Poetry Archive :: Leaves

Considering how horrendous this week has been (and continues to bite, even at the weekend) I’m really proud of our pair of poems at restart. What it proves is that if you work hard enough, and for long enough, poetry can happen. It is the same theory as training muscles or learning a new language. Now I come to think of it, that’s exactly the combination of skills required for poetic development…

Enjoy.


Leaves

Moisture drawn within: pale skies smoothed, gold leaf
ends harshest heat, broken Summer. Bring forth
calmer breeze, breathe quieter evening moments,
burnt chaff spirals, organic drifts away.

Anticipating solstice, build rich mounds
blackberry, apple pilfered: bag and bowl
smuggled prize escapes hedgerows. Loaded tree
groans pleasure; flesh-wrapped seed, succulent treat.

Year moves quietly, leaves soft indentations
twisted twirl, country dance with smoke-soaked reels
Dragged mulch, rake scrapes, dry earth still parched, arid
desert planet struggling, fractured self.

Remember past, moments scored; ask Autumn,
redefine personal progress. Leaving
past detritus, baked sacrifice offered;
plated dessert course satisfies far more.

Legacy of pie, fruit stuffed rewarding
past year’s hard work, redefinition marks
quiet criticism pyre, soft ashes smeared.
Face’s dark warpaint: let battle begin.


Simple // Two

Direction must therefore be altered: point
yourself west, towards countless setting sons
commanding consumption for their futures.
Resist continued desire; imitate
nobody except your own past echoes,
apps, urls, deconstructed guidance.

Count these beats in digital times, making
snapshots with conjugal rhymes, resultant
overnight follower count nirvana.
The future’s already, out of date meme
newspaper’s print without understanding
proclaiming destruction before forethought.


 

Simple // One

Simple // One

The poetry of others is not mine:
read, assimilated and digested
it is that foreign country of times past.
Their verses shimmer, tantalising coins
inside stone fountains raining forth wisdom;
acid rain eroding, confidence gone.

I come late to this jamboree, grasping
baggage, pitted with footprints, refusals
stamped between eyeballs: too simplistic, no.
You cannot join our party: name’s not down
that attitude’s a joke, go rhyme elsewhere;
playing a young woman’s game here, sweetheart.


Poetry Archive :: Release

I went dumb and went rhyming. Don’t @ me, people, I’m emotionally spent, plus by the time you read this I will have done two massive bike events in two weeks. You can spend the ten days or so reading the better examples of my poetry via Social media. For now, please allow this woman a chance to go sit and relax for ten days…


Release

Only seven more days remain
‘Til holiday’s starting, again:
Excitement is always the same
Kid within me bounces, no shame.

This year, I’ll be living the dream
Ambition from childhood our scene:
To Italy, move at full steam
Don’t anyone mention ice cream.

For seven days this is our home
Whole family, going to Rome:
Staring at basilica’s dome
Sightseeing, then time on our own.

We’re staying a way out of town
Hope our villa is not a let down:
Am not on vacation to frown
Don’t want to have sorrows to drown.

Adventure is what we will make
Occasional rules then to break
Relaxation, time now to take
I really hope there will be cake.


Poetry Archive :: Cease

I spend an awful lot of time in my life online being exposed to a particular brand of selfish, arrogant and blinkered attitudes. Many of these emanate from individuals who view me, as a woman who’s been gaming since the 1970’s, as some kind of curiosity to be poked, studied and summarily laughed at. Then there are those who creep me out by stalking my actions, or making lewd comments over everything I say, however innocent that might be. Mostly, people are the problem.

These people know who they are, and this poem is for them.

[This has been edited from its original postings via social media.]


Cease

The hubbub over this is mere distraction,
pointless tirade from he who does not hear:
allows anger to grant brief satisfaction,
short victory exposing faults as clear.

Continuing this course of self-destruction
a pointless, all-consuming pack of lies;
outcome will not result in reproduction
instead, expect a chorus of goodbyes.

Should truly you require to keep a friendship
for longer than the time between ad breaks;
put down that sword, prepare to shed your armour,
high time to reconsider what it takes.

Each gamer’s creed is written in their pixels,
intractable no longer from the soul:
attention needed for a range of muscles
not simply brain and hand to make things whole.

Forget those jokes about making a sandwich
‘Play of the Game’ no longer will impress:
if you desire a friendship in your bandwidth
drop toxic thoughts and actions to progress.


Poetry Archive :: Under

There’s some good ideas in this sequence, but the execution is all over the shop, plus there’s not nearly enough poetic flow. That’s the disadvantage of not writing your poetry in one hit and editing on the fly. This will be the last time that happens, as I’m determined to up the quality of outputted content here overall in the months that follow.

Starting next week, we’ll be doing things differently, but I feel it’s important to have this stuff up and online to remind myself that there is always room for improvement, and when you produce work at the level I’m currently churning stuff out, there will be variance.


Under

Early morning heat haze shimmers,
too hot already for breakfast.
Green and pleasant land buckles,
warping: thank you, global warming.

Consequences of our actions
expirated, child’s discomfort.
Each day, all more apparent
Earth’s verdant fruits, diminishing.

Under protective skies that may
soon refuse co-operation:
Mother Nature, pressurised
no longer capable saviour.

Accept our blame for destruction,
start reconciliation:
clean up this mess we’ve made, before
damage done, irreversible.

The fault, humanity’s: shoulder,
collectively responsible
alter trajectory to
salvage future for all mankind.


Poetry Archive :: Done

The next four weeks of poetry are not only connected by name (consider it a sort of word-association game) but link to the theme of the month. We’re almost done here, the holidays are coming, and there’s a kind of demob-happy vibe permeating everything. This is also the means by which yours truly gets to practice her stream of consciousness descriptive techniques on a wider stage. Let’s face facts, it is all largely pissing in the wind until someone else notices and gets something from the words.

I’m having a whale of a time. Does it show?


Done

We have arrived, on schedule, to
moment of almost perfection.
Safety belts, redundant restraints,
may safely be released. Relax.

Proceedings: fruitful, concluded
in most pleasant circumstances.
Comforting perspective, seated
grant next stage’s planning. Begin.

Placed for consideration, list
requirements, process imagined.
Without contention, debated
safe spaces then defined. Pleasure.

Comprehension: essence required
evolving past this present place.
Acceptance, redefinition
sans recrimination. Open.

Doors thrown wide, walk into sunlight
without fear. Transformation’s spark
undoes, decades limp restriction;
hostility, exhausted. Done.