LIPPY WITH WINE

Another revised poem this post. Thanks again to the Secret Poets [and Zoom] for their invaluable input.
The poem has also gained a title [thanks to Chrissy Banks]. You can read previous draft here.

Abroad

He sat down at the next table,

began editing papers

written in neat long hand.

We were holiday lax,

lippy with the wine.

The freedom of being in another country

had set us talking ten to the dozen.

Suddenly it occurs to me

he could be writing down our every word,

for he’s turned the paper over

and is scribbling hell for leather.

I wonder if we’re worth such an effort.

As we stand to go for the bus,

he packs up and shoulders past,

into the rain and the twilight.

I removed two words and it reads better.

Removing a word and seeing if the poem still reads well without it indicates that the word may be superfluous to understanding of the poem, though sometimes they remain because of metre [though not much in my work].

I've been listening to lots of jazz [no change there] but here are Tinariwen.

Until next time.

NO JANE AUSTIN CHARACTER

A poem about social distancing, or as Billy Bragg was advocating the other evening, spatial distancing. It was inspired by how the pandemic has changed my wife's behaviour. Usually she would pick up cans and other rubbish lazier people had dropped in the street. She does not do this now. Though thankfully there is less about. 
Anyway her behaviour led me to write this.

not so long ago

she would have picked up that bottle

the morning after merry makers had dropped it

along with all the other litter

scattered by the thoughtless

now she leaves it be

keeps to herself

he concentrates on keeping his distance

no jane austin character

was ever more precise

they pass

he raises his hat

they do not speak

he double checks the space between them

If I am honest I do not understand the mindset of people who simply drop what they no longer need in the street. Seems alien to me. Lazy. 

Here's a video of Anna Ternheim.

Until next time.

BESPOKE WORDS

Another revised poem this post. Thanks to the Secret Poets via Zoom for their thoughts and feedback- a joy as ever.
You can read the first draft here.

my life in letters

for me bs and ds were interchangeable

one letter and its reflection I could fit wherever

this practice marked me a slow learner

word blind and spelling remained a mystery

my mothers advice to break

down difficult words baffled me

for I never said them

like they were spelled

the thesaurus became my life preserver

as I looked up words of similar meaning

and hoped what I required was waiting patiently

amid the ranks and columns with its friends

the spell check facility of middle age

enabled spellings to be puzzled out

different combinations chanced

until the red underlining went away

secretly I still suspect those people

who demand rigid spellings

who fear the world of bespoke words

tailored to suit that unique moment

The second stanza has changed and there are changes to the second line of the last stanza. Now I think that line reads [and speaks] better.
The second stanza may not quite be there, watch this space.

Here's Shelagh McDonald.

Util next time.

THE DOOR DID NOT SHUT ITSELF

I have been revising more than writing this week. I believe that we have to experience before we can write and we all need time to charge up the memory banks. 
Here are a couple of interlinked [by virtue of being started on the same day] poems from a brief trip to France last December. You can read the originals here.
I was not happy with the second poem because when I came to look at it again I did not think it told its story clearly.

Île de Batz

the sea has removed itself

in the dirty bay the upright boats are patient

the sea wall

built by hand in my grandfather’s day

speaks of a winter tide

gestated mid-Atlantic

angry impatient

no laughing matter

2.

they have to have a second go

surprised the door did not shut itself

disbelieving that the mere act

of pulling it towards them was insufficient 

The first has lost a line that described the sea wall and is the better for it. I have also changed the spacing to try and set the scene with the first two lines before moving on to focus on the subject of the poem.

Here's the Mountain Goats, you can order their new album from Bandcamp. 

Until next time.

AN HOUR OUT OF TIME

 

 Another poem about those special moments of insight this post.
If you have not seen William Blake's etching then you are in for a rare treat.

Spit bite is another term for etching, you can read about it here.

an hour out of time

I could almost taste the past

with those colours on my tongue

that music on my skin

I was infinity, the shortest line

on William Blake’s copper plate,

an acid burned, spit bite etching,

at liberty to walk between the spaces of the world.

I have talked before about how much I value those times, however brief, when you can see the world anew. 
Here's Laura Marling.

Until next time.