Poetry Blog by Adam Whitworth

By the blown career of the butterfly
perfection proves immaterial.
By long seasons of slow-motion descent
blossoms falling widen the obvious
open door; rusty hinges can be heard.
By what uncanny proximity
is the threshold always here?
Look for no cities, no computers, no
awesome parade of gadgets passing through.
A humble starling about to show the way
now loses herself in murmurati...

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Choose
as if there is no fate.
Choose long straight hair
like a long straight road
from here to there.
Choose the easy life
however hard it may be.
At the last minute as at the first
as if the duelling pistols are identical.
As a baby turtle rushes
into the sea or into a wall.
Choose.

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1.

'Clack'. 

A kid throws a stone.

It hits a post in the garden
     the post the kid was aiming at.

The hours of practise!

Annoyed neighbour-
     Distractions arise 
Another kid to play with-
          like stories 
The call in for tea-
               in a dream.
When you wake again

'Clack'
     'Clack!'
You can beat your record.

     Summer passes
a kid reali...

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He's been around the world, and so
sums up every other fella
according to an occult system of his own.

And you.

Thousands of times you were tested
according to the arcane system
you had little interest or belief in.

In those times- it seemed right- you did your best.
He was your father after all.
He had his system.

And You. Uncategorised.

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My dawg has got the blues.
Surely must be a sad tale
ready to make me cry.
Lord! Lord! Lord!
Dog's got the goddamn doggone blues.
Got to be some kind of answer
and spirits again leaping high.

But here's a sorry, sorry man
a small gittar in his hayand.
Just the same wherever he go
all across this heap o' land.
And when he grow so weary 
stripped of consciousness,
he sees not one...

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Where the heart is, that's the place to be.
In a nutshell, if you're looking for me, 
I'm in.
So many voyages made around my room.
But if I'm called for another journey,
I'm in.
All through the bright, bright sunshiny day
personal engagement will guarantee
I'm in.
As enthusiasts banging pots by night
applaud the NHS of the country
I'm in.
And the in-crowd is no longer elite
a new...

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As though the rain were already falling.
As though the unequalled good had already done
as they should, their easy golden sunlight
showering upon the fields.

As though the tower was already lightening-struck.
As though hands will do no other than rebuild
one another, their artistry brighter
for having been so long hid.

Dawn has drained the shadow from the mountain.
As if a gamble...

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She had that dream again:
Solution found! Everyone celebrate!
Thus, supremely happy, she awoke.
But walking the boundary 
that could not be crossed,
the leaf and flower carrying stream
disappeared into the ground.
As seconds passed the precious discoveries 
she'd recorded reverted to indecipherable code.
Look now to eager friends approaching-
but tricks of light and shadow.
She was crue...

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      I'd spent an eternity 
constructing my dream home.
Today I began to wonder
who it is suitable for- certainly not me.
A  bee, unaware of a way out, finds it by chance.
I began to cross the road...pity me
it's always from the side you're not looking
-the inside-
the speeding truck descends upon you.
      Well, here I am waking up 
after total oblivion, no problem at all.
No worries...

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My pirouette mistaken
I collided with something solid
whatever pride might have been about
to announce skittered from my head
projected scenarios often fail 
to reach fruition this way
being plucked from a daydream
perhaps it's for the best

So much for zen flesh
what of zen bones?

The poet asks the reader
together they might reach further
the song and the listener
to make the...

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eyes like red-hot lasers 
withered all they saw
at that time
speech was reserved for criticism
children bathed in a toxic stream 
while the generation grew 
to understand the way of their world
choking on the air of disapproval
some level of depression was inevitable
but true to their nature
they were not convinced by their state
a window onto another world
had been glimpsed or ru...

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Look over the heads of the crowd to see
just where the eager throng would direct thee
                                                                                             if it could.

Look again at the cloud in headlong rush
just think, would it take all eternity
                                                                        if it could? 

Don't fret, so sl...

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The old women are weaving
flags to wave over our land,
good for scaring birds
as harvest time comes around.
They could just as well weave
a scarf for each man or wraith
who has to leave them cold
as wartime comes around.

They wove the fine threads
colours of joy and plenty
that long forgotten enmities
somehow increase upon.
They wish just to be weaving
soft caps for bonny babes
...

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We all long to send off
a message in a bottle.
At last we have the chance...

In this peculiar state
we do things differently.
All this year we note a close communion 
between the living and the dead.

We could ask our redeemers to send help
but who could deliver so far?
The sailors who chance to find this-
it is we who might help them.

What vital signs are worth recording for them-
...

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But they do, they do
and blackbirds leaving a treetop 
haven't felt the need to ignore you.
Reed heads gathered by a riverbank
do not criticise your mood.
A silver moon won't laugh at your conduct
and the sun seeks only to remain your friend.
I can but give advice you already know-
Don't wait for the time they greet you in words.
To move on from this impasse
return here when you can...

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I heard again today
poets must compete
in competition they grow stronger
I must look up to those
who stand on the bodies of the slain
still I persist in prizing
a few drops of ink to the broad page
anonymously given
as from every cordon of the vinyard
for a wine daily imbibed

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a midlands town where the roots prove thin
calloused thumbs casually point out
long dusty roads straight to the expanse
and sky over sea doesn't disappoint
here unbounded power could concentrate
in one bolt of lightening to the heart
knowledge inspiring yet not frightening 
horizons indistinct no inch closer
become much more familiar with staring
and somehow the inevitable falling of...

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He doesn't ride anywhere
not a flying horse 
or one fashioned in gold
he has walked these hard streets
apparently every day
have you seen him?

