Category Archives: Poetry

Poetic Interlude XI

POEM PILE

I pile them up – and up they go

Poems galore like some gathering of confetti

After the wedding of holding hands

Leaves of paper ajar against the wall

For all to see and consider oblong or square?

Set on sideboard – what a place to be

Poems are meant to be

In professional-folder of professional-man

But instead lie-dishevelled in full view

So that they are disregarded as

Shoe-string or serviette, or chair-feet cups or…

Yet an odd visitor may ask

If they can look? – if they can read?

But silent after reading – their response to me

Let’s me know that again

I must suffer for my art

😎

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I Am – sent me

I AM – SENT ME

People often talk of the Peace they sense in nature

In their nature walks –

they feel some kind of peace when nobody talks

Some refer to it as getting closer to God

But to move from busy hubbub to calm and relaxed

Can be simply that –

nothing more profound or complex

God is not nature neither is He – in – what He has created

A tree is not his dwelling place

Else we can worship the work of his hands

if indeed He is impersonal and a figment of

man’s intellectual demands

If indeed He is impersonal then

He can dwell in temples made with hands

If He is electricity or some abstract force of nature

He is the figment of the imagination of the creature

Instead of a Personal Saviour – with a divine nature

We can make Him all kinds of things –

But Jesus – speaks and brings

His Word to bear upon us 

To keep us right, on track, in a sound mind

‘I Am that I Am’ is His address to Moses

Say to them: ‘I Am has sent me…’

(Acts 7/48, 17/24) (Exodus 3/14)

Poetic Interlude X

BEST

Best addressed

This way

Best seen not heard

So they say

Best arranged in this manner

Day after day

Best take the elevator

Depending on how much you weigh

Best stay at home

There’s such a rainy spray

Best open a tin for tea

Just forget the buffet

Best leave before its dark

It’s raining – protect your toupee

Best wear a jumper – too cold

Even in the Subway

Best set the alarm for early rise

Perhaps more lessons in ballet

Best stop before it’s too late

Better to stop and pray

Poetic Interlude IX

A WALK IN NATURE

Down by the slippery tree –

never searched-out why it might be

And kicking through blades of grass

I stop to stare at swans as they pass

My hands on hips my stare intact

I notice their regal look and feathers perfect

White as white can be and undisturbed 

By you or me

They take their time as Regals should

This way – then that – depending on their mood

Their orange bill-pointer at large

delves into their feathery down

And then sequentially dives beneath

the water’s Carmel brown

I wonder what she snatched

Perhaps a young insect not long hatched?

Time to trundle-on along the river side

Take-in all nature has,

maybe pull up a stump and abide

I stay there – ’til soon it’s past noon

The morning walk is over

“Be home soon”

I tell the better-half on the mobile

But I linger –

excusing myself for staying another while

Poetic Interlude VIII

IF IT’S ALL THE SAME TO YOU?

I saw across the crowded room

Nothing more than a glimpse

Of mankind and all it’s worth

All-bound-by-all-there-is – in the same way

All thrashing about in the pool

Unable to swim against it’s own tide

And while I contemplated the momentary glance

And all the sameness struck a chord

If I could grow a giant hand

I would reach out

And with a pat upon mankind’s head

Try to encourage all

In their mad pursuit of difference

As each vie for admiration

And clutch at vanity’s straws

Boxing clever and strutting stuff

Eyeballing cameras and posing aimlessly

Or kicking harder in having a shot

Ball juggling onto the head

And down again in keepy-up glitz-style

Or turmoiling emotions

And screwing up their insides

To give an Oscar performance

Here today in limelights green shroud

Whilst tomorrow repenting at leisure

Money money money the thing they love

Money money money the thing they hate

Money we need to survive

Talent and restless need to create

Giving way to the sway of money

Monet has painted and the hand moves on

On the scene/screen another arrives

in digital pre-eminence

Just to say:

