Carrying the years

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.

carrying the years

The weight of years
captured in this moment
of stoop and sticks.
Frayed life worn like
some badge ..
no
make that badges.
Mop heads clinging to joints
speaking as each stiff step is made.
Entropy outwardly worn for all to see
And yet
and yet
that sideways glance forbids
any murmur of sympathy. Though
outwardly the gossamer swirling
round your head is web-like
That look
That look
whispers there is still a life to be had.

Any destination

Posted: March 20, 2014 in urban poems

article-2528791-1A47BC3000000578-136_964x710[1]

Paddington Station and the choice is mesmerising.
A one-armed bandit roll call,
orange names constantly flickering
tempting you into an unplanned journey.

Deaf to everything

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.

Macro moment

Posted: March 13, 2014 in default, nature poems

Image

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.

Gossamer-winged,
satin-eyed,
a thorax of burnished brass,
the hover fly embraces yellow and pollen 
One planet in a flower bed galaxy.

 

Habit

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.
Eyes front.
Four paces.
Regular as clockwork.
I watch him.

Silence

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.

These storms don’t bother Harrison

Posted: February 4, 2014 in default

Tonight we are gathering at dVerse  pub for poets and having fun writing poems. Here is one written after the recent birth of my first grandchild :)

Gulls bent like bars
fight into the storm-wind.
Its music is harsh;
thrashing through the birch trees,
whip-cracking across roof tops.
Even the Exe struggles to make progress,
white-capping towards the weir.
Iron hard rain beats down Angel Hill.
There’s not many out in this.
Just a few hurriedly slanting up the street.
These storms.
Rolling in day after day from the Atlantic.
There are big things going on.
The weakened Polar Vortex.
The misplaced Jet Stream.
Its even freezing in Hawaii.
But all this does not bother Harrison.
He just needs to eat and sleep.
That’s it.
His point of focus.
What’s going on out there
is of no consequence to him just now.