Tag: poetry

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poetry

Collecting Shells

Small boy, kneeling, gaze fixed
amongst the rocks, crystal clear
flashes its glimpse of life, appears,
then gone, uncertain, until another
braves the tranquillity, why?

Surely the boredom of sand and rock
a better bet than a dart, for what?
a taste of the other side, which
sooner or later, will work its way round

stared for hours watching
life follow its course, haphazard
cover to cover until one by one
their dances done, walks away

Yet, no memory complete without trophies
to treasure, justify each and every,
of time’s allocations, hands
that just can’t resist
what the eyes choose, attraction,
the easy option, a shell, ornate
bright colours to gather dust and fade
until one day, finally recalled
, thrown away, her story of life
forgotten, wrapped in plastic,
a black eternity, entombed

the man, weathered, walks the beach
gaze fixed amongst the waves, lapping
the froth and foam around his feet, bare
looks briefly at the rocks,
their magic, long gone,
as picks the pebble, washed, worn
like the wish, and throws
eyes closed, back to the sea

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

The poet

Complex verse, trickles up,
another from Ceridwen,
A flicker ‘midnight oil
as darkening walls,
an oak, spreading
each sinew strained; breaking point
Then caged, each word
, packed away
Like Ernö’s cube
To be decoded
By those that know…

Enough!

Should shout, should sing
Should dance on the tip of your
tongue, a play on the lips
A gentle kiss, applause
As the lovers twist, a wistful
smile, as Autumn falls from grace
to an icy clasp, Winter’s,
the embrace of brittle twigs

Emerge
From your chrysalis
Spring, to stumble through the air
A drunk with wings
Finding their feet , briefly
A year of passion
Took less than a minute
Not to be analysed, but breathed
A life in words

Err.
what happened to Summer?
A jig!
and dance again.

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

Old.

Where is?
the hard skin of the pangolin
the quiet strum of the mandolin
the rhyme, lilting, from time to time
replaced by prose, line by soulless line

the discipline within the schools
a youth that know the law, so long before
the wrong from right, destined surely,
their lives upon the walls, scrawled in colour

the fish that used to plough this stream
now thick with slimy sticky stench,
that greased the gears in factories, echo
their purpose long forgotten

the odd looking man, who’d rant and rave
complained this world’s an early grave, and waits
to suck the you, the me, and him, he’s dead.
Instead our handsome men, more polished
stand, stare and talk as prompted, as those
that hold their strings, whose tune they dance,
with guile, guide

the worst, the best?
I’ve lost the which, the why the will
to live this way, I’m off, hand back my debts
to the banks, no thanks, they’re yours to hold,
“Dear Sir,
all money is theft, or property, perhaps?
Kind Regards”

the solution, confused? dust off those sandals,
wear that crazy shirt again, live somewhere loose,
remote like a cave, no bats, just relax
with a view of the sea, and warm, maybe,
a picture on the wall, fading, a family
to remind me how it used to be…

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

The last dream

At the base of a hill, a grass bank
unripe daffodils poking through
beckoning spring, while curious crows
hop around unkempt, a corridor
with a kind face, lights overhead
taxiing towards departure?
the raindrop running down
window overhead, like a tear
images you can’t place,
flit through your mind
skip, pause at random, while
the clock, relentless, counts down
hours, minutes, to an unknown time…

The waiting room, unawake
rows on rows of beds, sheets
unsettled disarray
save the few, clean, pristine
and in the shadows, collared,
for more without a clue

The end? a new beginning?
, some kind of vague middle? thoughts
muddle through the semi-conscious
chains of command to a general,
lounging back, cigar in mouth,
whiskey in hand, triple distilled,
“You’ll be fine, just count to ten,
nine…”
a soft laugh, echoes
and, as I close the door
peace at last.

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

There is an illustrated version of this poem on Commaful, available here :

https://commaful.com/play/llwynog/the-last-dream/

Please note that you don’t need to sign in to view, you can just close the sign in pop up and the poem should still play normally.

Categories
poetry

The Carpenter

“The patient chisel wastes no wood”
remembered, his father’s words,
a repetition, forefathers passed
each, the careful craft adjusts
slow, the steady, almost silent graft
of rhythmic hands, huge, hard as oak,
calloused bark, yet soft,
the often gentle touch,
shaving, planing curls,
almost delicate,
some bevelled, smooth,
edging lines, straight to curves,
mortise to tenon, turning
burning, shadows to the wall
from flickered lamps, and still,
the work goes on,

A labour of lost love, always
, the back of his mind, his son
left this trade for new worlds,
new minds to find, seeking warmth, hoping
but only cold, hostile tongues,
strange beliefs, men
without word or honour,
of a time, a world, not his
beauty, unspoilt by cynical eyes
his cloth and seed, surely
the best of efforts, deserved,
his wife, mother, silent now, just watching
a spirit entombed in wood, growing
taking shape, a soul knowing
the pain of every strike, every blow
a tear inside, but necessary,
death respects no man, unprotected
so the work continues, unabated
without compromise, pure passion
for centuries imitated, never surpassed
the cross of love.