“I’m different”   for a day

While the sameness magnifies itself 

In contemplated momentary glance

Across the room – across the sky

We live we breath – et al

Nothing to say – it’s all here today

No difference – docked in originality’s bay

Of Biscay –

Take the humorous approach

And have a biscuit with your coffee

Sorry – but you are going to have to admit

Hands and feet and mouths and noses

Greetings and sleep and holiday

And jobs and exercise and sleepless nights

And buying and trying to keep ‘er lit

And tossing and turning and fingers in every pie

And rags to riches and gesticulation awry

And appointments and you scratch my back

And…

Out on the town

Old meal in old place called new

Mankind is – all the same – doing the same

Talking the same – aspiring en masse

Everyone the same as the last

Art/Poetry/Scribing

abstract
Untitled by Ken Riddles

ART/POETRY/SCRIBING

There are recurring questions that have been asked throughout the history of art.

The two simple questions I have in mind are:

What is art? And/or – what is poetry?

Perhaps I am least qualified to ask the questions, or offer an answer, as perhaps I don’t take either too seriously, or should I say: serious enough, as is the manner of some.

I enjoy both creative-expressions, but my spiritual aspirations are inclined to place art and poetry in the shadow category of less importance.

I may therefore, fail to get a listen from you, as you think of the artist or poet or art critic you hold in high esteem, and to whose opinion you turn quickly, and firstly, to help you form your own conclusions.

But in light of seedsinmotiontruthnart – and blogging in general, I thought I might explain.

ART – art for me can’t seem to get too far past painting. Although it would seem that painting almost needs re-defined as it seems it is becoming only antique.

With all that makes up the post-modern conglomeration of art-expression through conceptualism and any other ‘ism’ et al, painting seems to have transitioned from the place of  premier expression in the upper echelons of the art world, to a secondary place.

Of course the pendulum is always swinging when it comes to ‘art-fashion’, and no sooner has the statement in my last paragraph been made, when it becomes redundant, in our eclectic ever changing hodge-podge art world.

So my: ‘art is painting’ statement is limited, uncool, retrogressive, etc. – however – once again one needs to add: i.e. ‘at the moment!’

For those who have followed this blog from the beginning and are aware of the changeover from ‘posted paintings’, to Christian writing, and for those who might be curious – my art at the moment seems to be pre-occupied in exploring the abstract (see above). 

Even though painting in the art world, as in applying a physical substance to a physical ground seems to have taken somewhat of a backseat, it is somewhat paradoxical (though I admit it’s guesswork only, on my part), to state that I reckon that the manufacturers of art materials for painting – have never had it so good?

From what little I do notice as to latest trends – would I be right in thanking New York for keeping painting alive?

POETRY – well, here – I am even less qualified, as I am the exception that proves the rule, namely, that a good reader or a widely read reader, is a good writer. Or that a good poet has to be a prolific reader. I’m not an obsessive reader, by any stretch of the imagination, and certainly not a widely read one.

Guess I better hide in the same shadow of less importance, that I have placed my paintings and poetry in?

Here I go anyway, expressing what poetry is for me. Poetry is the enjoyment of words. I guess that’s about it – my raison d’être of poetry.

Poetry in my view, is not restricted to definitions of what it should be. I favour ‘words for words sake’ running parallel with ‘art for art’s sake’.

This can be dangerous I realise.

As when I write poetry it could be mistaken for profundity, when at times that is far from the case.

I’m just enjoying the expression of words.

At times profundity will be involved in the poem, but sometimes I will write at the other end of the scale, allowing myself to have fun.

Which will leave me disqualified from being taken as a ‘serious poet’. The other end of the scale verging on Edward Lear type ‘nonsense’.

Then again somewhere in the middle is the goal, but the enjoyment of words strung together, can be a major concern of mine.

Also sometimes I ‘play the part’ of the someone who is mentioned in the poem. Or the poem expresses a concept or view simply because it has emerged un-premeditated (as it were) in the course of writing the poem – as I juggle with the words.

An example would be a poem I wrote entitled: ‘The Biker’s Reunion’ – truth is I have never ridden a motorbike. (Apart from an off-road bike my son owned when younger, when one ride was enough for me!)

