Category Archives: pen

Words Strung Together

WORDS STRUNG TOGETHER

A poem-a-day keeps the cobwebs away
Try to remove the ‘corn’ from this production

Slice it in two and bring the two parts together:

a poem of cobwebs keeps the day away
and in a-way a cobweb of poems keeps the day

You have been granted leave to
move on now
As we take our collaged slices
to a new level
cutting it at every letter and
(perhaps)
ransom-noting a message to
hide below the rock

It is now rock-based and steady as a rock
the letters lie in wait/weight to re-form
in a new formation
like fighter planes
arrayed across either side of the runway

Letters that say nothing until word-formed
and sentence-induced to rise into the ether

Hidden words contained in the letters
Volatile mixtures of joined-up-writing
blossoming like flowers into expressive
sights and sounds

This is the life of language up close and accessible
or far removed, distant and inaccessible to the ‘common man’

What will you have? Words for words sake?
Articulating themselves to form no meaning
or do you choose ‘simple’ – simple as:
Simple Simon who met a pie man going to the fair?

Enough now of lowbrow or high
We started with corn and finish with bread:

For example – maybe?
Go see-hear what Shakespeare said?

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Here They Sit

HERE THEY SIT

Here they sit on the griddle
Here they stand on the launchpad
Some dribbled out
Others asserting themselves
with immediacy

But there they are
No two the same – multiple layers
or Single-sentenced-stabs
At capturing a thought
Moment or emotion

Resident on the digital desktop
Before they journey on
And typed with the same fingers
that once used a pen

Classified not
Deliberated over to some degree
Changed and re-hashed – rarely

But here they are – ready to fly
Ready to intrude into your life
Welcome-matted
or reluctantly read

They will be around
‘til time ceases
Thoughts from a mind
In language form

You will take and inwardly digest
or quickly dismiss

It’s a funny ol’ world
When it comes to
tastes and preferences
for certain types of

poetry…

Writing a Song

WRITING A SONG

A couple of times
He couldn’t make it rhyme
So he boogied the riff
And paused – to flick his quiff

He couldn’t make it work
So considered himself ‘a jerk’
‘Call yourself a musician?’
He mused – in recognition
Of his bad hair day
And his condition – of dismay

He thought: ‘I will try later’
Sliding from his chair like an alligator
No sooner away from the deck
and the thoughts came flooding back

Try it this way – try it that
‘C’mon man – is this all you’ve got?’
Suddenly it came to mind
As he set himself to unwind:
‘I will write the song as though
I can never have another go’

And rising to his own challenge
He at last found he could manage
A song – simple but true
It came out ‘riffy’ and blue

He smiled and marvelled at
The difference the heart’s new format
– Could make – when it came to lyrics of poetry or prose
Now – written without difficulty – I suppose?

 

 

I remember…

I remember

I remember…
The whitewash on the yard walls
The transformation when renewed

I remember…
the long wooden trays of
the baker –
mobile-man
in a van
calling at doors

The array of breads – biscuits – cakes
each allocated it’s partition.
Each breathtakingly sealed on
a young mind

I remember…
the semi-circular
pristineness of mum’s
scrubbing of the street
outside the door

I remember…
dad’s froth covered face
and ski-slope tracks made in
it’s shaven snow.

I remember…
dad – shoulders back –
chest out – muscles flexed as he
punched the wall in jest –
to impress his young son

Impressed he was –
and so was the wall

I remember…
the parlour.
The parlour.
For so it was named

I remember…
the cavaliers and
the roundheads
(a patient, loving mum
with son
obtained – in shop ‘umpteenth’
after
their long slog
the full length of the road)
and
put away for Christmas day

I remember…
a tender-hearted mother
who put her two children first,
always first.

I remember…
as millions have remembered
As mankind remembers
As mankind is made
to have memory
I remember..

But I also forget…
I forget what memory fails
to revisit
The engine won’t start
No matter how hard I try

We all would revisit
the
good times/
good things/
good happenings –

meaningful things
frivolous things

Our first-ever this…
and
our first-ever that…

Off we went without a care
until dished-out treatment
(kids can be so cruel)
stopped us in our
joyous tracks

I remember…
bully boys
and my chivalrous stand
the marks of the one-sided
battle I physically endured

I remember…
great nights of play
continuity from that of the day
Football played by ear
as the day’s light
did disappear

I remember…
a childhood crush
All in the mind

Emotion only
allowed to touch

I remember…
school…

and

[I break into this trip…]

‘This can’t be me’ I quip
to myself
as I write this
‘I remember’… riff

For I will stop here –
no more visiting
nostalgia –
the bygones

by
ropes and hooks
on the past
dragged back
into memories
present span

I will no longer challenge
you
to indulge or disagree
ridicule or stare incredulously

This is out of fashion
to talk so
You are showing your age

McCartney and his
‘silly love songs’
comes to mind

But no one will blemish
my preciousness
with insensitive
disqualification
For
I am no pearl and
you are no swine.