Poetry Blog by Adam Whitworth

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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