The person’s story in the poem may not be my story. The description I use of a particular scenario is simply playing with words. The conclusion one comes to as expressed in the poem, may be the opposite to my own personal opinion.

So what does that make it? Poetic fiction?

And so on…

There has to be a ‘…and so on…’ to cover all the possibilities of the varying ways poetry can be enjoyed and emerge from the pen.

In short it’s all imagination – sometimes with reference to ‘my reality’ but equally just as many times – not.

I enjoy words, and putting them together. That’s about it.

CHRISTIANITY – My Christian writings, however are a field apart. I seek the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I try to write things as I genuinely believe them to be.

I’m thankful to God for His enablement. I’m thankful to God for the ways He has opened the eyes of my understanding in the face of Jesus Christ. I know in part, according to scripture, but the part I know I hold dearly. I know what I have been delivered from.

And if my poetry does not reference directly – my spiritual life, this is because I have too much to say plainly and without apology when it comes to Christian Truth and if the poetic form is not my choice, it is because of my priority which is to make things clear.

Paul The Apostle speaking: Seeing then that we have such hope, we use great plainness of speech:

So in Christian writing – I write to pass on what I am convinced about, and so therefore mostly choose, straightforward language to do so.

I write as a scribe, teaching the Christian Gospel, without an over indulgence in wordsmith-ing.

I enjoy wordsmith-ing mostly, rather, through poetry.

Spiritually speaking – I’m called to be a scribe.

I pen what I come to understand from the scriptures.

But art and poetry are fun and enhance our everyday lives.

I cannot take my Christian writing seriously enough, as it is a matter of life and death.

I cannot take my art and poetry too seriously as it is to do with intellectual, visual and emotional enjoyment of life in this natural world and there is so much more to life – the afterlife.

Of course my poetry can have purpose and meaning, but I always bear in mind that ‘…the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God’. (I Corinthians 3/19)

Poetry and literature doesn’t compete with the weightier matters of spiritual life – in light of an awaited eternity.

So – suspect that in my poetry, I might have my tongue in cheek sometimes, at the same time you may also find profundity and reference to the truth as it overlaps into the spiritual, – or there again – not, as the case may be.

There is no fixed rule in art or poetry.

But I will continue to obey God and write for Him, while providing you with Poetic Interludes.

So in summary, my Christian writing is written that you might believe in The Lord Jesus Christ and through believing may have life in His name.

My poetry and art follow the dictates of imagination.

Please call again. 😎

Poetic Interlude VII

AMBITION?

Ambitious I am not

Not ambitious – how’s that?

How’s a man meant to be ambitious?

Do I promote – promote – promote?

Do I stand back and beat back the crowd?

Someone found out I ate drank and slept

Their bubble burst and my celebrity status

Went for a tumble

I mustn’t grumble as I’m not ambitious

You aught to promote – promote – promote

They say

Get on post-modern social media

Flog it – flog it – flog it – it’s not to death

Get noticed – stand out – shout plenty

In their face you aught to be

Tell them how wonderful you are

It’s all part of the game

Famous for being famous will do

But laid-back I stick to my groove

I’ll be laid-back in the coffin

I won’t even choose

And so why all the noise now?

“You’ve a lot to offer” – the odd one did say

But so have the multitudes on their blog

All vying for position in their monologue

I say we have to speak

We have to write around the clock

What’s inside must find it’s parchment scroll

It’s cursor clicked to fill each space

But is ambition your motivation?

