Who is Poemagraphic. Known by his pen name ‘Po’. Po lives in Gt Britain in North Norfolk. He has been writing poetry since the early eighties. Po has made a life study and practice of meditation, which he began after becoming only the fourth person in the UK to attain a black belt in the Korean martial art of Hap-Ki-Do. He is also a Forth Degree Reiki Master. Po studied parapsychology for over forty years going on to appear on BBC ‘Look East Live’ and having a weekly radio phone-in and talk show on ‘Future FM’. Plus, being a regular contributor in the ‘Paranormal Norfolk’ magazine. Po is mediumistic, seeing, hearing and sensing people and animals who have moved into the spirit world. He has conducted hundreds of private consultations and undertaken countless ‘serious’ paranormal investigations. His experiences have been a great source of inspiration for much of his literature and poetry. On the subject of poetry, I asked Po Is there such a thing as the muse? He answered “From my own experience, the answer is a resounding Yes!” “I know that at times words seem to float into my mind while writing a poem that does not originate from me. I have to look them look to see what they mean, and often how to spell them”. How do you view your poetry, as in what kind of poetry do you write? Po replied. With whatever came into his mind. If asked that same question today, he would say all kinds. Sad, funny, intense, esoteric, love, anger, hate, the state of the world, climate change, wars, famines, murders, crimes, corruption, the media, deceit, the current pandemic and global repercussions. Overall, he is not a poet who writes lots of love poems or a poet that writes sonant's, or complex structures of sentience's, counting lines, verses and syllables. He tends to gravitate naturally to writing rhyming couplets. He explained All poetry sounds the same when reading in a monotone voice, and always pace all the words at the same speed and monosynaptic recitation. Never changing the tone, speed or volume. Never pausing… To give the listener or reader time to absorb the meanings behind the story. To allow the reader time to build the visions within their mind to gain pictorialism and the flavour of the words. It is a bit like a gourmet chef, having people come to the restaurant and sit smoking at the table talking loudly, scoffing the food down and to then just walk out. Reciting poetry to people who do not want to sit and enjoy it is mostly a waste of time. Going back to the food metaphor, at times, we want to nip in Mc Donald's and grab a burger and go. Some poets are fantastic at cooking a 'burger poem' you like um, you may like um a lot. However, we may not want to live on them. Po's poetry is at times quick with a little bit of flavour, and now and again he writes something tasty that has depth and flavours that surprise and linger on the tongue, and all tasty meals linger in the mind… along with all the tastes, sounds, smells, music, colours, the people who shared it and a host of other things that even a good poet could never put into words. His poetry is changing, to a kind of realistic fiction—much of his poetry based on real events that he has experienced. Most of his working life has been extremely confidential. Hence his term 'realistic fiction'. He writes about real events in a way not betraying any trust or confidentiality. Latterly Po's literature has taken on a style of epistolary flavour. However, the reader never sees any of the texts or emails or the letters that inspired the poem or prose due to there sensitive nature. Reading his poetry here at WOL he says is best described as some of his 'Confessional writing.' It is often he confesses in his own words "Didacticisum" His sample ‘Cocooned’ below was the winning poem at the annual Reepham music festival.
Cocooned Finding new complexity in handwriting dexterity Searching for lost artistry in the guise of poetry At times the images so surreal, in my mind a cotton reel Unravels till a tangled thread weaves a web around my bed Then ‘Itsy Bitsy’ comes to call. Arachnophobia cause me to fall Awaking with a nasty bump, in my throat a ticking lump. As I yawn, a black widow falls and bites my naked toe. Then scampers off somewhere to hide… No antidote to be applied What will now become of me, and my newly found complexity? At the proverbial ‘curling up of toes’, ‘Itsy Bitsy’ runs up my nose and proceeds to weave a silver thread, that leads me back into my bed A cobweb covered woven duvet, now shrouds a corpse where once I lay ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 11/11/19 11:00 Memorial The little white wooden church The small white wooden church had not an empty seat. With an overflowing congregation, so many on their feet. Spilling out of the door, to pay their last respects. Far more than I had thought, and more than most expect. The service was quite poignant, a fitting tribute that’s for sure A lost and fallen comrade, this memorial was for. We bowed our heads in prayer, and silently we stood United in our grief, as a band of brothers surely would. After the service, I marched across the empty parade square Back towards MT, by a familiar sight, stood standing upright, there. A stark remnant of the Berlin Wall, perched like a sentry, alone, standing tall. A small section that was removed, torn down, smashed in a fall. Ending endless suffering, tyranny, and scorn. Globally it seemed then, a time of peace had been born. Whilst standing in its shadow, an unseen presence drawing near That of a true and gallant hero, who many hold so dear. What was his death for, it seemed so futile, and totally in vain Lost in a war, that truly was insane. Based on 'Blair’s dodgy dossier', fictitious, full of lies. The cause of many thousand deaths, and the reason today we cried. Po https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=96796 May 2020 The Mad Hatter's Tea Party I wonder if the Reaper likes a cup of tea He could join us at my tea party I’ll invite him along to see He could sample my tasty layer cake and my posh conserves maybe he’ll be nice to me And I'd give him his just deserts If I need a knife to cut my delicious carrot cake perhaps he’ll lend me his razor-sharp scythe I hope for heaven's sake as I wield a downward blow it slices off his head I'd make a tasty effigy of 'The Reaper' in gingerbread That would be quite funny Que the Queen's well-worn catchphrase... "Off with his head!" As we watched it rolling down the hill and headless dead he lays. But who would then collect the souls at their end of days? Gosh! What a quandary that would surely be Who do you think might know... What was that vicar dear, Oh! Would you like more tea? Po
Who is Po... This is me
Who is Po? Who is Po? This is me… Perhaps you are a newbie New to WOL. If so then ‘This is me’ I have written this so you can see. Perhaps you posted your first poem And a comment ensued from me Signed off simply then as Po If so, well… Po is simply me. Perhaps you’re a long-time member Well known before I came And I posted you a comment Followed by my name I might have placed you on my list Of poets, I love to read A favorite of mine Whose words I always heed Well written and inspiring Unique in every way You may have posted loads Or just your first today Either way, I’ll tell you Your gender or your age Matters not to me a jot A fool or yet a sage Black or white poetry is not Except for the ink upon the page Grammar and or spelling May not be your fortitude The topics that you write about Grandeur or just plain crude For I am Po, I judge you not Neither your religion, nor your stance If I have not commented on what you write Trust me… You have not lost your chance. I could go on… and, well yes on so much more Those of you that know me, know that for sure So, when you see my sign off after comments, I have made You may not have seen the last of me I’ll be back to comment more Of that my friends, you can be certain Because that’s what Po’s here for Po Po Part ii https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=103587
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
I am the Destroyer of Souls (12/07/2020)
The best poem never written (11/07/2020)
Good Morning World (10/07/2020)
No laughing matter (07/07/2020)
Chariots Of Fife (07/07/2020)
Just a bit of fun (06/07/2020)
The Chameleon Poet (05/07/2020)
On-line Friendships. (03/07/2020)
Fools gold (02/07/2020)
The descent into Hades’ and beyond! (27/12/2019)
Santa's Pride (20/12/2019)
A party fit for a Prince (06/12/2019)
Costa Lot (17/01/2019)
Out of his reach (12/01/2019)
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