Poetry Blogs (2019)

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River Bells Ringing

the moon behind clouds

confesses her place

her hiding space

till the clouds away

fly startled and fay

like a night bird sleeping

in a peppermint tree

and the river bells ringing

g major and clear

and ringing the changes

and plain bob minor

peals his ranges

deals truth from lies

and the river boat rocking

to the river bells ringi...

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Brisk and colorless,

A pitted husk masks the ceiling,

The green earth rocking back and forth.

Horses halt before the golden trenches,

On this brisk autumn night,

Wind shaking their docile springs.

Your tongue raises to another tone,

Proclamations of the weathered elements,

And places of shadowed glory.

Blackened hands,

Covered in the dirt of yesterday’s...

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And then I feel weak,

And then I get angry,  

And then I get stronger. 

And you really don't have any idea,

And you really don't even know me anymore. 

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There is a type of loss that embodies the feeling of standing still while everything around you is in motion.

This kind of loss stalks memories and preys on helpless moments of joy like a stealthy predator.

It is a cup of sand for a thirst so unbearable;

A full-body dizziness,

Nausea so intense that it hurts.

It is an unnatural fear that paralyzes one’s existence.

There is a loss...

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Is it so messed up that I hold you to your word
Until I bleed for all the times that you lied
I've never broken my word but you always break your own
So save yourself from the poison you poured my glass

You promised marriage but all you gave me was heartbreak
So now I'm here melting into a puddle
Trying to make sense of why you didn't want to stay
Was it me was I not good enough 
Two fuc...

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Breaths escape me, choking on nothing.

The world spinning, a swirl of memories return.

The blood, the pain, the agony.

How my childhood was taken from me.

The bruises, the screams, the silence.

Why me? Is what I ask myself every day.

The truth, the lies, the emptiness.

The way the world turned into a nightmare.

The crying, the sadness, the trouble.

I don’t know wh...

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Write out Loud

I sit in my corner and write by day or night

poetry and prose for people who are out of sight

For three years I have happily written

to eventually have become well and truly smitten

I write to receive the comments of others

many of whom have become sisters and brothers

Some live many leagues beyond the seas

but it is almost as if I can hear them sne...

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It's good to be a woman at 30 years old.

 You can even ask for vodka to be cold.

At thirty you have something to surprise,

And see the excitement in his eyes.

When you are forty he nervously trembles.

 Hundred-year old man with Viagra gambles.

It's good to be a woman at the age of fifty

 Climax has already passed, you are shifty.

It's good to be a woman at the age of sixty.

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How I loathe the fake familiarity

That infests the modern media,

The habit of using diminutives....

Appalling applications of acedia.

Next time a senior police officer is seen

Being interviewed about whatever,.....

Check his first name on the TV screen

It's a fair bet that it's never

The name that he was given at birth

But a baby name excursion -

As if they ...

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Life is fight

Sunday,21st April 2019

Live

and relive

the life full size

and oblige

show no unkindness

with a frown on the face

show goodness with grace

and leave behind its trace

if life is a real fight

never attempt

to deviate

but offer fight

it may pose

and cross

the road for the worst

but counter it first

let the pat...

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Monday Morning – 9AM

He calls the meeting to order

The alligator with the human skin briefcase

Teeth like buzz-saw blades

She raises the first objection

The girl with butterfly wings

Muddy puddles for eyes

The maggot takes the minutes

Slowly chewing the page

Drizzling ink-blood on paper

Smudging ideas

A firefly drifts aimlessly

From subject to subject

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Once was a hare

that in imagination played

who in a cheerful spirit

set about the colored eggs he made

such was the mystery

but be that as it may

he deposited the eggs he laid

least that's what people say

Then children awoke and spoke

in words of wondrous surprise

excited to go hunt the eggs

to which they were apprised

in every niche and nook they...

