Pure Comedy

I have dreamed of a day, for quite some time, where I’d end up not having time to blog because brain became too busy producing something to be properly proud of. Don’t get me wrong, the blogging serves a very useful function: daily dose of application which keeps brain on the rails and body sated via the release of dopamine. However, there’s always been a wish that eventually, there might be content good enough to throw at the World for consumption. This week, it has finally begun to happen.

There’s a couple of interesting Poetry mentorships up for grabs at present, both of which have a late July deadline and require a three-poem ‘sampler’ from prospective applicants. That means at least six pieces, to a standard that reflects the development I’ve made so far. Over the last two days there’s been a re-writing of an English standard, my reaction to ASD, masturbation, the Internet, bisexuality and internet stalking all used as basis for a raft of work that reflects what I am far more truthfully than anything else thus far written. Looking at the pile to my right, five are in primary editing phase already.

It is as if my brain’s just been waiting for the moment to disgorge all this stuff at once.

The title of my poetry book, should it be required, is taken from a Father John Misty song which I discovered back in February. To give you an idea of subconscious turnaround times, it has taken that long for the poem spawned by that song to come out of my head and onto the page, but now it has I am immensely pleased with the results. It’s a realisation that with the right stimulus and enough space for my brain to distil, there’s the real possibility that I can become more than a competent poet. I can be political, and honest, but most importantly true to myself.

Now, it’s a case of editing everything and doing the covering letters to match. Those are easy, it’s the poems that were the problem, but now the measure of my mind is marked, the worry is beginning to slip away.

I can actually do this.

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.


 

Ambient Noise :: Storm

Inside’s silence no longer binds.
Open, unfold to capture
Raindrops: bounce, open hands bloom.
Genuflect upwards, Dufresne style:
Violent weather inviting change,
Cleansing fear into willing earth.
The eye’s storm, silence dead
Lost in hale of water’s wash.


Ambient Noise :: Static


Between notes, switching channels
Noise, stands still.
Call ends, message sends
Static borne, dies.
Pushed into pockets
Slipped behind sofas;
Ends of conversations, begin silence.
Lost in transmission
Translated by robots.
Spaces between, unseen.

No-one hears, too much talking
Care, absent.
Trolls lurk in websites
Wish them, away.
Mute noise then move on
Curate out the wrong;
Begin friendships, end this digital live.
Remember outside
Forgotten by humans.
Vast spaces, inviting.


 

Ambient Noise :: Start Up

Stop complaining
Life owes you nothing:
Keep retaining
Satisfaction, maintaining.
Effort and reward
Isn’t very hard.

Start thinking, create
It’s never too late;
Production abates
Depressive states.
Look after yourself
Does wonders for health.

Look up and not down
Create smiles from frowns;
No need to clown
Strike out, go to town.
Walk away from the screen
It’s making you mean.

Start up and aim high
Why not reach for the sky;
Wave anger goodbye,
Just be a nice guy.
Your job to improve
Get up, time to move.


Ambient Noise :: Sequence


Loop, repeat beat, through feet heat bleeds
Reality recedes.
Thump heartbeat, hips replete
Shifting, twisting shifting; uplifting, rotating.
Fingers entwined, body in mine
Frisson, friction, benediction.
Risen, fell, so much to tell
Beat’s deceit, deal sealed, repealed.

Sequence demands, commands
Hands hold, boldly move, groove shifts, resists.
Move up, down back, no slack, attack.
Push both to peak, don’t speak, just feel
Notes real, treble rebels, bass haste
Reflect, plateau, ascend, climax.
Explode, relax, again, maintain
Rise with fall, best dance of all.


Poetry Archive :: Transitions

Occasionally, I get really lucky.

This poem is one of those moments.

Please enjoy something I am VERY proud of.

 


Transitions

This moment transcends inertia
Acute feelings: collide, entwine
Absorbed into the other’s skin
Belief of better sought within.

Make me the mirror of your care:
Sent light upwards towards the dawn,
Far better sunrise for each day
Coaxing belief along our way.

Exhaling negativity
Requiring only breath and hope;
Ignite joint passion without fear
Illuminate true path now clear.

Simple acceptance is required
Transitions, understanding set.
Bright sharpness, brilliant, sublime;
Redefinition comes with time.

To turn around two lives of pain
Impossible thrown out of play:
Becoming sum of diverse parts
Devotion scored on willing hearts.