Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Sunday, 23 October 2022

If Only they knew





Here.


Next to you.

Even when you’re not.


Lamp, books, glasses.

See clearly. 


The window.


The birds, sometimes, the cats – often.


The wooden steps, home-made.


Home.


Bed.


The desk, down-steps.

Your dad’s.


My stuff.


A ton of it, a jumble.

Remnants.


Like us.


Pete’s chair, your clothes, more stuff.


Babies, kids, teenagers, adults.


The room where one was born.


The carpet – from Cologne.

So, so many years ago.

So many.


More steps.

Home-made, for the home.


The outside.


The terrace.

Home-made.


Side of the valley, ancient made.


The fig tree.


Paradise.

Venture not.


The track.


Leavings.

Comings.


Nice to go away, nicer to come home.


Home.


Carol’s room.


Your room.

You.


Even when…


The road.

Left.

Right.


Nothing straight, except the sun.


Right, a part of home.


Left, the airport.


Cologne.

Home from home.


If only they knew.




Tuesday, 1 October 2019

A Petit Poem



Thank you sea,
For being thee.
Letting me in
To swim,
Within.
Sandy shore and foaming waves, 
Diving deep through your salty maze.
Rins -ed clean
Fresh
Serene.

formerly published in The Archives.

Saturday, 4 March 2017

Minimum Cinnamon.

kitchen/triplex/wednesady morning

I woke up with a poem in my head.

Great, did you write it down?

I sure did. It has a tune that goes with it.

Which tune?

la la la la la la la,la la la la la la la, la la laaaa.

Sweet. Let's post the poem, what's it called.

Minimum Cinnamon

I need a pee; I need a run
And a coffee and a bun
Made from cinnamon
I need a stretch; I need a bend
One or two hugs from my best friend,
At a minimum.
A kiss sure would be nice
Sympathetic ears, and some good advice
To help me through.
These days are blue, I need the glue
It could be you,
Oh What can I do?
I can’t forget.
At least not yet.
The ocean would help a lot
You bet!
A day on someone’s yacht
With nothing much to do
Except a pee and a run
Some coffee and a bun
Stretches and a bend
Hugs all over from my best friend
That never end.
Never, never do..
Yep, that will do.

Thank you.

Wednesday, 8 February 2017

The Mis-Spelt Snowball.

on my desktop waiting/too long


What’s this then?

It’s a journey.

Where did it start?

Right here at this desk.

Where did it finish?

Right here at this desk.

Did you go far?

A long, long way.

But never left the desk?

Exactly!

So, where did you set off to first of all?

It’s not clear from the notes but I think it was off to the Garden Path Proverb.

Just like that? There must have been a reason.

It might have been Snowball.

Snowball?

Or The Guardian; yes, I was reading The Guardian and it took me into anti-proverbs.

Anti-proverbs? What are they?


The Guardian was talking about this?

Not that exactly, they were talking about proverbs for the digital age, I think.

Got an example?


I’m lazy.

Ok, how about – ‘You only find out who is swimming naked when the tide goes out.’

I like the one about the micro-waved fish more.

You’ve read the article!

I have.

Then did you follow the link to anti-proverbs, that was the next step on the journey?

I did, but then I wasn’t sure where you went next, and the notes really aren’t clear.

Well, I took a detour literally up the garden path into The Garden Path Sentence.

Let me guess, this has something to do with being lead up the garden path, so taken somewhere else, distracted. Something like that?

Deceived.

By a sentence?

‘The old man the boat.”

Ok.

So that took me off a little further, first to Parsing then Wellerisms.

Wellerisms, like in Dickens?

Yes.

How did you get there from The Garden Path?

I went a long way down the Garden Path.

But it was a detour?

Yep, because then I jumped forward to Oulipo.

I’ve been there.

You have?

No, I was being ironic; where is it?

Not so much “where” but “who”.

Ok, who is it?

A group of people, but it included Raymond Queneau.


In part, but from Oulipo I travelled to Constrained Writing. That was really exciting; I visited reverse Lipograms, Quadrivial Quandary and Bilingual Homophonic Poetry.

Homophonous.

Yes, sorry. There were a lot of signposts in Oulipo and so many roads to travel. I got , get, confused. But really I wanted to get to Outrapo.

Ah! Outrapo! So surely you passed through The Collège of Pataphysique?

I wanted to join.

Which branch?

Maybe the London branch, it’s my home-town.

The London Branch has six departments and an orchestra, which one grabbed your imagination?

Either the Museum or The Orchestra.

You can be part of my Museum if you like.

Can i?

Certainly, we need a development officer.

Oooh, do I get a desk?

You can use this one.

Thank you.

You’re welcome. By the way, on your travels did you visit the Musée Patamécanique?

Of course!

Did you see the Bumble Bee Dream Capturer?

Wouldn’t you love one?

Tell me!

I took the optional excursion into Metaphysics but really I spent more time in the field of Inutilious Research.

One can never do enough. Did you meet the curator, Dr Faustroll?

He was out, but I met his assistant – Bosse-de-Nage.

A fine woman.

Woman?


Possibly.

I liked the idea of the Pataphysical calendar.

Thirteen months/29 days each/the 29th day being imaginary/except two?

That's the one.

Could be interesting.

I thought The Knights Tour was too so i went there.

It certainly says Snowball on the map, did you get there?

I did, but i'm not sure the map is a map, more of a guide, i had to hop back to Oulipo to get to Snowball.

Did you write one?

I did.

Can we see it?

Certainly -

I
(Me)
Two..
Days
Later.
Wonder?
Fearful.
Plunging
Recklesly.

You had to spell recklessly incorrectly to make that work.

I think that's ok.

Saturday, 10 September 2016

Poem of the Day (an occasional series).

lives in cazal

Saturday morning in bed
Fred
What a treat
Pete
Couldn’t be better, or best
Celeste
Wow
How
Brown cow
Staying here all day
May
Or may not

Scott.

int/70

Friday, 13 May 2016

One night at the shopping centre.

i have.


The sky,
Apocalyptically black
Thunder,
About to crack,
The rain ready to splat
Across this concrete track
Of the supermarket car park
Where
The wind
Dusty,
Dirty as crap
Rustles the rubbish
With a ratty–tat-tat
Words that
I’ve invented

Perhap……s.

int/39