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WEARING EGG

so you can
read my mind
but not between
the lines
can't know
me
if yourself
isn't seen
throw
mistakes
in my
face
while yours go
without a trace
point out faults
give opinions
and thoughts
done the same
not yet caught
shouldn't
throw
stones
from a
glass home
chip on the
shoulder
will become
a boulder
spite others
cut off nose
find your
own
secrets
expos...

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That sixteen-year-old words 
scratched there in a diary
could bring the two of us here
seems almost supernatural

A spring-evening walk, so like us
the us we were as teens
when you were my first and still my only kiss
as we walked the peaceful parks of home

Now so many years stretch across
a wide valley of unshared experience
squealing and dancing between us
slowly and methodically w...

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Rain was siling down in stair rods on that Tuesday afternoon,

with the river rising higher all the while,

with it brimming on its banks so we predicted pretty soon

that the Ouse’d be a floodplain like the Nile.

It was oozing through the doors and running down the cellar stairs,

like a waterfall that filled the floors with sludge,

and just when you believe that you can start ...

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old men leaving cafe tables emptied
tan stubbled faces worn dinner jackets
brown shoes
big gestures
yelling down the block
to a nod then wave goodbye

old women arms full with morning shopping
pleasant round faces bright colored wraps
brown shoes
wrinkled eyes
telling the stories of ages
to a stranger's conversant smile

--night is never more than a half day away
from lonesome ...

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(Every year on the occasion of my birthday my daughter and I take on a challenge in support of Candlelighters, a charity which supports kids with cancer.  We have abseiled, cycled and rowed a marathon.  This year, because she says I am knocking on a bit, she has set us an easy one - a 20 mile walk along the old railway line from Selby Abbey to York Minster.  If anyone would like to contribute to t...

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I am afraid that I might hurt myself. I am afraid I might fall down on the sidewalk from weathering these inaudible, raging storms called ‘thoughts.’ I am afraid that a rooftop may be more appealing than a stairwell. I am afraid a tangled body may be more beautiful than a body unmarked, because a body unmarked is as scrambled on the inside as a ball of cat-clawed yarn.

And a tangled body is an ...

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Sometimes when I watch the city lights

slowly die to give way for the night,

or listen to songs you wrote about me

as I stand in the backroom window in my apartment,

I wonder if you’ve forgiven me

for all the times I didn’t love you as much

when you were still here with me holding my hands.

I know it has heen a busy couple of months

with everything happening all at onc...

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Sunlight on your skin

Teardrops in your eyes

Reaching down your chin

Hearing out your cries

Tearing me apart

Knowing I’m the reason

For your aching heart

And all I did was offer you a treason.

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there's the tennis player between points
perfecting conservation of energy

(factory/warehouse operatives 
practise comparable economy)

I know
there's the scream of bodies stretched beyond endurance
roars of victory 
if victory comes
we all know well from every bulletin
but the hero of this tale 
has no facial expression
and no response for the baying crowd
only between rounds
...

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I first noticed the village pump some years ago

when there were farms, spreading fields,

a lovers lane, open sky to the west.

Today, I find a maze of habitation,

a settlement satisfied with itself,

taking serenity for granted

leaving such little trace;

a pond of sorts surviving,

crude tyre marks of mountain bikes

bloodied by mud at the bank.

I was frank...

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Hello from the other side,
from protected words, created lights,
as something small,
something right,
distant signal, so hard to recognize.
I don't feel I can...no I can't,
I can't really write tonight.

Hello from the city streets,
purple in the deep, fading lights
with contrast of white on white,
shattered through the dark,
broken in their half,
epitomized.
I am sorry cause I can't.....

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Bipolar one disorder. I did not flinch. Warm and genuine, I liked him right away.

Open mike night. He played guitar. Part of the regular crowd. I had seen him many times, always with a smile.

Beer was good and we talked over the music. It was only our second meeting, yet the conversation flowed with ease. Relaxed and natural.

Been a lawyer he had. But not the "good kind" and he gave me a ...

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Rage

The fractured shards of broken glass, the crash of sirens, the smell of hash

Of pain and hope, intertwined in acid, of mindless rage, the taste of wet grass

I walk in pain, this life a farce. 