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

The Storm

1918 : Spanish Flu Epidemic

Could see it, sense it, years ago,
for some, belief in ancient texts
an overdue, ‘End of Days’
others, a violence of thought,
a fascination with numbers
, human nature understood
whichever way we knew,
we knew, though for some
perhaps a grey, a flickering light
sometimes as bright, and then unsure
as radiant as remembered? yet all
could now feel the changing winds,
the imminent storm, yearned
the innocent days, the child
oblivious, as darkness closing in
the selfishness of youth, the ability
to dance in the gloom, to laugh
care free,
as shadows shorten, waiting clouds,
overhead, patient, bide their time…

Strangers walking past, silent
with quickened gait,
friendships cooled with fear, death,
her loveliest face,
empty of life, a mask
to a past of opportunity, distance,
your only comfort until
you too, succumb

The mourning after the year before,
the world that now affronts,
her dying tend the rows
on rows, as twitching crows
watch symmetry of lines, each
individually wrapped in plastic shrouds,
inside agaze, staring at their maker?

Not a future, but a past
long forgotten, a history unlearned,
repeats, again and again the same mistakes,
this is not the last, but a picture
to be studied, understood, and changed

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

the bay

the party showing
no sign of slowing, shrieks
from the girls
rising like a wave, then
crash against,
a low murmur of men, unaware
that yards above,
open windows, quieter
far less social souls
beached, like whales
wondering when
the saviour of sleep
takes them,
blissfully
into the calm pool
of a new day

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

Be seen

Not sure what, really,
quite a strange affair
the big cheese, or Arch
of the Druids, over there

Pacing all solemn
towards ancient stones
with his grey clad gang
all glued to their phones

Said Health and Safety
, those that know best,
“You’re a danger to traffic
without hi -Vis vests”

So stopped in their tracks
looking rather confused
waiting to pray, or dance
but having to choose

Look more like a beacon
than deacon to stay
, one place on the planet
where druids could pray

With never a loss, yet
of limb or life,
unless perhaps
, an errant wife?

But I wondered if
another god they’d chose
, would they still have to wear
such bright yellow clothes?

Of certain faiths
the authorities are wary
but this little crew
are too small to be scary

So if you want a religion
that’s not pushed around
size is important
as this lot have found

Willingness to die
in the name of your faith
is also handy,
when making your case…

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

A life in care

Maybe it’s the mess,
or slight sickly scents,
roasted chicken, two veg, mixed
a carefree swish of bleach,
disguising, almost, a rising whiff
of you know what, with
the cherry, antiseptic

And I have to wonder
the wisdom of sense
as resist, again,
an urge to heave, or leave
as opening the door,
the house of memories,
fast forgetting, replaced
by repetition

Along the corridors
cages with doors ajar, borrowed,
months, maybe two
then shipped off, silent
before, hopefully,
fruits of a life
burned on these wasted shells,
similar in body, no spirit
as remembered

You, you’re in your chair, tuned
to daytime joys, maybe one day
I’ll stare in the same direction
wear the same bland expression
or maybe I’ll get lucky,
get taken by a bus, train
something quicker than this.

Offering you Balvenie,
your favourite, so strange
how the stranger knew
I convey the news, ignored
but politely, you always had
such lovely manners

You tell me today’s secret, again
I feign interest, again
I had no idea your daughter
was such, and that
you must be so proud…
the vacuum returns, blank
until the adverts, then
a flicker, but not for long.

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

Martov goes to Barnsley

Julius Martov

Martov goes to Barnsley

I heard him speak once.
sounded strange.
big scruffy bloke, beard on a box,
a bit deranged?
“Imagine!” he says,
“If your house cost a tenner“
maybe said tenth? I wasn’t that close,
but it was cheap, whatever

“But,” points his finger, says slow
“You can only have one.”
we listened, prepared for the catch to come
“Think how much better your life could be!”
flog it for a fortune, grand,
sounds like a dream…
“You’ll never need to sell it. It’s yours for life!”
and there I was, stuck, as always,
me and the wife.

Arm to the sky “Who wins?” he shouts,
“When it goes through the roof!”
confused, especially builder Bob,
in his hi-vis yellow suit,
“You can only sell it when you’re dead!”
…pause…
we were pretty sure you couldn’t
“Otherwise, where’d you live? “
, not exactly rocket science…
“The only winners are the banks,
making loads, hand over fist!”
raised hands and fists,
in sympathy, then,
kind of wished we hadn’t

“Vote for me, I’ll put it right!”
but we’d heard it all before
so voted in our man in Red
as we always did up North
“Remember, your vote really counts!”
like all, was really keen
but knew they’re only down our way
if blue moon’s gone and been.

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

‘Quirrel in a kilt

No mean to offend,
young laddie,
a point, if I may
It’s ‘Quirrels, not Squirrels

..a difference of ways

Not all big bushy tails
have ‘Quirrels
attached

Maybe pedantic,
this dance with semantics
perhaps, but

more than
a letter amiss
or our ginger tinge
to explain with this,
the Them and Us, they,
while swing from tiny twig,
we’ll seek the tallest tree, fly,
fall, all, as always, without a fuss,
them, no fearsome frights, no sense
fun or adventure, they’ve little rewards
no risks, no treasures

So cute, so cuddly?
so canny, so needy,
with greedy grabby razor Teeth….

