Poetry Blogs (Jun 2012)

A Bedroom to Go.......

I rest my tired bones on the posturepedic  pavement, although not quite designed for the human frame, my already aching body moulds itself to the none contours as if laid out prematurely on a mortuary slab.

The cardboard box and flimsy lining of the sleeping bag act as a mattress topper and if only for minute offer me a brief escape into slumber.

I awake numb ...

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Nightly Events

I'm used to sleeping alone at night in my bed. No one there.

I'm used to being unloved and unwanted at night, feeling the touch of a bullet.

I'm used to being forlorn and forsaken, dead inside during dark hours. Inside and out. I'm used to having no lover to get wet and sweaty with, damn hot eroticism. Not in my bed or life.

I'm used to having no one hold m...

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I am not asleep.

Just past half five a.m. I am less than gravetized.

Little white dust, a lust for pure thought, an edge or

some disfigurement. An absolute poem

that will make a freak of time and jazz

is the protagonist aware of the power it holds

on these insane moments

of sniffed muse and

skin dropped silver bombs.

 

Because sometimes I am that child ag...

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(a previous post, excised revised and hybridised)

 

 

Turning

I endured

Her desolate, enormous helplessness

With such a fierce compulsion that it seemed

My very heart must claw out from my breast

And leap the space between us…

But, summoning

A strength from some cold fathom of the will,

Turned back again.

…………………….

And her eyes wen...

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YES! YES! YES!

We got in O2 Think Bigger!

Special thanks to Richard Hawkins of the Autistic Organisation and Sally Carr of Lesbian and Gay Youth Manchester for supporting our application.

With this funding OpenMind will finally be able to roll out our premium video service that's been put on standby for the moment, and also we plan to hold a free to attend open air event in Manchester.

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YES! YES! YES!

We got in O2 Think Bigger!

Special thanks to Richard Hawkins of the Autistic Organisation and Sally Carr of Lesbian and Gay Youth Manchester for supporting our application.

With this funding OpenMind will finally be able to roll out our premium video service that's been put on standby for the moment, and also we plan to hold a free to attend open air event in Manchester.

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Reliable camera

For sale.

Excellent condition

Careful owner.

Used once

Costa Coffee.

Positioned outside

Ladies loo.

Not guilty

Offensive action.

Finger slipped

Human error.

Negative result

I flashed.

Dazzled focus

Automatic rewind.

Strap tightened

Hidden away.

Alleged crime

Fled scene.

Handed form

Railway statio...

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Woody Guthrie's birth centenary is almost upon us (July 14) and it's time to deal with some uneasy feelings America's favourite folk song has always stirred in me. As a spoken piece my take on This Land Is Your Land ends with a change of tone and pace in the last line, which looks a bit flat on the page, working best in performance - when it can be followed by singing (reflectively rather than ...

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(I've never written a poem of this type before. I feel this a feeble attempt. Its audience is children. It came out of a workshop I attended. Your comments, impovements and criticisms would be more than appreciated)

 

Grody Hurlothrumbo

 

Grody Hurlothrumbo,

blobber lipped and yellowed,

stomps into my bedroom at night.

Repulsive and repugnant,

she scares me in fr...

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(An old post mais nous sommes ici encore)

 

 

I wish I was in St Palais

Where shards of sunlight teem

In the cool Atlantic breeze of

Charente-Maritime;

Where the black kites fly

In a cloudless sky

Like a sultry, Gallic dream,

Where fishermen’s sheds

Tend the oyster beds

In Charente-Maritime.

 

I wish I was in La Palmyre

            By ...

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Words you ever say

stir my listening depths.

Adding pinches of ecstasy

I breathe them out from my love

reshaped  delicacies

for your unreeling consumption

sultrily winding in and out

taking each in turn

to be slowly,soulfully digested.

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Hi everybody

 So I have written a trilogy of poems based on the subject of communication. I have rather inventively decided to call them The Communications Trilogy.

 The first on the Trilogy is Television, whilst I am someone who is generally pessimistic about the media and government and don't really believe a word of what we are told, I do suffer from a subconscious paranoia. Beaten i...

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  Need I be obliged to suffer that ditch,

that rancorous spoil, suppurating sump,

cankerous London? Some oiled exec’s pitch

lumps this bilge on our T.V. screens – a dump

 

of slack, hoaky, lacklustre Olympic

filler if ever - and I’m meant to care?

(On that score, re: ‘The Smoke’ – I’m in the sticks

here, glad hundreds of relieved miles from there!)

