A tanka, shared with Reena’s Xploration #400 – inspired by the attached picture from The Marginalian’s An Almanac of Birds. These elusive birds are known as ‘jewels of the swamp’ and their song is a ‘sweet-sweet-sweet’ sound. Their name is derived from their colour, an almost fluorescent golden-yellow, like the robes of a papal prothonotary (a high-ranking cleric in the Catholic Church. I learned all this today, too.
trusting no fixed star but the compass in my chest to chart my own path
plastic handles bite my palms head spins, as heartbeat ba-bumps
welcome days in – ever winding the humdrum must be done wound down – until day’s out
at my cluttered desk I stitch poems line by line lest gray cells ooze out
the words remain concrete a scripture my own
fountain pen twirling needle of unwritten words seeking sacred course
A two-person rengay, written with David at The Skeptic’s Kaddish. David’s lines are italicised. I think this is the first time I have written a poem with someone else and it was an interesting exercise. I started off with the first stanza and deliberately left out any motivations about the words to see where David went with it. Each time after that, though, we did explain our reasoning for the words. I think the final result became quite a balanced poem and a balanced reflection on life too. I’ll let you make your own mind up on that though.
I was working on this poem when the W3 prompt arrived to write about silence and I have somewhat jammed my poem into it, so it doesn’t quite fully meet the criteria but here it is anyway. Above, formatted as desired and below is what WordPress decides to display it like.
Some days are made for speaking, others for silence; a stride into the spotlight, a tiptoe back into the shadows.
Some moments call for stepping forward, others for stillness; a bull entering the ring, the matador focused.
…….and
Some moments call for stillness, others for stepping forward; the river doesn’t share any secrets until it finds the waterfall.
Some days are made for silence, others for speaking; the words are lost in wonder until the whisper becomes a roar.
All of the noise rushed through the open window, as I willingly wound my way through the Purbecks; from the Cove to Old Harry, a chalky knife on the map. Is this the life?
The dilapidated rust bucket rumbles along as it takes me to the outside; toking to this song, a mind expand A fiery gun hand, my troubles all left behind.
Where there’s all creations, their buds and spawn; here I am! without a care, ensconced within a bed of air, joining in celebrating the wind ruffling my hair.
As a tone deaf chorus leaves my lip, sung from my very own big ship; happiness and joy fills my face with a beaming smile a mile wide, a dirty boy with no bright side, so often lost to his dreaming.
All around the world ships and irons are heard clanging; a banging of our headbones, waiting to go off and things.
On land and in the sea, so far from tidy suburbia; all the poor soldiers know, despite their charms, that’s the way we all go…
Written for the GloPoWriMo Day 18 prompt: Craft your own poem that recounts an experience of driving/riding and singing, incorporating a song lyric.
It surely was a joyous time, somewhere around 1989, I’d guess, driving my old shitty Morris Marina around the Purbeck Hills, checking out Lulworth Cove and Old Harry’s Rocks, smoking a joint and blasting Cardiacs songs with the windows down and me crooning along as best as I could, for no one in particular, perhaps a tern or two.
The bolded words are some of my favourite Cardiacs lyrics taken from the song ‘Big Ship’ – a joyous anthem that I shared often with The Pond during the late 80s shows. There are many other references to Cardiacs’ songs contained within, along with some band folklore. The title is an obvious nod to the master musician Dr Tim Smith, whom I miss dearly (despite never speaking to him), as do so many others who are ‘in it’.
All this ties in nicely to the recent release of Cardiacs’ LSD album, which is currently giving me earworms.
Unaware of the power wielded through the letterbox of her hijab; Stars pour out at the questions fielded, a butterfly chase for boys to grab.
Inspired by a grade 7 student at my school who has the most stunning eyes. Whenever I see her, I’m reminded of the girl who was on the cover of National Geographic (below). It also makes me consider love and attraction in other cultures.
I’m sending you all a letter You’ll receive it when I have gone It may not be anything much But may mean something to someone
But the meaning it will contain Multiplied by my own demise Even if only for a time There’s not much left to give surprise
This is a reference to scheduling posts far in the future that will be delivered after I die. This could be one. Who knows? 26th Sep 2025 – Shared with dVerse OLN as not many eyes made it to this one.
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