OF COURSE THERE WAS SMOKE

I don't have much to say about this poem as I think it's quite self explanatory. I will say that if you can find a copy of any of the Uncle the Elephant books then read them, you won't be disappointed.

THE PRIZE GIVING

There we were in the bookshop

you me and the book seller

That celebration evening

the end of our three years study

It could have been a dream

some bibliophiles best fantasy

We huddled in the backroom

of course there was smoke

an ember passed from hand to hand

and then another

In honour of the occasion

we decided to award ourselves prizes

[in other less colourful circles

I think they call it stealing]

You chose Gunter Schuller on jazz

such a thick tome

Serious

so at odds with our evening

My eye fixed on Uncle the Elephant

a particular warm memory of my childhood

I have it still

the pages aged and yellowed

I read it to my children

but did not tell them how I acquired it

This is the first draft I am prepared to exhibit. It may change. Watch this space.

I watched the Judee Sill documentary the other day. It was both amazingly beautiful and very sad. 

Until next time.

I CALL YOUR NAME

A couple of weeks ago I said I would take a poem to the Secret Poets for their opinions on it, we met last week. You can read the previous incarnation of the poem here.

IN SEARCH OF A MISSING CAT

Electric light in a bramble tunnel

that links parts of my geography

in a way I had no idea of until now

All the while I call your name

that little whistle that denotes your dinner

Thankfully the rain has stopped

Strangers offer suggestions

shake their heads

wish me luck

The emphasising beam of the torch

seems to increase the distance

space becomes infinite

I decide to return home

check the house on the off chance

only to discover a sleeping kitten

amid the chaos he has made

of pulled-up carpet and underlay

in the middle bedroom behind the shut door

Pleasingly there was not much to change. In the fourth stanza "spaces become infinite" has changed into "space becomes infinite". Most discussion centred on the word locked and how much it was different to shut. The bedroom door had been shut not locked. The word shut carries less negative connotations than locked. The poem is now complete. Thank you Secrets.

Here's Murray Head with Affair Across a Crowded Room.

Until next time.  

IRON FILING SPARKLE

The Secret Poets observed of this post's poem that it need the consequences of the indoor fireworks described. You can read the previous versions here and here. 

INDOOR FIREWORKS

Undeniably the box held promise

a sun bleached label with wonky grammar

overprinted with geysers of bright light

Reality was something different

A splutter of iron filing sparkle

a brief magnesium flare

the half remembered tang of a childhood chemistry set

I open windows onto a still night

the smoke refuses to disperse

as the damp air creeps in

Greasy smears everywhere

grey ash on the three piece suite

stuck to the curtains

The only thing I was grateful for back then

was there were no smoke detectors

to shatter our dumbfounded silence

Some life lessons are best learned early

As you can see the poem is now longer and more descriptive. I'm still not sure I am totally happy with it...

Here's Jacqui Dankworth with a wonderous version of an old standard.

Until next time.