| Pantomime |
[Dec. 6th, 2009|06:25 pm] |
Seven vampire killer dwarves
threaten me in my tortured dreams
Violent red noses warn of danger
and bell bobbing hats bounce a threat.
I'm stranded, flailing on the floor,
helpless, level with striped sock knees.
No Snow White, no Cinderella
No Princeley Buttons rescues me.
The fearless seven assault my mind
I wish I'd not gone to the pantomime. |
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| Amendment |
[Dec. 6th, 2009|06:20 pm] |
I am where I shouldn't be;
an island without a tree.
The wild Pacific sifts my sand,
and radiant sun gently warms my land.
An easy breeze lifts dust which drifts
and settles back against the stones.
Bright beetles scuttle back and forth
grazing in this empty space
while sea birds perch for welcome rest,
though without a branch they cannot nest.
My feet stand firm on ocean's floor
and life obeys a restful pace
My mem'ries go back a million years, and
I miss the thing I've never had. |
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| Any time |
[Nov. 29th, 2009|04:59 pm] |
Just grabbing some lines from notes I wrote in the week.
It could be any time of day
and any time of week
the flywheel's cadence steadies
The silence of my corridor swarms
spreading and surrounding her
and the music keeps on playing |
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| travel |
[Nov. 29th, 2009|10:12 am] |
Trying to get an element of the rhythm of the train into this one. Bear with me.
My train pulls in to Warrington Bank Quay
Through the window rushing images stream,
Benches and people and litter and signs
Squinting and searching and loving folk wait.
Rucksack slung behind me opening the door
Wishing, hoping I'm first to see you
in that moment where you're unaware of me
My alertness rewarded
by your wakening smile of welcome, of love
of joy, reflected feeling.
No words as we reach for each other
the train vanishes, no noise penetrates
our world of you and I and our embrace
Love too large for speaking
Joy too wide for warrington bank quay |
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| Second try of the day |
[Nov. 25th, 2009|07:08 pm] |
The previous one didn't really even start to work for me. Trying again.
Fred likes roses and roll ups and rugby
He is annoyed by paperwork, pensions and parking
Every morning he shuffles to the corner cafe,
Flat cap, grey anorak and loose fitting jeans.
Breakfast is always a bought bacon butty.
Later he emerges once again, takes his time
to walk the street. Returns with the mirror
under his arm. He likes to be active.
At lunchtime he's on the road again,
he frequents the "Park Hotel"
for a pint, with his mates.
They sit in solemn rows, backs to the wall
looking in, flat caps and northern phlegm.
When Edith was with us, he always smoked outdoors
Since she died the habit stayed alive,
and when the weather is fine he leans on the wall,
talking to anyone who will.
He worked forty years with the water board
every day took his bike and leisurely pedalled.
No children, Fred and Edith but family always
important, put first, cared about and cared for.
Some evenings Martin from No 5 calls around
and together they walk to "The Park" for a beer.
His world shrunk to manageable size.
When at the end he was cremated, no-one came from the park.
I know, I was there. |
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| Today's draft |
[Nov. 25th, 2009|11:01 am] |
You dated him, she accused
She's your friend, he challenged
Both glared,
Not at each other, at me.
Some things in life we just don't learn;
The distance between hope and truth is great.
Much adored people not feeling my reason,
why they too should love one another.
A fragile family we try to create |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 23rd, 2009|05:05 pm] |
Your north, south east and west don't encompass
the hollow fullness of our loss
He did live and he did die
To say otherwise is simply a lie
And no I won't use your old familiar name
and speak as though you're here.
Friends eye me with enough suspicion
that sign of madness would justify their fears.
By-standers, well-wishers and out-siders all say
she's young, and pronounce it condolence
As though 40 future years of loving the dead
is the greatest boon of death |
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| Condensing and exaggerating |
[Nov. 23rd, 2009|08:43 am] |
Thought I'd try an angry bitter one too.
Your north, south east and west don't encompass
the hollow fullness of our loss
By-standers, well-wishers and out-siders all said
she's young, and pronounce it as a comfort
As though 40 years of loving the dead
is the greatest boon of death |
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| Already some revisions |
[Nov. 22nd, 2009|09:44 am] |
I am where I shouldn't be;
an island without a tree.
Wild Pacific soothes my sand,
and sun gently warms my land,
an easy breeze lifts dust which drifts
and settles back against the stones.