Too shy to sing out
no will to write
no telling his past or future
he stood where doors were closing
and still when lights went out
who knew?

Not recognised in the mirror
nor noticed in the dream
he has taken clouds for his friends
a...

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Piece of our shattered new moon
one of our untold names of love
murmurate across the sky
this day and that for this one and that one 
who have a view
but for now settle in my tree
common garden variety
plain brown coat
your movements obscured
in leaves and leaf shadows
your stillness declares
approval of my thin-drawn lines
your movements obscured
in leaves and leaf shadows
alert com...

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During ages like this 
there is a cloud about next week.
Windows don't quite work;
the streets of celebration are quiet.

A sleep-walker, wishing his lines would rhyme,
would find consolation in wasting time.
As one shaken awake thinks of nothing
but recalling his dream and it's meaning.

jupiter's red spot is or is not 
in it's last throes
the great storm one human life 
is just...

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It can so happen
    love finds itself
        in deep water...

breaking the surface
    no more than a fearful face....

still hoping for that saviour
    a kind word
        a gentle touch.

If you or I were supposed to be that saviour
    might we find the word, 
        the soft touch?

Easily-bruised love will 
    accept nothing less
        though confronted with the ...

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Ran to exhaustion from the world as known,
found a wild wood where a dreamer should pause.
Sui generis flew an owl of comfort,
for this high mercy I pledge you my heart.

By the song of the moon and the world's cry
shepherding we two closer still-
where the corn is ground for the evening feast,
hear me pledge again my whole heart to you.

Stories of love told over and over
make futur...

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chess fans
set 'em up again
expect the worst
a time of crisis reconstituted
a time of crisis not the end is nigh
make a fortress of a piece of wood 
one of the lost boys would tell you
prepare to have your every move questioned
and found wanting
the best you'd always aspire to
but sometimes good enough can do
the unseemly mingling of positive and negative  
is it dark stripes on l...

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A huge effort for a meagre reward.
Does this practical definition 
of poetry discourage? It shouldn't 
if the benefit gained can be achieved
no other way.
First, to even understand the language,
we move away from the centre.
If we stay around the centre our language 
will be that of quotidian advertising and pop songs.
So we embark on an endless journey, it's quite natural.
It's a j...

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Here's an alpaca with your name on it
fur as soft as the ear of a rabbit
bounding between the lines of a sonnet
all for the sake of love.

An' if this crazy camelid runs away
the green grass of Kent leading him astray
you just whistle him home- it's your birthday
all for the sake of love.

In the name of love, for the sake of love
just whistle an' he'll come bounding for love
with...

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I'm loving learning from people 
but wouldn't dream of teaching them lessons.
Strange how they improve me yet
I wouldn't change them in any way. 
I'm not looking for the best way forward
just a way forward. Everybody needn't agree
or God forbid, all concur with me.
Although as far as ever from Utopia
progress is surely being made.

Thunderous footsteps. Giant, giant footsteps
rever...

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something like an eye charmed them 
down from the sky
twenty-four Canada geese jostling
petrified gods and unicorns
around a garden pond

the boldest took the plunge
and all hell broke loose
fortyeight wings fought for space
resembling a spitting cooking pot
our birds boiled alive for goose stew

the bad artist originally concieved,
his faery-tale landscape growing with each step...

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I/You have been a sprouted seed; a blade of grass;
a member of the cornfield; intent on the sun of this season,
at the mercy of unknowable weather.
You/I look over the field; lean on the fence: 
praise it's beauty, often; unable to focus on a single strand,
scanning the golden waves like a lighthouse.

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How do I imagine
being half out of this world?

I'll guess spectacular exhibitions are behind me now
a wave of Olympic sprinters knocks me back.
I don't know what all the fuss is about
rambling against the tide.

Are you still there? I'm sorry
I can't buy anything you're selling.
To be honest I have trouble
hearing even the market trader's 
shrieked bargain, signifying nothing.

I Im...

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Demelza, where can you be?
I believe you seek something 
to benefit, or at least delight, me.
Have you followed the poet to his hidden pool
where he dabbles his days away?
Will you return from the black hole
with alacrity, a supernova in your eye?
Have you learnt from mothers cherishing children
the human heart's infinite endurance?
Or of inspired freedom fighters too,
leaving ...

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I want to look at what I see everyday,
going where I've been before.
Let me be caught unawares 
by perfectly ordinary events
and learn from what I already know.

I know an oasis where thoughts are focused
I'll spend more time at this secluded pond. 
Drawing from my small pool of words
simple reasoning I can commit to.
Worthy slogans don't reverberate here.
Iconic lines need not be ...

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Almost like it didn't exist
until I shared it with you.
Rainbow, parrot, twenty year old story.
Counterpoint in the tumbling notes,
metallic beetle on the fencepost.
This poem
capering close to high cliffs
not to be the first one who sees
a huge sailing ship appear
(that would be joyous of course)
just to live through the actual moments
an imperceptibly moving huge sailing ship app...

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One by one they fall, little Gandhis
but their numbers continue to grow.
Impressively they behave 
as if they will live forever. 

Like all of us, they have an invitation 
to the marriage of heart and mind.
Do they wear their best clothes?
What gifts do they bring? Are they happy?

The Mahatma himself could not be
more sure of his case.

They will not pay for the thread
of their...

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The narrow serpentine path 
a doodle on the body of a lake 
thoughts run ahead of footsteps 
winding their way by routine

just yards away another world
dawn hesitant among the trees 
to and fro glide waterbirds through
early mists the lake generates

the rule here is: one species, one sound
coots perform the single click "tut"
ducks and drakes for their ready patter
opt for mere rasp...

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