WHO WOULD COURT MISFORTUNE?

Some poems are based on real life, some are not. This is one of those. Not sure about the ending.

ELEPHANT ORNAMENTS

My father would have none of it

china elephants holiday gifts

they always bring bad luck

and who would court misfortune?

There were moments when a child

that I sensed elephants in the living room

the drum taut tension of things unsaid

I knew not to ask

I had an interesting discussion with a friend about last post's poem and was prompted to make a number of changes.

For Euan and Murray

I am carrying you

into your dreams

This is

my walking spell

the same circuit

of forty two steps

Again and again

around this room

And as we move

all I ask of you

Is to close

those tired eyes

Then you

will cross the border

Don’t worry

the whole wide world

Will still be here

when you awaken

What do you think? Does it work better? I think so. Thanks Nel.

Here are Everything But The Girl.

Until next time.

CROSS THE BORDER

I had thought this poem complete but the Secret Poets made so many suggestions that I realised it need a total overhaul. Thank you Secrets. You can read the original here.

For Euan and Murray

I am carrying you

into your dreams

This is

my walking spell

I walk the same circuit

of forty two steps

Again and again

around this room

And as we move

all I ask of you

Is to close

those heavy lidded eyes

Then you

will cross the border

Don’t worry

the whole wide world

Will still be here

when you awaken

Making the layout into couplets works well. The individual words have a chance to breathe and overall it adds to the charm-like quality of the poem. I do think it is now complete. 

Here's a new song from Anna Ternheim.

Until next time.

SEA GLASS

Do you ever wander along a beach looking for sea glass? I do, it helps that I'm lucky enough to live by the sea. Though I've just discovered that sea glass can be found by the banks of rivers, though it is less frosted than glass smoothed by the seas, and is known as beach glass. Here's a poem about sea glass.

FLEETING

Amid the silica

sea glass

on its way back

from bottle

to being grains on a beach

Towards the end

of this transformation

I hold it in my hand

and admire the ocean’s lapidary

I'm not sure this is complete. It is meant to be a description, the mystery is in the beauty of each unique piece. Here's a connected poem about finding a Spanish pop bottle on the beach.

A pop bottle from Spain

has ended up on the strand

half full of grey water

the plastic label worn but readable

it has travelled so far to be recycled

As I pick it up I notice

a sea green glass pebble

that I place in my pocket

Do people still say pop? Or is it beverage, or some such other word? Anyway this bottle travelled from Spain across the Atlantic to Torquay, where it was recycled. A rather epic journey.

I found this live footage of Shelagh McDonald recently. It's beautiful.

Until next time.

TOMORROW WILL TAKE CARE OF ITSELF

Yesterday was the 80th anniversary of the end of war in Europe, VE Day. I was going to repost a poem about my father in that day but I ended up revising it instead. You can read the last attempt here. 

8^th MAY 1945

The Ivy Benson band will not play

in the Alexandra club this evening

everyone is too busy celebrating

the end of the war in Europe

The conflict has taken Charlie

from Runcorn to Rome in

two thousand and seventy seven days

with many stops in between

Tonight is a little sigh

a brief respite in hostilities

Charlie parties with the band

tomorrow will take care of itself

The Ivy Benson Band was an all female big band. The story is true, they did not take to the stage that night but partied the night away in the Alexandra Club along with my father. Here's what they sounded like.

And I cannot close without a reprise of D-Day Dodgers.

Until next time.

AS COMPLEX AS LIFE

Here is a poem that came to me in a dream. I think it is pretty self-explanatory. I shall thank the Secret Poets, yet again, for their support and observations. 

POEM FOR CHRISTINE

I dreamt of you last night.

We were living in some far city,

I had something to do with the university

where Leonard Cohen was going to give a reading

in the lecture space atop the library,

all very informal.

There were the usual barriers that dreams put up

to ensure they are as complex as life

but the sun shone and the people had enough to eat.

Anyway when I arrived he had begun.

Thinking back on it now I am awake,

I can see he was a collage

composed of the dozen or so times I saw him,

morphing from a younger man in the 70s,

to the old man who never stopped touring

and back again in the space of a poem.

Though I was close enough I couldn’t ask a question

or get him to sign the copy of Selected Poems

that had appeared in my hands.

He was there and then gone

and you never arrived.

Though the world carried on I waited

until they locked the building.

The sun had set the night was warm

and our children came to collect me.

I thought of you somewhere in that city

as I rushed back towards morning.

Some poems write themselves [with a little bit of help]. Thank you Secrets.

Here's a new video of a song I've posted many times. Take it away Murray.

Until next time.