 

It’s...

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I need to love you...

 

Imagining love, I was spring on your skin,

when the folds of dawn dressed with honey

devoured my body again and again

my desire flourishing breathless only imagining you

 

Wishing to live in your lips, a wave of pleasure

I desire to lose myself in your fire

and baring your kisses

in the impenetrable silence of your feelings

...

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                                                            Train Tracks                        

 

 

 

Does his reach exceed his grasp?

Or her grasp exceed her reach?

Are the meams presented daily –

Stopping Each, their choice?

     Should it matter?

 

 

            Choices!

                        Like restrictions of marbles

Placed bluntly, ...

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Slow down you drive to fast

 

Dave from Darwen was racing down the M65,

Going soo fast and lucky to be alive.

He was pulled over by a cop who was ready for his break,

Hankering for his coffee and a piece of carrot cake.

"Hope you've got a good excuse for going so fast,

I looked at my speedo and was truly aghast."

"Well,years ago my wife ran away with a cop,

T...

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This is a poem that was written by an old friend of mine called Paul Nunn who I have a long music association with. He heard some of my performance poetry and asked if I would record this one. It is my pleasure to have done so.

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Everywhere the murmur of departure, seeking a new fortune.

I go where Eternity becomes the verdant field of  Space.

I'm a pilgrim through the path of the time, under the rain,

I walk, the naked feet on a path of thorns.

 

I want to be a man who goes with the sword of Justice,

Against the thunder of tyranies, and the flood of corruption.

 

Everywhere the murmur of...

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A SPORTING HEART Feet bite down And all around, the roar. Expectations are high Hands reaching for the sky. And yet my heart is still. Feet pounding, resounding Each step a moment in time. A memory begun Beneath the starting gun. And yet my heart is still. Competition is tough Will he have enough. Or will the devil of defeat Be-still his aching feet. And yet my h...

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'ThePoetry Spoke'

Great poetry and acoustic music

This Tuesday - 26th June- doors open 8pm

 

La Gondola

22a Liscard Crescent

Wallasey- The Wirral

CH44 1AE (a stones throw over the Mersey from Liverpool)

Check us out in the gig guide...

 

Our Guest Poet

'David Subacchi'

David's poetry was born in Aberystwyth into a family with strong Italian root...

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I wonder if the elders look

For patterns in this bubbling brook.

The swirls of life and repetitions,

Destroying the greatest of ambitions.

 

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Doe-eyed woodland artistry glows
oh, how you hide your face away
I give and give to you
investment in a broken thing
once-grateful hands grab more and more

There is a sickness of mind
a blackness and a spoilt heart
where blame is always searching
and mirrors cannot exist
once-blooming thoughts crush more and more

Pushing on the posts that held you up
you’ve pushed too hard this final time
the string of res...

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Tap, tap,tap

Concentration

Inspiration is your aspiration

You hear nothing but your own thoughts

I’m wasted and watching

Drinking and inhaling

the cruel comfort it gives

Living the low life with you

 

© Katy Hughes 2012

 

 

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Only connect – a line, a lead, a link

Lassoing together disparate entities

As seamless as a maths-made Moebius strip

Constructible, yet with a vital twist:

 

Where, instantly, inside and outside, meld

Surprisingly, into a single surface

And so it is with us, the so-called self,

The side the world sees: epidermis.

 

And the inner, secret self, the soul, wh...

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Trees hide temple and given altar

Bride my foolish brother , my foolish sister

Merlin and his queen lady

she says thy spells

Seeks your secrets

Hide the light   and the steps  to his old Earth

 

Hand on lake

Let me touch the ice

Darkling grail 

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I recently posted a poem on youtube

 

http://youtube.com/darbspoetry

 

enjoy, i'll b posting more soon

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For My Brothers.

 

There are days in your life when you need to be still,

No need for excitement you don’t need that thrill,

When the quiet is everything, silence and calm,

No want for disruption, no want for alarm.

 

There are days in your life when that need is profound,

When your feet are both seeking the sanctified ground,

Where lips full and rounded are ...

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E-Fail

 

You sent me

flowers as an

attachment

to my work email

account.

 

It wasn’t

quite the

romantic

gesture

I was

looking for.

 

I replied

with a

JPEG of a

dump.

 

I never

received

a postmaster

failure

email

so you must have got the message.

 

From my new book - 'Working Extra Hours Ha...

