Frances-Ann Norton: Poetry

. The Small Pleasure of Folding Clothes: After Anne Sexton’s - Consorting with the Angels. What has changed Anne? I am a mother, the spoons and pans are still here to anchor me to life And the parts of life that take time and are a bore, are part of the routine of Cooking, cleaning, washing, feeding, caring, solving problems, combing nits, cutting the grass, vacuuming the floor, feeding the pets. Part of the joy of this manual labour is its simplicity Its rest from the poem, the painting, the teaching That occupies my mind and hands the rest of the time. There is a small pleasure in folding clothes and putting them into each ones hands. In a freshly made bed, in things ordered and put away. God knows – you do know God How I have struggled with the house and all it entails How I have fought being needed by little ones And been disappointed by rejected caresses as they grow and change. My head and hands yearn for Paint, a pencil, making, thinki...

Throw off the Wet Gloves After Anne Sextons  - Consorting With Angels I was tired of the early mornings I was tired of the computer screen I was sick of the drive around the gyratory Day after day, after day Meaningless – days sliding by And I said to myself Where is the meaning in my stale existence? And the answer came – “look up”. And as I looked up, snow fell like angel feathers And a voice seemed to say ‘Be playful’ When the snow falls it’s a game, a full stop. A clean slate as the Symbolists say It’s fun, let go of troubles Cares gone to the drifts of snow Climb inside joy Igloo up misery and disdain Throw off the wet gloves of being a wet blanket, Live.