WE ARE THE STARS

Another redrafted poem. I have to thank the Secret Poets for their input. You can see the first version here.
I have been working on the second stanza. The feedback focussed on the unevenness of the original; how it was more concerned with the tightrope walker than the audience. My intention had been to highlight that everyone of us is the star of the show but the spotlights shine on one person-for whatever reason and our triumphs are ignored or downplayed.

An Open Secret

The tightrope walk is an open secret.

Physics explains her graceful stroll:

a taut wire, secured at each end;

tight leather shoes to maximise the friction;

a bent pole held in spread arms

to lower her centre of mass

-which at all times must remain over the rope;

plus a head for heights is all.

So she places one foot after another,

and may or may not look down.

Devoid of those fixed points,

we walk a changing line,

work for the minimum wage

when the zero hour contract decrees.

Few see us when we fall,

or sense the small triumph of a day gone well.

Truthfully we are the stars of the show,

but the spotlights are on her

and we applaud the steady, slow procession.

I think the idea of inserting a line break also helps to balance the poem. As I was saying last post it can be illuminating to play about with layout.
I read once that part of the white noise you see on your television set when you remove the aerial is the aftermath of the creation of the universe. It inspired me to write this:

in the white noise of the television

a message from eternity

red shifting across this galaxy

coming to you through ever expanding space

I may have got the science wrong. 
Here's Annabelle Chvostek jamming.

THE CORRIDORS CONSPIRED

A revised poem. You can read the last draft here.
I must thank the Secret Poets and Juncture 25 for their valuable insights and constructive feedback. 

Another Poem For Christine

Last night you found your way home,

despite the intervening twenty years,

and the fact I've moved more than once.

Of course it was a dream,

the corridors conspired and turned in to walls

and kept us apart, though I walked for miles,

until I awoke with this poem in my head.

Then there was a choice,

stay in bed or write it down.

I chose, in the grey dawn,

to sit in this comfortable room

and write you another poem.

There are a number of changes, most noticeably the line breaks. Layout can really affect a poem and it is always worthwhile playing about with how it looks on the page. 

As you can see from this work in progress layout changes how the reader approaches the poem.

the thick, warm night reverberates with the echo of the music, I carry an amp to their car, they have a hundred and fifty mile return journey, the house concert is now a party, fat, splat raindrops impact on the road as we walk back to your home, bringing the promise of a cooler night

Not sure it is half way there yet. I feel the it is a poem of two halves that may never meet. Watch this space.

Here is some music from a long time ago, back when videos were thought to be cool.

WINGS PRESS ON AIR

Three brief poems about birds.
I was watching a talk by Andrew Hass in which he outlined how he uses his journal to gather material for poems. He suggested that listeners went for a walk and wrote down six observations. The next step was to juxtapose these notes and to see what evolved from doing so.
Needles to say I could not manage all the directions. But I did produce three poems.

Plucked from a rubbish bag,

a white bread with mould playing card.

With practised skill and one watching eye,

the beak cuts the over soft centre.

The card spins,

middle gobbled.

Wings press on air,

then the seagull is half a street away.

These poems are literally what I observed on three short walks last Wednesday.

six lampposts

six seagulls

one perched on each

they all look to the south

there's a turf war happening here

that's beyond this mammal's comprehension

I like the idea that this world holds other stories than those told by and about humans. In this human created environment, birds are living out their own myths and legends.

I hope the story is evident from the way I have written this one.

A Good Score

Targeted.

The protein rich prize

tips over the edge.

Topples.

Hits the road.

Spills life.

Between the relentless cars,

two Magpies feast on another's child.

Sad attempt to add a bird image, even if it is from a different continent

The wondrous Annabelle Chvostek is touring next month. This is a song off her new cd. Personally I can't wait to see her live again.

AN OPEN SECRET

I think there must be an election on here in the UK. I answered a knock at the door yesterday and was asked by a canvasser if the conservative party could rely on my vote. I impressed by her optimism. You would have to be be an optimist to think that a man wearing a Marcus Garvey t-shirt would ever be considered a supporter of a party that has seen the number of food banks soar under its misgovernment of this country. No Marcus was for justice, equality and liberation for all, not just rich people. 

I was discussing poetry with the mighty Oscar Sparrow recently and we were describing our respective creative processes. I was impressed by the metaphor he used of interviewing words for their suitability. My own method seems to be linking different concepts and seeing where it takes me.
This next poem came from a song title that mention a tightrope walker. Once I had the basic idea down all I had to do was research the physics.

A tightrope walk is an open secret.

Physics explains her graceful stroll:

tight leather shoes to maximise friction;

a taut wire, secured at each end;

a bent pole held in her spread arms

to lower her centre of mass

-which at all times must be over the rope;

plus a head for heights is all.

So she places one foot after another,

and may or may not look down.

We walk a changing line,

bereft of the security fixed points grant,

few see us when we fall,

or sense the small triumph of a day gone well.

Truthfully we are the stars of the show,

but the spotlights are on her

and we applaud the steady, slow procession.

Now an older poem that I have been revising:

Selfie in Black and White

The Magpie told me,
the purpose of this life was to choose.
I want to tell her I'm in it for the poems,
but she knows that already.
So I look at some old photograph,
black and white me,
and decide it's the percentages that count.

Still a work in progress I think.
Here's Burning Spear singing Marcus Garvey.

And here's the whole classic album.

