Friday 27 August 2021

THE DAY LAY IN AMBUSH

 


I've been working on this idea for a while. The difficulty was how to lay it out and I settled on a prose poem.

in those days he was expected to wear a suit and tie   over time the act of knotting his tie became a measure   for the thickness   the weave   the stiffness of the silk presented unique challenges   if it knotted easily then it would be plain sailing   if repeated attempts were required to achieve the desired effect then the day lay in ambush

but that was then

that job does not exist any more and he only needs one tie   black   like his suit for funerals

I used to think that difficulty in getting the correct shaped knot on my tie indicated my stress level but I like the idea of it being an omen. 

Here's some old music from the 60s. Painting Box by the Incredible String Band.


Until next time.

Friday 20 August 2021

HIS OWN CALYPSO

 

I have always rather admired Odysseus and his trickster  ways. A man who could not keep his mouth shut until it was absolutely necessary. If you haven't read the Odyssey then you should, if only for it's allegorical tale of a veteran returning home and the difficulties everyone faces.

I mention this because I reference Calypso in the following poem. Calypso ensnared Odysseus on his homeward journey from Troy and kept him in thrall for many years. The poem proposes that the main character is his own Calypso in that he creates his own fantasy to enthrall himself.

he is his own calypso

though he misses the reference

and hates the music

bewitched as he is by his escape plan


there is better than here

where he has failed to make a go of it

this land being cursed

as are all the places he has left behind


but over the hill

up the motorway

lies real promise

everything will be so different 

This next poem is also about the same fictional character.

The Pleasures of Alfresco Alcohol


they do not understand

the beneficence of drink

how it grants distance


smooths out life’s wrinkles

they badger him

and he hides his habit


evenings spent

on park benches

slowly observing


the clouds change shape

a tin of the cheapest Pilsner

warm in his hand

Here is some more vintage Calypso.

Until next time.

Friday 13 August 2021

OUT DISTANCE THE RAIN

 

Thanks go once more to the Secret Poets who could see the shape of this poem so much more clearly than I could. You can read the previous draft here. I have though [all by myself] added a title.

Instagram Post


he was complimented on the rainbow

his photograph deftly captured

the fine graduation of colours


which was due to the large amount of water

that had tumbled from the sky

over such a short period of time


he added an explanation

how the deluge had almost

overpowered the windscreen wipers


he thought of the man in vest and shorts

who attempted to out distance the rain

how his pale pink top darkened


as he panted towards a solitary tree

whose scanty branches

could offer no shelter


There was some confusion over exactly what the narrator was doing with the photograph, why they needed to add a story, were they a journalist? I had not seen them as such. I was thinking they had been refining a story, a tale to tell others, as we all do.

The vision of others can help to improve our work beyond our imaginings. I suppose it's a riff on the old saying "many hands make light work". Something like many poets make for clarity.

Thank you Secrets.

I'm working on a poem that mentions Calypso, the sorceress and the music, so I am leaving you with Roaring Lion from 1938. The song concerns the mysterious conflagration of a number of theaters in Trinidad.

Until next time.

Friday 6 August 2021

HIS PALE PINK TOP DARKENED

 

I am always amazed at how poems write themselves. I take a selection of seemingly random events and somehow they write themselves into a poem. Yes, I know, it is not that easy. There is the mind's selection of the experience/event, the ordering, the adaption into something greater and the hours of revision. But the end product usually surprises me. 

For this poem I should stress I was not the driver.

he was complimented on the rainbow

his photograph deftly captured

the fine graduation of colours


which was due to the large amount of water

that had over such a short period of time

tumbled from out of the sky


he worked on the accompanying story

how the deluge had almost

overpowered the windscreen wipers


his focus always on the man in the vest and shorts

who attempted to out distance the rain

how his pale pink top darkened


as he panted to the supposed shelter

of a tree that became sparser

and less protective with each retelling


perhaps that was the point


Can anyone tell me how to alter the spacing on this new platform? It is, to use a technical term - pants.

Much rain fell last week and my thoughts are with those poor people flooded out. I think we are sleepwalking over the abyss as I write.

By the way the praise for my photographs of the rainbow was made up, as I think you can tell from the actual photographs.



The rainbows made me think of this song by Marmalade. I think it's from 1970.


Here's their other song. Ah, the wonder of psychedelia!


Until next time.