Cursed son of Cain, slave to dark arts

To render time, we worms of smoke

For the greatest lie is a tale of hope

To seek truth on a razors edge 

A taste of blo...

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fog condensed 

percolated upon the brows

of fallen kings: 

that we descended like spiral staircases

wherein every step 

suspicion creaks like bone 

sheathed just-so

 we are unknown

a swath of heads 

taken, cackling in the streets 

bobbing in gutters, downwind and downgrade 

before meeting Death; 

pummeled and pestled 

squashed, pressed into mortar, 

d...

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This is an old feeling,

standing by this evening’s field,

these dark rags hanging, strung on wire,

beaks silent and unmoving under a stretched sky.

So which lore or gods apply?

Would it help to free your feathers,

wake thought and memory in cold skulls,

wear a black cape in silhouetted brotherhood?

Should I take up your work?

Am I a familiar to a Norse god,

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In fine feather
steadfast alone
April beauty blooms
Masculine, feminine
in perfect balance
Sun-kissed petals
of satin pink
a vision of majesty
A tree of Magnolia

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Fur coat, no knickers.

No better than she ought to be.

Common as muck.

Too clever for her own good.

Slung out lines to stunt and mould,

ensure she doesn't reach her goals.

Keep her tight inside a box,

locked away from greatness.

Slappers, tarts, MILFs and cougars,

girl next door with Page 3 hooters,

sluts and slags and dirty bitches,

fried egg tits a...

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She was naked, slender, elegant.

Standing before a mirror brushing

her curly natural raven-black hair.
 

She giggled across the bedroom rug

lifted the bed sheet. Slid beside me.
 

The headboard tattooed against the wall

in time with our grunting and gasping.
 

She stretched a hand towards a drawer

where she hid fluffy handcuffs away
 

I took chocolate cake from the f...

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once was a sweet inocent young girl

a young girl who always followed the rules

always listen what was told

never disapointed anyone

but she was never happy

always wanted to fit in

and to be loved and to be popular

honestley she would do anything to fit in

even go to places she shoudnt go

like to that party she didnt even want to go to 

but if that meant fitting in

...

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EASTER MUSINGS                                                              

First warming sun today at last, to follow

cold, sharp winter; new buds start to dress

the land around, to adorn once more after nature’s rout,

stripping down to stark dark shapes summer-green,

winter-grey trees and hedges, belittled still by

funereal firs, blood-flecked holly, brooding yews.

I s...

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There's a forty ton truck

Coming his way

Will he sway out of the way?

Or, does he believe that nothing happens by accident?

Are you on your phone, texting your mate?

Hurrying up so you wont be late

Later, will you scream all alone?

Fall into the opposite of mystic,

Sink into real pain?

Dark river flowing

Through your veins

As you moan

like the animal we are

P...

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THE COLLECTOR

Thou shalt pass the plate of brass

With felt to deaden the ring of coins

Or take the collection

In bag of leather or bowl of wood

Remembering to avert thine eyes

At the widows mite

And the rich man’s notes.

Thou shalt wear a smile

Of indifference

Even unto those who turn their heads

Or pass the parcel quickly to their neighbour

Or over th...

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Poem 74 of 230: ANTHROPOLOGICAL SOCIALISM 

Anthropology -
Wonts, in close study -
Provides students with
A good insight on
Many ways to live.

And students well-read
Are oftentimes led,
Economically,
To Left of Centre -
That happened to me.

With “immigration,”
However, I’m on
The side of all those
Who, questioning “aims,”
Make misled-Left foes.

(C) David Franks 2003 -
Walkaboutsverse...

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She takes her hand off of the door

Doesn’t quite know what all of this is for

Am I going to never want more

She’s silent, mouth and mind

This woman ever kind

And thinks without meaning to

“My life is gone,

All I knew”

And though she fidgets in high heeled shoes

Her hands move to the knob,

Her heart begins to throb

She feels all weak in the knees

Can someone stop...

