Poetry Blogs (epiphany)
Stephen Gospage on Bob was a cut above his fellow pupils at his new school (2 hours ago)
The Poet Laureate reads his commemorative poem on the 200th anniversary of the founding of the Royal Astronomical Society: BBC ‘Broadcasting House’ 12 January 2020
(Today 13 January, coincidentally the BBC reports the oldest matter from a meteorite 7 billion years in the making. It carries dust grains, ‘star dust’, formed before our worlds existed).
When I heard the lauded Laureate*
Thursday 16th January 2020 10:48 am
i am as a sapling in the shadow of a hundred year oak
try not to breathe, not to stir
i wish to remain unnoticed at the edge of your meadow
here in my solitude
i dare not disturb this perfect silence
inexplicable and deeper than night
nothing casting it
a black shadow wavers in the bright sunlight
it covers the the meadow floor
pulling at my curiosity I am lost in it's mystery
Sunday 16th June 2019 10:44 am
now start breathing,
everything around is around for the same reason.
Catastrophe, catastrophe its all the same feeling
i'm too old to move on, i'm too old to keep dreaming.
When to move on is to grow and to grow is not leaving,
in a promise land we grow, and speak of the same reason
we speak of heaven and hell like they're not the same demon.
Well to move...
Monday 15th May 2017 3:45 am
A black pen, a worm chewing through
wood, waiting for flesh.
Crunching its way through shadow.
Candle wax on skin
setting hard in its way.
A flick of the wrist
and the ink scratch stains.
Trying to find a way
to communicate with vision.
Spew out, eat up, digest, reset.
Calculating the way with mind
set to epip...
Friday 1st March 2013 12:31 am
Shite they say is such a dirty word
It conjures up all sorts of images
Brown, sticky and smelly vestiges
But can you polish a turd
I think you can, it is not absurd
To think you can make something better
To think you can improve the design
To think you can create something new
From something which reminds you of poo
It took a long while for ...
Wednesday 20th February 2013 9:08 am
There are days
that songs are stifled
or the throat hoarse and weary
No more do notes glide softly -
raking leaves strewn across
the littered lawn
their butterfly wings
hung up in the wait
for another sunny day.
There are nights
that stars squander
on unappreciative lovers
roaming listlessly by
a moonlit shore
their brilliant points
Wednesday 16th March 2011 4:48 pm
i will not be scorched
by the flame of another
i shall keep my fire
fueled only by the pure
kindling found deep
within the terrain
of my wooded home
the sun shall bring
enough light by day
and a torch well-lit
shall provide steady
footsteps to tread
the dark by night
[as I search for what
I cannot find or name]
no light save by the moon
on occasion when it
Tuesday 8th February 2011 12:50 pm