Bright beetles scuttle back and forth
grazing on what the tide brings in,
and sea birds perch for welcome rest
though without a branch they cannot nest.
Still my feet stand firm on ocean's floor
and life continues at restful pace
My memories go back a million years, and
I miss the thing I've never had. |
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| Six in Seven |
[Nov. 22nd, 2009|09:40 am] |
I have homework! I need to write six 14 line poems in seven days. The following week I spend reviewing them, then I send to two other people on my poetry school. They send me theirs. We comment, we change. aaaaaaarrrrgh.
Number 1.
I am where I shouldn't be;
an island without a tree.
The wild Pacific soothes my sand,
and the sun gently warms my land.
Gentle wind lifts dust which falls
and nestles back against the stones.
Small creatures burrow back and forth
feeding on what the tide brings in,
and sea birds perch for welcome rest
but without a tree they build no nest.
While my feet stand firm on ocean's base
and life continues at restful pace
My memories go back a million years, and
I miss the thing I've never had |
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| Poetry school today |
[Nov. 21st, 2009|05:54 pm] |
Some more semi formed future masterpieces!
Grandpa in his weather-worn woolly
works religiously between the pews.
The penitent peas pushed into place
amidst the soul-svaed smell of soil.
He patiently ploughed the errant earth;
dispersed his peace amongst the rows
and within the still, worshipful silence
only the good were allowed to grow.
A sacred sanctuary stayed undisturbed
except pardoned guests, hte common birds.
My own allotment I now diligently tend
and in the quiet of that wild field
will know my grandad's steady hand
rests here within this loamy land |
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| Just something I'm working on |
[Nov. 19th, 2009|07:31 pm] |
Hahahaha. Now it seems I write to order. Working on this for a friend.
Two decades he's waited for it to happen for him,
And all that's happened is his hair has grown thin
Evidence suggests he's made a mistake
Pretending this is your dream isn't easy to fake
Each morning she looks in the mirror
she's prepared for adventure
pats her neatly falsly black curls
paints her lips and looks demure
but she's paid for taxis with those lips not a fare
this isn't her dream but she pretends she don't care
A sensible marriage to a sensible man
One child, that's it, I've done all I can
He works and he worries, she eats and she vegges
It's not such a dream if you look round the edges
She seems caring and funny and loving
and you can see she's moved her golden ring
I wait for George Clooney to come and save me
she's scared that for her dreams are not free |
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| Of cabbages and kings |
[Nov. 17th, 2009|07:59 pm] |
I cried over a cabbage
it was the sweetest gift of all
yes the leaves were yellowing
and it was no longer crisp and cool
It was left on my doorstep
a kindness, a gesture
an act of giving
yes I cried. |
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| Just a re-draft |
[Nov. 15th, 2009|08:56 pm] |
When I walk past shop windows
I always take some time
to see the reassuring lie
they paint when I pass by
The imperfect slow reflections
reveal the perfect me,
the hazy glass disguises
the person I came to be. |
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| Burnt toast |
[Nov. 15th, 2009|10:01 am] |
Burnt toast
Ate it anyway
It was the last of the bread you see
I believe it will sustain me
although it doesn't taste so good
I punish myself
I eat it unspread
I can't cover the taste
of the burn
with marmalade or jam |
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| Ooops I forgot to have a baby |
[Nov. 13th, 2009|10:25 pm] |
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Brothers sometimes just don't get it. Even if he knew what MILF meant well before I did. |
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| Here's me on good old Tess |
[Nov. 8th, 2009|08:57 pm] |
Hardy has a lot to answer for.
Tess on the Moors
Her lover did implore
to save her fair face
from falling from grace
But his eyes were stoney
and his heart it was phoney |
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| The trumpet major |
[Nov. 8th, 2009|08:56 pm] |
Ever read that book. Just picking it up transports me back to my middle teens.
Stillness surrounds me
The silence is soothing
and the world is a mystery
where blood baths in our battle
his wounds are unstaunched
her life can be launched
in a place where protection
from a world full of prattle
is secured and saved. |
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| Not looking |
[Nov. 8th, 2009|08:55 pm] |
Walking past shop windows
I glance as I stroll past
I deliberately saunter
but not the goods to see
The imperfect slow reflections
Reveal the perfect me
The hazy glass disguises
the person I came to be. |
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