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When we sit down for tea

you tell me

nothing makes you more happier

than knowing that you’re loved and

being able to share that love

and for a second I panic.

I panic like everyone else

when they come to something

that they don’t understand.

I panic because

the only love I’ve ever known

comes with a whole host of expectations

of who to love

of when to love

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In hordes they teem this eager flock,

to bring libations un-thought all,

some adorned in hard won wealth,

others come in cheaper cloth

to hear sweet music, retailed hymns,

the bright lit windows hypnotized,

they break warm bread that’s offered there

and drip their faith in litter bins 

Elsewhere some cathedrals lie bereft

cold stone ancient edifices,

warmed by wi...

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Aks se poochh baitha dil yeh sawaal:

Kaash kabhi aaisa ho…

Koi miley jot um jaisa ho…

Naye kisi ped ki koi shaakh ho…

Patey naye phool aur nayi saakh ho…

Kamzor dil na koi baat kahe ki chot miley…

Aik aas meri hai ki nayi bahaar ke akhrot miley…

Surkh sebo ki tarah mizaaj haseen honth laal ho…

Door kisi pahadi pe ugi makai ke jaise reshmi baal ho…

Husn itna lajawaab...

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https://wolfgarwords.com/

He sniffed at Miles Davis in his Pompous English way

but doffed his treasured cap to the tunes of Sid Bechet,

who himself was not a stranger to the pulling of a trigger,

though to one as mean as he was he'd have been a lowly “Nigger”

From High windows he could survey other lesser forms of life,

those toads and grubby proles mired in their strif...

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I am a snake charmer

My father was a snake charmer

And his father and all the fathers

Who came before.

I have inherited the gift

Of charming snakes.

I tame them. I make them dance.

People say that I hypnotise them

But they would be wrong. 

I play my pungi 

I breathe in and out

Slowly.

I sway from side to side 

I fix them with my gaze 

But, if truth be told...

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ANNIE

I knew her once

so long ago

loved her

with pride I watched her grow

and slowly blossom -

and now

she's gone from me

cut from my life

a pale face in an album

a frozen memory

all contact broken

Am I now a total stranger

or would she

by some miracle

half remember

that once we interacted

but all that's changed

my supp...

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Conscious of it lurking nearby

a malevolent presence

a sinister hazard

its preliminary attacks 

not entirely unexpected.

Suddenly pouncing, leopardlike

prowling in the high dry grass

masking evil intentions

camouflaged by dappled pelt

ready to spring on its prey.

Where had it been skulking?

Hiding in the woodshed

in a little-used cupboard

inside an ...

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Each one seems to be a grave one to live with.. 
Each one seems capable to reach the conscious zenith.. 
Each one seems to lie as a thorn in the memory... 
Each one seems attenuating and blurry..

Each one seems to last a thousand lifetimes.. 
Each one seems to make one die a million times.. 
Each one seems to be kept preserved as keepsakes.. 
Each one seems to be forgotten as the day brea...

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Who will ever tell or know

the unheard silent echoes

from passing lives laid low:

those ghosts of chanted psalms

once melodious in their praise

lie buried beneath the turf

within walls they helped to raise;

and who can see the cowled monks

whose ghostly whispered prayers

whose canticle or hymn

whispers through the evening's airs -

through the great stone entrance a...

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TOMMY BILLS

I was Fifteen years old and starting my first job. The day itself a blur

Notable for my first instruction, given with relaxed assurance from a giant of a man

Six Foot Six, size 15’s, I’d never seen a man so tall and

Me a schoolboy by comparison. 

‘Pass me those tools,’ he said. Tommy Bills was his name                                           

Built like the prove...

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Lifeless unyielding stone and granite trees

On a concrete earth that scrapes the heel

Stalks of wheat not rustling in the breeze

Half-withered flowers lacking basic will for thrill

Mundane affairs of indifference, vanity and love

Crawling numb, like serpents, bloody on rough soil

Nothing but pyre, lead and water gathering above

And Us, just empty shells enthralled in dull...

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Everything I achieved

Is part guilt

Part coffee

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