I appear to be writing simple, self-explanatory poems at the moment. It is not part of some strategy merely what is bubbling to the surface. This poem is no exception.
My Day
scratching
the parking permit
I
have to ask Ollie the date
and
it turns out
you’re
one hundred today
the
sun still shines
for
now the world goes on
later
as darkness falls
I
will cross Dartmoor
then
I will read
how
the sea is turning to acid
later
still I will toast you
in
clear cold water
You can read about the changing state of our oceans here. The poem is essentially reportage. I wrote it at the end of the day when I was reflecting back on the day's events.
Here's Offa Rex singing The Blackleg Miner. I only heard the album recently, my Decemberists radar must have malfunctioned when the album came out. The song is from the North-East and I first heard Steeleye Span singing it on their debut album. It was made popular by Louis Killen.
Happy shortest day. For me this day has special significance, it feels like the start of the new year. More correfoc photographs this post. I am a sucker for fireworks. An observational poem.
lone man in a car
stopped
at traffic lights
listen
to his music blare
disturb
the day
the
bass beats at my chest
he
looks calm almost bored
amber
to green
he
pulls away
takes
his party with him
As with the last post a pretty straight forward poem. There is something to be said for just writing what you see. The main work comes with the revisions. It's always worth playing about with spacing and exactly where you end lines, carrying an idea onto the next line can alter the pace of the poem.
I came across this concert of Bob Marley from 1979. It's superb. Happy listening.
I'm late posting this week due to the festive season and a trip to Widnes to see family. The photographs are from the Gracia correfoc in Barcelona. It's a celebration of the local saint and I love the bustle and the fireworks. Great fun. A brief poem.
omen
emotions
that turn on a sixpence
boredom
to anger in three seconds flat
life
must be a tricky, a high wire act
coping
with a hair trigger like that
and
i’m wondering
when
my time will come
you
can only look down the barrel of her rage
so
many times before it goes off in your face
I honestly have not got much to say about it as I think it speaks for itself. A good exercise is to just write for a two minutes without stopping and your critical self turned off. Don't reflect on what you are writing just do it and aim to fill at least two sides of paper. Once you have done so then you can flick the switch and engage your critical facilities and try to make something out of your words. It usually yields something.
I'm still in a Leonard Cohen listening space and here he is.
Recently we have started to have our milk delivered in milk bottles just like we used to have in the olden days. Last weekend we were away and decided to put the milk bottles into the freezer. This first prose poem explains why you cannot do that.
I did not realise you cannot
freeze milk in a bottle because milk is at least 85% water which
expands as it freezes cracking the glass and pushing off the foil top
in a frozen explosion
It's one of those poems which are inspired by an image but that do not transcend their connection to that image. I occasionally will use an image to provoke a poem. It can be an effective workshop prompt. However the words usually need to be supported by the image, as in this case.
Sheila’s Poem
1.12.18.
as
brittle as bone china
ever
more fragile
she
tells me what she sees
it
is not my reality
I
welcome her words
attempt
to see her reality
I’ve
known her half my lifetime
so
I can follow the clues
gently
we talk
until
head bowed seamlessly
she
slips into sleep
and
the magazine falls from her
hand
Since I returned from Barcelona I've been listening to a lot of Leonard Cohen. Here he is singing Famous Blue Raincoat, the picture quality isn't brilliant but the music!