As the responding masses light your light bulb

Hoist you aloft and then

dump you as one who won’t last

Poetic Interlude VI

NATURE’S ORCHESTRA (2019)

All elements complain

Gusty wind and stormy rain

All elements complain

Creaking trees in vast domain

 

All join in the fray

Orchestral confusion in tuning-up-tunes

Strings of spindly branches too loose

To find a tight rendition

 

Leaves swaying trying to keep in time

Bullrushes stretch to see beyond

Every player rasping on each other

Each blaming sister or brother

 

From Corfu to Bahama-island-sand

Across the mighty ocean

The symphony began

Unknown instruments held in – unknown hands

 

Music symphonies as nature leaves the silence-bind

To play the missing chord that music cannot find

Mountains loom above – looking down on the band

As the sea roars it’s contribution to the land

 

As man runs to hide his head – rather like a coward

With no appreciation for this music avant-garde

He flees the sonic din he doesn’t understand

All fears rise-up to the disaster never planned

 

A song to arise – an opera of superseding grandeur

All drums of thunderclap sound

Split to give way to lightning flash

The amateur rocks will have another bash

 

While in the grassy slopes each blade tries to stand

To applaud the combination-grand

All is let loose with no conductor to command

Animals beneath will watch it on the TV of the moorland

 

They run like you and me as the storm-score takes its toll

It has strummed many strings and solo’d it’s drum roll

Another day another gig for it’s not due it’s repose

Into the night and into the next day it keeps us on our toes

 

Din after din to the untrained ear

But sophisticated composition in musical Shakespeare

It’s dying now – where has the crescendo gone?

It will live to fight another year – turn and turn it on

 

Sound recorded for posterity

It’s devastation now needs prosperity

Nature’s music always leaves it’s aftermath

It’s genre – classical or rock – music for it’s warpath

 

We know it will try again to produce another album

Tuning-up trying to harmonise – but still remaining random

Extreme sound – loud and clear and long and shrill

Remember this piece – as you yield to the awesome thrill

Poetic Interlude V

DOWN IT SEEMS (2019)

Down among the dead men

The bones are lying low

Not a puff of air is found

But what do I know?

I’m not there

 

Down beneath the gooey pond’s-surface

All kinds of tangled-up-in-green

Not a swirling sound is found

But what do I know?

I can’t swim

 

Down beneath the 60 millionth pebble

Lies more than this – in sand grain

As deeper and deeper it goes

But what do I know?

I’m not a minuscule

 

Down in the heart of that friend

Lies all kinds of things

Thoughts galore I can’t explore

And I never will

But what do I know?

As their mind could be – a vacant lot

 

Down – as down as she could be

And never stirring within

She sits before the counsellor

Lost deep in personal ‘spin’ 

But what do I know?

As I can’t get to – where-to-begin

 

Down a little further – on-down the hill

We stop to count the buttercups

And reprimand the dog

But what do I know?

He might only want to play

 

Down and out upon the sidewalk

Some call it skid row city

He tries to stir us to give him pity

And then his legs to work

But what do I know?

He’s only one of many

 

Down for the last time

On our way to drown

Like masks in Japan

we wear our frown

But what do I know?

I’m last to hit the ground

 

The moral of the story

There might be one

Down among the humans

But what do they know?

Morals are few-and-far-between

Poetic Interlude IV

GLAD I’M NOT HERE (2019)

Wind howls like a giant – snoring

Rain whips the grass in it’s downpouring

No animals – all scurried out of sight

Nibbling mice – await the dawning light

Scarecrows remain stiff as brushes

Despite the wind – they stand against it’s rushes

No respite from the week-long deluge

The sun playing tricks through subterfuge

A ray of hope intermittently rationed-out

Then disappears – throwing us back into doubt

Will this last much longer?

I’m glad I vacated to Tonga

Poetic Interlude III

THE LITTLE GIRL’S BALLOON

Across the starry sky there arose

A wind-caught balloon

Gone from the grasp of a little lass

Her pleasure gone too soon

She stood stunned – her inner world awry

The balloon had not said goodbye

She was stuck in shock with a tear in her eye

She watched it rise higher on windy-wing

This soft delicate form that had lodged in her little grasp

Had slipped away – it’s life had passed

Away it went skyward and quickly out of sight

Despite the lanterns of the starry starry night

At last giving-in to her shock and bewilderment

She burst into tears as she looked at her hand 

Wondering why it didn’t understand

she didn’t want the balloon to leave unplanned

She was going to talk to the balloon all night long

– As it lay beside her in bed, – and even sing it a song

She would have put a cap upon it’s head

And given it ‘painted eyes, a nose and a mouth’, so she said

But her companion had taken flight

Leaving her with such a fright

But perhaps tomorrow it would return

Perhaps it would fly – back-in – if she waited

But she didn’t understand – that word – deflated

Tap into the Rap

Tap into the rap…I want to say :