THE QUICKEST ROUTE

The following poem unfurled as I wrote it and headed in a different direction to what I expected, not an uncommon occurrence. The germ of the poem had been an image of discovery. The idea of, by chance, seeing a person in a totally unexpected setting and the conclusions that we draw from this sighting. The end came unexpected as I wrote the first draft.
The difficulty was to get the language of the observer just right. The person talking to the narrator had to be speaking colloquially, there is something about that relaxed speech pattern which type casts the person. I wanted to imply that they were untrustworthy, omitting as many facts as they were saying the narrator.
As usual the title is to follow, when I can think of one.

He tells me that I have to understand the circumstances.

It was the quickest route to get from his new flat

to the cheap plumbers merchants, the one by the railway,

the most obvious, the logical way, economical.

He was not spying on his estranged wife,

I am asked if he looks like a stalker?

Anyway, there he was, driving down her street, slow like,

because of the traffic, and it's near a 20 zone,

when he clocks that bloke from the garage, Wayne,

walking down his wife's side of the street,

two doors away as if he's just left her.

Wayne must have at least recognised the car,

he's serviced that for the last three years,

but he was blanked, and Wayne kept on walking.

Mind you he confides,

Wayne's face told the story, guilt written all over it.

I am asked if I know what this means.

I nod, dry mouthed,

grateful he had not cruised by a minute before

and seen me putting my key into her front door.

Does it work? I am not sure. I do not want to give the impression that Wayne has been to see the estranged wife. How he happens to be on the street at that particular time is a mystery. It doesn't matter. I want the ex-husband to miss the point. 
Anyway here is a brief poem.

Dubai Blues

this is a city in need of sleep

you can see it in the eyes of the service people

who are forced to feed the furnace of the machine

all their waking hours

you can walk the glittery malls

buy stuff for weeks

and miss this simple truth

The photographs continue to bear no relation to the text.

Here's a track from the new Sufjan Stevens lp. I've only heard it once but it sounded up to his usual excellent standard.

GUEST POST: THE ENGLISH SISTERS

I  am delighted to have The English Sisters  write a guest post. They specialise in stress management and their book Stress Free in Three Minutes is well worth reading. It offers tips that we all can benefit from. Enough from me.

LEARN HOW TO BE STRESS FREE

Words fascinate us, they always have.

Some words appear to be more fascinating than others.

Osmosis is one of those words that brings about great delight in us.

If you look up osmosis in the dictionary you will see that it has two meanings. The first; a process by which molecules of a solvent tend to pass through a semipermeable membrane into a more concentrated one and the second meaning; the process of unconscious effortless assimilation of ideas knowledge etc. It is the latter that really excites us.

You see, we all learn so much through the flow of osmotic action otherwise known as unconscious assimilation.

This is how we learnt how to speak our mother tongue and how we learnt helpful patterns of behavior and it’s also how we learnt those patterns of behavior that are not so helpful to us. The one's that cause us daily stress.

If you were fortunate enough to grow up in a tranquil and serene environment, where both your parents knew how to manage their stress levels, then through the process of osmosis you too will most probably have assimilated wonderful ways of reacting and coping with stress and stressful situations.

If this was not the case, then the exciting news is that you can learn how to be stress-free in as little as three minutes.

In order for you to do this you have to take a deep breath and access the relaxation response within you, which is the exact opposite to the stress-response where worry and anxiety reside.

It may sound difficult to you, if you are feeling stressed right now, however we assure you, you will find it’s as easy as faking a big wide yawn.

Take a moment to fake a big wide yawn now. Allow the muscles around your eyes to relax and enjoy the feeling of your body being soaked up in warm sunlight or whatever you prefer.

It could be your favorite color expanding throughout every cell in your body, a warm bath, or doing wonderfully at your favorite sport; you decide.

You see, your unconscious mind has the ability to allow you to relax and access well-being through the process of osmosis.

You can begin to observe how a flower dances in the wind or how a leaf falls to the ground silently from the nearest tree.

You may begin to notice peaceful moments throughout your day making you mindful of your thoughts and allowing you to melt thoughts that stress you, away.

Bring into your mind a sense of loving peace that comes with knowing that you are a creative being and that you can access peace of mind at any time. It’s simple, simply fake a big yawn and as you do, recall all your favorite thoughts.

Allow these thoughts to cascade into your mind and as you go through them one by one, you may begin to smile. It’s that same smile that you learnt through the process of osmosis a long time ago, when you smiled for the first time…

Keep that smile in your mind at all times and watch how those around you thrive.

If you want to know more then you can read their blog here.

FASHIONING WORD NECKLACES

Recently I was asked why I never enter poetry competitions. I hadn't got an answer, after some thought I replied that this blog acts as a conduit for my work. It is an effective means of reaching people and that, after all, is what its about. So thank you for reading this.

A poem about creation. It is dedicated to the great Oscar Sparrow, a poet of note, of great skill and beauty, that sadly we do not hear enough from at the moment. You can read his blog here.

for Oscar Sparrow

Like us, they speak their words on paper,

it is possible they take longer in the choosing

than these you now read.

Each is carefully selected for sound,

shape, and something only the author is aware of.

Naturally their verse will passport them to the centre.

We are on the outside, beyond the margins,

breathing life into metaphors,

fashioning word necklaces

to decorate our World Tree.

Next a vignette that is half true.

So here I am, sat in this nearly empty pub,

and he's talking about Friday night discos.

How he would come here hoping to bed a foreign student,

to be her brief exotic, erotic interlude.

We've both seen better days, he confides,

but back then this place had class.

I think every poem is composed of the real and the imagined. We draw on life and from inside and fashion these word necklaces.

Here's Oscar reading.

Post Script:

On Tuesday I am pleased to be publishing a guest post by The English Sisters the authors of a series of best selling books that deal with stress management.