Hard lives to fulfil, you’d think!
flitting from bark to branch,
boring and every day,
dressed in grey
while us,
ducks and dodges
tankers and trucks
between the wheels, but

Chance is our dash;
life in the moment
or squished in a flash

…That’s how it rolls,
fast and loose, the Lowlands,
life without stale imitations.

Red or dead.

And never enough mush,
only enough for another
furry, fat Squirrel

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

Cinderella

can’t stay, places to be,
people to see, and mind
the gap
clear the doors
on my way, no time
to stop, no time
to chat, follow the
crows, over the
bridge, under the
hill, past the
trees, slowing,
steely, silent,
shovels, unshaven
Watching

Waiting,

green light
back on track,
through the
town, no one to
see, towards the
city, never sleeps
never breathes
full of the faces
tip of the tongue
tight in a tux
gossiping girls
hang on the arm
wobbly heels
half a skirt, less to lose….

…… centre stage…..

from a sleep, deep
to life at night, passed by
worth a try
slip of a dress, dreams
dance alone, shapes
sensualise,
fresh, follow the scent,
country lass,
out on the tiles, miles
endless queues, queens
dressed to kill,
kings still, without a heart
found a prince
lacking charm,
losing faith, lost shoes
kicking off, too tight to walk
takes the floor, above
shining lights, ground
spinning round,
stage fright, slip away
found, another world,
another place
full of the wolves
Watching

Waiting

Slowly, green light
, midnight, got to go….

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

Halloween

Porky, freckles,
fat with his flowers,
bouquets in buckets
the lay-by boy,
a bottle of coke, diet
with chocolate mice
and gingerbread men
all sit around, engrossed
( if a little depleted )
listen to stories, tall and wild
make you believe, it’s true…

They were born in the hundreds
And died in their teens
Now walking the earth
By night, In search of..
“a couple of quid , miss”
“for a sorry old rose?”
needs loving, Infection,
Fresh meat, Craving blood , All
Hallows eve….

forgotten the day
he married his love..
“quick! a tenner carnations”
should do the trick
eased journey home
As hell awaits, Axe in hand
Eyes glazed, Not a sound until
“how much?” a finger points
wavering, a price and a frown

Dragging his arm, Tendons mashed,
fragrant freesias, sad
they were the last, Limping
Through the graves
The scent of lilies, And death…

The hero, Tall,
Muscles ripped
Saves the day, The world, The girl,
Around his neck,
The softest kiss
On rugged cheek,
a ginger whiff
the crowd, thinning fast,
a gulp
, and washed away,
until tomorrow…

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

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poetry

The Rebellion

Where were you the day she came?
the rain, to wash away our fear
and folly
you told us to believe, so we saw
what you saw, nothing
no farmer lost
amongst the dust
no open mouths
without a sound
no fog of grey
decay, lingering

Our eyes were blinded by the prize
cheap, plastic toys
long discarded
an ease to travel, fast
to destinations
now lost
lives enriched
by cheaper costs
time saved,
drank more, worked more, ate more
talked less

The answers lay, cupped
in our hands, but
as always, we knew best
they pleaded, begged
for us to stop,
we replied with higher walls
taller towers, until
the screams became shadows
impotent
as we hacked and chopped
men possessed
on poisoned lands
until all, took its toll

The wheat grew thin
the cattle fell,
the tides withdrew, revealed
our barren shores
under, as always
the unforgiving star


The city streets, empty now
those long gone,
mere footprints
save a lucky few
worn and tested
waiting, hoping for this day
the day she breathes again
as parched like Lazarus, refreshed
the earth, with its tiny shoots believes
finally, a new day will dawn

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

Categories
poetry

The Suitcase

Just when you’ve squeezed
the last tiny bit back,
then sat on it, stood on it,
pleaded then kneed it, over-
-bursting the seams until belted and bound,
the time for no more, surely
a long push passed, then,
only then,
a vital cog, finally found
with odd shaped sides, the sterilising kit,
for the latest child

I sigh, with a hopeful look
Other child, yawns, resigned,
his job, he states, “is just to drive’
and then, “remember?”
as if I could forget.
A row to rue.

Eyes to the ceiling,
a silent protest, ( ignored )
as start the unwrap
of cheapest, his purchase,
stuck sticky brown tape
an ever reluctant prise, (for a woman)
frenetically freed, and finally
ex-mummified case, ready
to refill again.

After hands and knees,
a numbing derrière
we’re packed again,
minus heels and a skirt
thoughtfully lined
with bits of a shirt,
his, he won’t miss
bursting through holes,
here and there, thinking,
please don’t drop this,
or leave in a puddle,
my sunny vacation,
spent on a rack, or balcony, drying

And just for a second, was there
staring at endless shores, and perhaps
( close your ears, little one )
enjoying an Italian?

Not sat on a floor
in rain soaked here,
with a grumpy Greek.

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!