‘ZAP !’…to every crazy idea

that’s been buzzin’ around

since the start of time…

Well you’re a non-conformist…that’s fine…but get your head around…

THE INVISIBLE, THE INDIVISIBLE, THE GREAT SUPREME CHAMPION OF THE UNIVERSE…

Though some may say : ‘He doesn’t seem to be…’

Listen, He’s still the Operator…the Instigator…the Proclaimer…the Creator…of all that there is !

Now you’re a non-conformist…no time for anything…no time for status quo everywhere you go…you say : ‘Don’t want no governmental corruption, no society dictation, don’t care about inflation, no need for explanation’…you want to fly like a pigeon but don’t need no religion…you’ve thought about your situation, you’ve thought about the nation, you’ve thought about all your losin’, might try some seclusion. You’ve thought your head would burst ‘cause there is no conclusion.

THE ANSWER TO LIFE ?…well you’ve only got confusion…disullusion…you think maybe its Buddha, Mohammed…it could be Hare Krishna or some denomination.

The cries, the cries, the many voices raised : ‘follow us, pay your money’…deceiving words…lips dripping like honey.

So your on the daily grind because you cannot find, thinkin’s such a bind…so shoot up some junk, get into some funk, drown the minds emotion…kill by self-destruct…just blast yourself away…no freedom…everyday…no plan, no purpose, no-where, no scheme, no dream…hopeless situation ?

Does it cause some consternation if the man says:

THE WAY, THE TRUTH, THE LIFE, THE LIFE, THE TRUTH, THE WAY, THE TRUTH, THE LIFE, THE WAY.

…’who said that ?’ you might say – Hey !

…was it Karl Marx, Alfred Marks, Groucho Marx, was it Gandhi or Andy Pandy…will we turn around when we know…at the end of hopelessness…when in distress…will we face the loss…and turn to one they put upon the cross… ?…’cause He’s the one who said it…the one who paid it…

He’s the non-conformist that you…thought you might be…

HE’S THE INVISIBLE, THE INDIVISIBLE, THE GREAT SUPREME CHAMPION OF THE UNIVERSE…

Though some may say : ‘It doesn’t seem to be’…still He’s the Operator, He’s the Proclaimer, He’s the Instigator, He’s the Creator of all that there is.

…so lets not conform when we can be transformed…confusion…?…well He is no illusion… He came…He saw…He conquered every devil that there is…He sits upon a throne until our time is through…then rises to welcome…to appear and say : ‘I’m true’…meantime – waiting…as an omniscient might…to deal with all death…until there’s only life…look how quickly minds close to Him on no other basis…than that His name is Jesus…it’s no crime to take a look as a non-conformist should…to the only man who was different from this world…’cause the other world was where His mind was…bringing His power to bear…upon the funky junk, the self destruct confusion, the hypocritical pride, every excuse that helps prop the illusion…that there is only eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die…

Tomorrow we die…that’s for sure…but wrap your thoughts around this rap…cry ‘ZAP !’… to all the crazy unbelieving ideas that don’t come up to scratch…there’s no match…for the ‘Altogether Lovely’… the Holy untouchable…that let’s Himself be touched…by the feeling of man’s infirmity…you hear what I say ?…so listen let’s all hit the dirt and cry out for mercy…cry to Jesus the Son…the only one…who gives His mercy freely to the broken hearted man…to the disillusioned person…without any coercion.. He’ll take you as you are…to be with you every hour…through His eternal power…now why don’t you conclude, you know you really should, deep inside you’re crying for the Jesus of the cross…cause there is no satisfaction till you experience Resurrection…brought to you today…in no uncertain terms we say…

He’s the Truth, The Life, The Way…that’s – Jesus – here to stay…

For further help contact Heaven or ken.riddles@btinternet.com