Dog walkers are discreet -

carry small plastic bags

so as not to leave evidence of their trespass.

I prefer to avoid them so wait

until the field is empty -

apart from the birds -

whose species take turns at flocking over the central green.

Black-headed gulls confer

before taking to the skies to survey the city

as I tamp toward them.

Jackdaws stand their ground

are more accommodating -

allowing clumsy wood pigeons to graze amongst them.

Two-tone black-grey heads nod at a scattering of feathers -

tiny heads coo in blankness –

feeling no attachment to the remains of a peer -

oblivious to the succulence of their own plump bodies.

Some strange evenings

there are herons -

alien and enigmatic -

they illuminate the duplicitous nature of this grassy rectangle –

at once a place of play

and an arena for clandestine crime.

It is well situated for those wanting to make a get-away

from casual theft -

as it is unlit at night

and becomes a yawning spread of darkness

into which

anything might dissolve.

But in these covid days it is a refuge -

a place to stretch legs, lungs, heart

and to be thankful for the substance of oneself.

I wear unsightly purple headphones –

a clear indicator that I do not wish to interact.

I am taken aback when a voice cuts through the soundtrack

with a ‘hello’ thrown at me from a lawn -

my reflex is to respond in like

but I am rattled –

do not want to be part of a passing parade.

I settle to a rhythm and look up to the far end

where a group of middle-aged men -

paunches pushing holiday shorts

pint glasses at angles sloshing liquid -

have leaked from an overgrown back-garden.

They watch me questioningly.

I pick up the pace and -

like the starlings that cover the ground today -

feign disinterest and take another lap.

I have half-forgotten as I approach again

cannot place an unfamiliar call in the air -

harmonious and lovely

it rises above

the story I listen to

and brings me into the present -

the men are singing -

an illicit choir -

they take a risk

with this outdoor lunchtime recital.

Later -

as I drink water in the kitchen -

I see them from the window

skulking beside the pavilion -

like schoolboys furtively smoking -

what times we live in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Certificate 12
Poem

Comments

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

As you say, good to have a refuge to stretch your legs, and share your musings to the light jogging beat. We have a school field behind, and when we moved here there was a public footpath across it to town, but eventually we were told that though it was still on the OS maps they had had it closed, and then they built a security fence around the field with a locked door next to our gate! We worried a bit that the sewerage men wouldn't easily get access to a notorious blockage point, but they seem to manage from the huge manhole in the lane! RHiannon

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

We're very lucky that it's been left alone.  How frustrating for you - especially when these places are not being used as they once were.

Submitted by Ewan on

the pleasures of solitude, with only birds for company. A clever meander arriving at a powerful last line, leaving us to wonder how we reached it.
Excellent.

Author Page at the 'Zon
 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Thanks Ewan - and thanks for the cherries too!

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

We too have a lane at the back of our garden that leads from an old victorian school onto playing fields,  but sadly our house hasn't got a back gate, so we never venture there. In the summer the kids have their sports days which has been sadly lacking this year due to covid, so now it's just left to nature as the public cannnot enter with gates padlocked and no other way in.

Your poem does sum up the peace and tranquility, but also as you say the strangeness of the times we're living in too.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

A secret gate makes all the difference. smiley

Submitted by sean mcnulty on

One of the best (and creepiest) covid poems I've yet to read.

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Thank you Sean. :)

Submitted by airyfairy on

So much to enjoy in this - I loved the idea of the men leaking from the back garden.  There are some very strange sights around at the moment, and what was once unremarkable has become clandestine.  Great poem for our times.

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Thanks Airyfairy.  There's no normal - not even the new kind. :)

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

Oh this is lovely! Thank you so much for the image of the illicit choir. Strange times indeed

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

So pleased you like it. :)

Submitted by Di_Hard on

I love the idea of the men singing in secret. And that, left to itself, with no PE lessons the field is full of birds, who also sing. As if singing is mens' natural state

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

So pleased you made that connection. :)

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

This wonderful poem is our Facebook and Twitter Pick of the Day!

Please share/retweet if you enjoyed it as much as I did

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Oh thank you!  Very pleased as I haven't written a new poem in a while. :)

Submitted by drew_gummerson on

It might be a good thing, in the long run, that we've found our own backyards, and beyond. Certainly I've never known the barren so busy. A lovely poem. 

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Thanks Drew.  You're right about the appreciation of what's on our doorstep.  I love the name 'the barren'.  A whole poem there.

Submitted by celticman on

what times we live in, indeed. really liked this. 

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Thanks CM.  Lovely to hear from you.

Submitted by Mark Burrow on

So many great lines -- "oblivious to the succulence of their own plump bodies" / "yawning spread of darkness". 

What a cracking poem. 

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Thanks Marc.  Pleased you like it. :)

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

This is our Poem of the Week - Congratulations!

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Thank you so much! smiley

Submitted by hudsonmoon on

What times we live in, indeed. much enjoyed your lovely jaunt this morning. It registered big with me. We live in dfferent countries, but I felt us walking side by side. 

Rich

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

What a lovely thing to say, Rich.  I feel now, more than ever, we need our comrades - to know they're there even if  not physically with us. smiley

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

This is our Poem of the Month - Congratulations!

 

Submitted by Sweet T Marie on

I also walk around my neighborhood and had to get used to (as well as reciprocate) greetings, I'm from the city where I had to keep to myself. When you describe your surroundings I'm remembering fond memories at my Uncle's who lives in a similar neighborhood to yours. I'm really digging the imagery here, the read is refreshing to to senses! ^_^ 

~Sweet T

Submitted by MJG on

merging of nature with running and your lovely description of drinking, singing men in shorts.... beautiful x