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We are delighted to enclose your travelcard
which will grant you entry to

Strap-hanging gymnastics
Competitive carrying of dogs and children
Endurance on the Northern Line
And the forty-metre scramble up the left-hand side of the escalator

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Oh, God! Give me the strength to forgive

Even when I was not forgiven,

No one to humiliate or to offend

Even when I was humiliated or offended

Give me the wisdom to be always fair,

Teach me to fly and not to be scared,

Not to be indifferent to the neighbors,

But to live and create for world's favors.

If I doubt to ask my heart for advice

As my heart ne...

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Four days after I wrote this, the following article appeared in the Daily Telegraph:-‘A train company blamed “the wrong sort of passenger” for the problems some had in reaching London for the celebrations.’

 

The Wrong Sort of Train

 

We’re sorry the trains are not running you know

Tomorrow we hope they’ll be fine

But nature has dealt us a sad autumn blow

There...

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A factual attack on global banking. NON party-political.

 

Lately, I’ve done a lot of research,

I found the chief cause for inflation,

Why there is never enough money,

Yet more unemployed in our nation.

 

Have you not wondered why it should be

That most countries owe huge deficits?

Where did all this money come from?

It’s a puzzle to challenge all wits.

...

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Dad’s Visits

My dad loved to visit people we hardly knew.

He took me to meet a German living next door to

My granddad, so that I could practise the language.

Dad chatted about cars and Ipswich football team

Avoiding all mention of the war,  

While I sat in silence.

 

My brother’s teacher bought a cottage

In the same village as my Aunt Flo and so

One Sunda...

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A couple of years ago, some bright

spark came up with the idea of plastering

quotes from Larkin’s poems inside

the blood-clot red buses that rush around

 

Hull. It was some sort of back-handed

attempt to pay tribute to his legacy. It’s

Tuesday morning, and I’m off into

town to try and convince someone

 

that I’m worth every penny. To my

left sit...

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All his things are around here, in the wardrobe and in the drawers

The man himself has gone

But all his things are here

 

Don’t put your things in that drawer, that’s drawer’s already in use

But it’s full of the things of a dead man

And he’s no longer here.

 

It’s cold out tonight, so very cold, so why don’t you use this scarf?

It’s the scarf of a dead ...

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I've travelled  down the major highways

To self-important places;

And I've spent my time in minor byways,

Meeting much-loved faces,

 

But no matter where I choose to roam,

I end up at the start,

Always finding my way home

To the back streets of my heart.

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Attend the church summer fete;

tombola and a silver band,

lucky dip and discarded books.

Bike along the restored canal.

Nurture your own, make do and mend;

hark again to the vinyl.

 

Sell the car, return to Scarborough,

watch cricket on the green, 

Wander aimlessly in the garden

as leaves swirl about in the wind.

For all the money is gone;

life won't be the same...

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And Lo!

It did wither and die,

And fade into the west,

And diminish, 

Inexorably,

Into the sound of one arsehole...

 

 

Crapping.

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Anger consumes me

Eats my soul like a cancer

Self inflicted hell

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It seems too unlikely.

Little girl, pink frock, barefoot

wandering through a glade

following a peacock.

 

There’s no-one with her.

Just this sapphire creature

at her side.

 

Putting down our sandwich lunch

worried, we approach.

“Where is your mummy?”

The peacock disappears.

 

“Over there” she gestures

unconcerned.

Tells us he...

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I feel there is far too much levity

Regarding men's size and longevity,

When the hormones are rife

Have a word with the wife,

With luck she will curtail this brevity.

 

Nick Clifton

16 June 2012

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Once you had your images.

Cardiac tamed by the smile

behind the name.

 

Secrets that you’ve

hymn drawn

to your later

arrow eyes.

 

You are my pen

after the punishment.

 

Once you had your heart,

But it came out garbled.

 

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For I will praise my father

for his giant frame

that once dwarfed me

as an oak tree

dwarfs a flower;

and for his big hands,

sure and strong,

and for the blue

sea secret of his eyes;

and I will praise him again

for the work he did

and the back

he bowed to feed me;

and more for the songs

he never sang,

and those he kept

to kindle

...

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GRIZZLY

 

Outrageous outbursts of Victorian values imposed upon the young cub.

His irreverent ranting relates a sepia shaded childhood that didn't exist.

"The kids of today don't know how it was. They don't want to know!"

He leans forward in his chair and bellows again.

"Bloody hoodies and girl gangs. What's the world coming to?"

 

"You didn't fight in any war ol...

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