A MODERATE COASTAL EVENT

Well, Liz Truss has become a pub quiz question and the tories have avoided letting their members have a vote on the next Crime Minister. The rest of us, the majority, have no say. The death cult staggers on putting its own needs before those of the country...

I was in Portugal while all this was happening. I had a short break in Lisbon, a city I know and love. This first poem is about the weather holding up the plane.

a moderate coastal event over Spain

leaves us static on Bristol runway

the plane doors open

in the interlude three cabin staff

begin the emergency exit dance

to a pre-recorded soundtrack

we all continue to look at our screens

Some poems take on a life of their own, others are favourites because they are fun to read or provoke a reaction. Other poems simply mark an event. This week's post has two of these.

after the event

mangled umbrellas

dot the marble square

steampunk jellyfish

While I was in Lisbon I attended a couple of concerts. This was unexpected, but Lisbon is a city of music. I saw Mariana Dalot, she was excellent. I leave you with a song.

Until next time.

 

THE GOLDEN HARE SINGS

Last week I spent an enjoyable afternoon walking around the British Art Show 2022 in Plymouth. I know the majority of readers of this blog live in America but as Liz Truss has managed to tank our economy and bring Sterling to an all time low, you may be able to afford to visit. Let's face it we Brits will all be on our uppers if this insane tory death cult is not replaced...

The Home Secretary has resigned citing her opponents as the Guardian-reading, tofu-eating wokerati- hey! She means me! I read said newspaper, I eat tofu and I thoroughly detest this [unelected] government. 

Let's return to saner topics. At the exhibition one installation that caught my attention was by Oliver Beer and explored the relationship between sound and space. The installation was divided into three parts and represented his grandmother, his mother and his sister. He has taken objects that were significant to them and miked them up to reproduce the notes they produce. The effect is rather similar to an orchestra tuning up. My attention was caught by a golden hare. 

in this space for true notes

the ones the everyday world hurries by unheard

we await the golden hare to sing

when it arrives

it is as sonorous as you would expect

and is over before you realise

so you wait again

Once again I am breaking my rule of not showing very new poems. I think it works in relation to the installation, but you really need to know the background for the poem to be understood.

Here's Iron And Wine's first album. It is a haunting work of art.

Until next time.

NO WISER THE SECOND TIME

Greetings from a member of anti-growth coalition, we do things differently here, we value people and animals, we want to conserve and respect the environment and we definitely do not think libertarian lunacy will save us. No, we are too old for that, seen it before, didn't like it in the 70s, 80s, or the 90s or even when it was repackaged as Austerity. Honestly you have to laugh at this government or you would cry at how inept they are.

Here's a poem about my own history. Recently I was in a workshop and we had to write about where we were from. I wrote this.

I am from the waters of the Mersey

dried on the black sand of Ferry Hut

gifted an accent both ancient and indelible

I am from Kingsway Secondary Schooled

to be the fodder of the factory

for a mechanical age slipping into history

I stopped at that point because I felt after the second stanza I'd left where I had grown, moved to the other end of the country and did different things. Does it work as a poem? I hope it makes people look up what Ferry Hut is...

A short poem next that was prompted by my watch being fast.

then I realised my watch was fast

and I had ten minutes of my life to spend again 

I was no wiser the second time

It is what it is. Would any of us make better choices? I think the path we take is the path that we need to take, but there again my life has been easy.

Pollyanna has a new single out Man Time.  

Until next time.

A FACE HALF GLIMPSED

I have been struggling this week with ideas that have [so far] led nowhere. Life can be like that. I mean who would have thought this time last week that on Wednesday I'd be branded an enemy of enterprise? But that's how the latest [unelected] Prime Minister referred to all people who happen not to be right wing libertarians. But enough of the tory doomsday death cult.

Here's a rewrite. I am compiling a new collection and revising poems as I go. You can read the earlier version here.

Disinfestation

before the house sale was agreed

buyers demanded the ghosts be removed

so contractors were appointed

the workers arrived to divest the property

loading reluctant spectres into sealed skips

driving them away to wherever unwanted memories languish

that ambushing taste on the tongue

a face half glimpsed in the crowd

the 4am telephone that rings and rings and rings

As you can see the poem is more compact and now composed of three stanzas. I think it more effective. If you would like to know more about my new collection contact me.

I've been listening to a lot of Fela Kuti this week. He was a man who had to deal with a series of unreasonable governments.

Until next time.