Poetry Blog by Adam Whitworth

All I have found is a book of poetry-
    for adults. So rare. I overhear
        Scarlatti battle the traffic;
            dust covers every word.

I must find a niche for myself-
shaken by laughter so close to sobbing.

Enclosed in the tightest space-
with the freedom of the cosmos.

I'll give my full attention
from my privileged station.

Ready to absorb and be 
absorbed rec...

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A common destiny, burden and shame.

I have been unable to make my visit at the best of times.

Weird shadows in an unfamiliar garden took my attention.

I drank when I could have served, spoke when I should have listened. 

The day of days has been and gone.

Now I whisper, slower; as silence in a hightening gale.

As an unattended statue to those who rage fiercer.

As beautifu...

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Accept the term with good grace
after all, when we make a stand
or sit ever closer together, God knows 
it is not to display our erudition
world-beating talents or mathematical savantism.
No. We paint our portraits in simple words
Rembrandt van Rjin in colourful crayon.
Duty roughened hands grasp good and evil
and light perfumed candles in silver candlesticks
-in our minds. So much s...

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Nearing the zenith all is clear
our leaning tower of Pisa 
ready to crumble and tumble
but we step up into the light

And we celebrate where we are
playing with the giantism
of our mute and intense shadows
well aware they're biding their time

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In the good garden of England 
the sky is always blue, except
as rain begins to thunder down
and lightening must see you through
the good old garden of England 
byways from orchard to meadow lead
each pretty one to their tryst, please- 
no fence rear up where love should grow

And the heart of the garden of England
quite unable to say just how it feels
the mind of the old garden of...

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There we were to see the sights together

tuned to the Abbey gardens, ancient wall 

in bits, resting a while for photographs

on a timeless stage our holding of hands.

And then thrilled by the violence of the rain

finding shelter in the Abbey gatehouse

among others fastened in the shadows 

poor petitioners amazed where a light 

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"I think that one must be in love with me"
said portly Earth of dazzling Sun
"Every morning that brazen face appears
and I believe watches me 
all through every day"

"I'm sure this one must be in love with me"
said portly Earth of mysterious Moon
"I've woke to find this shy one 
loom over me as I lay- 
any closer and merge we must"

At the time agreed 
dazzling met mysterious, S...

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I am the eldest and esteem myself 
fit to vie for kingship.
In retrospect I see
the swagger foretell the downfall.
Proudly I reached for the princess's hand
and reach no further in life.

The second brother, never my wing-man, 
always a cur, calculates further.
His moves well planned, his touch a strike
spider like, with one day dreams
in lieu of success
he may settle under a ston...

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Precision instruments of introspection
fall away. Flakes of paint. Failed butterflies. 
Grey-faced boat-sheds return to gestures,
their loose doors an invitation.

All the people we were, their cries,
drowned within their sorry sea.
Who should be the ones to survive
no one would believe.

That fat caterpillar that curls within an ear
tastes the words so hungered for
but sadly fumb...

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I'd play the recorder 

for nightingales

who'd fill the canopy 

and enjoy

And consider the night 

bright with marvels 

until dawn should loiter 

no more

Scars wheals soothed healed

tomorrow save today

here a balm for my wound

only

These beliefs shan't spare me

composing tears

however I give

the flute all my air

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For the sake of speaking one of us claimed 
we are more under the thumb now than ever before.
For the sake of argument one of us claimed
the word society now carries 
loathsome connotations about social insects; 
each one of us must live on their own planet.
Quickly making my excuses I slipped away.
Of course I was in a fog, unused to the territory,
not knowing from where the wind mig...

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There was nothing like a ghostly face at the window

but the face of yesterday's child reflected in your own

one note of your song foretold a thousand

a single raindrop fell for the deluge to follow

Whose place I take accepting your testimony I do not know

the greatest spirit can do no more than witness

where a wound is revealed typically a thousand might be

no j...

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A collection of poems is made to be loved.
I trust each one will be loved, by many.
I pass by unmoved until the moment
I feel myself gliding fast across ice,
each breath an exhilerating potion.
What do others find in the odes they memorise?
Assume there's love somewhere hereabouts.
Baffling like the flocks I love that love the sky,
the shoals that love the seas.
I should turn again to the...

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Where once we would double-dig 

the claggy clay with all our might;

our various jackets discarded;

grasping at handles -fate would be fair-

now we walk alongside someone else's fence

as if in need of a guide rail. And after will come 

our lamenting wraiths howling as they must 

their warning for men too well adapted, losing options.

Already whispers rise that will not ...

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There's a stand of woods to which I'm drawn
hand on the bark to be sure.
And tinctures right earthy  
now real, now elusive, grow heady
among spires all rooted to the core.

And you want your love to know your love?
Stand here but more than enough.
And swear sweet this love new made
of the grove's inspired clay,
your longings conveyed by the doves.

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