Posted: July 31, 2014 in Poetry, urban poems
Surreal and fun workshop last night at Juncture 25 (our group of performing poets). We were given a list of people, list of places and list of situations had to chose one from each and then write a poem in 40 minutes! A point of note: Zola Budd was a South African who became a British citizen and was the world’s leading women’s middle distance runner in the mid 1980’s. She always ran barefoot.
She stands waif-like between a morose AA man
and the West Country Cornish pasty mobile.
It’s been raining.
Coming down like lions and hyenas,
she tells one disinterested traveller.
At least he was until he heard her say that.
Lions and hyenas.
Don’t you mean cats and dogs?
He regrets the words before they leave his mouth,
sees the trap of the surreal opening up before him.
He learns where she comes from,
it obviously rains lions and hyenas.
Then he notices a bucket full of sorry looking flowers.
Rained on, they bow mournfully over the edge.
Red blooms, yellows and night blues
bleeding rain onto the floor by the door.
How much, he asks.
But he’s not prepared for the comeback.
Whatever you think they’re worth. She shrugs her bony shoulders.
Grabbing a handful, he jams a tenner in her fist,
walks off shaking his head.
Taking pity on the flower girl
who has no shoes.
Posted: April 15, 2014 in default
At http://dversepoets.com/this-is-us/ tonight we are taking the unusual work of Phyllis Galembo and crafting our interpretation in words.
The weight of years
captured in this moment
of stoop and sticks.
Frayed life worn like
some badge ..
make that badges.
Mop heads clinging to joints
speaking as each stiff step is made.
Entropy outwardly worn for all to see
that sideways glance forbids
any murmur of sympathy. Though
outwardly the gossamer swirling
round your head is web-like
whispers there is still a life to be had.
Posted: March 20, 2014 in urban poems
Paddington Station and the choice is mesmerising.
A one-armed bandit roll call,
orange names constantly flickering
tempting you into an unplanned journey.
Posted: March 13, 2014 in default
In this semi-silence
a world of whispers and distant thrumming
tries to seep in.
But my ear’s not open for business.
It isn’t just outside either.
There’s all that internal static and rumble.
No out, no in.
Meeting a solid barrier,
sound beats against the drum.
Rebounds, thunders round
and rebounds again.
This is the constant rhythm rolling
on a shore rebuking all waves
until they’re left seeking another listening post.
Posted: March 13, 2014 in default, nature poems
At dversepoets.com/this-is-us/ we took a macro photo and then wrote a poem of no more than 140 characters. This is a picture I took in Norfolk.
a thorax of burnished brass,
the hover fly embraces yellow and pollen
One planet in a flower bed galaxy.
Posted: February 28, 2014 in urban poems
Every morning, regular as clockwork.
He marches past my sash window.
Determination in every step.
Full head of grey hair, eyes fixed four paces in front.
Every morning, whatever the weather.
Today it just sits there,
waiting for the conductor to wave her baton,
drumming up wind, sun, rain
or whatever else is written
on the meteorological score.
For now the iron black branches
just beyond St Andrews house are still.
And here he is. Marching back again.
The Guardian tucked hard under his right arm.
The same paper each day.
The same navy blue jumper.
Regular as clockwork.
I watch him.
Posted: February 15, 2014 in Poetry
Tonight at dVerse we are looking at love poetry without using ‘that’ word! Sometimes love needs no words at all ~ just being together is enough.
Snow suffocates the shuffling of nature.
No longer can wind worry at autumn’s leafy remnants.
All loose ends are tied up,
neatly buried in a new world that’s stealthed
in under cover of darkness.
In this wire taut quiet
my hearing is keening at the silence.
Just your steady breathing
breaching my ears.