Sympathies – 16th June 2025
Tag: poem
I neither cared for you one way or the other,
The Underdogs – 15th June 2025
Captured above to maintain format.
It’s been several days now
since I sat staring at this empty page;
waiting for the bombs to drop
to erase this void space.
Thinking of those hot days and nights in Rhodes;
thinking how I wasn’t scared of the future then,
wondering why I can’t get back there again;
Thinking how I got to here
and how impossible it feels to leave;
Thinking about the word collectors,
those saviours,
thinking about nouns;
~ How to make good to be better ~
How I would bake bread
in my safe European home;
Thinking why those memories cling
more than the achievements and disappointments since;
I never flew Hurricanes in Greece;
The only huns I fought were toy soldiers
and I always sided with the underdogs and losers;
Coincidence is telling me that it’s time
to start reading Proust;
Hoping for a revelation that will put me straight
and clear the fog…
as the bombs keep dropping all around others,
the blood spills across this empty page;
The word collector erased
throwing his life into the fire.
It’s been several days now.
The poem above was written for the first part of the W3 prompt #163. I was also inspired by Reena’s Xploration Challenge #385 using the phrase ‘word collector’.
The line ‘How I would bake bread in my safe European home’ is a reference to a time when I was about 12 and, with the help of my mother, I started baking bread. As I was obsessed with the Clash at the time I baked some bread rolls that spelled out the letters C-L-A-S-H, ‘Safe European Home’ being a song from their second album.
The line ‘I never flew Hurricanes in Greece’ is a reference to Roald Dahl and his book ‘Going Solo’ about his time as a fighter pilot in WWII. I just finished reading his book today. The mention of Proust is because I will start reading ‘In Search of Lost Time’ soon.
This poem is about not knowing what to write, knowing what to write, knowing what is important and the futility in sharing a few words with a few people.
The second part involves running it through the N+7 machine, where I have taken the following extracts to recompose, revise and make this new poem:
Captured above to maintain format.
The Underclass
It’s been several daylights now
since I sat staring at this empty pain;
waiting for the butchers of duty
to erase this void spoken.
Thought of those hot daylights and nightmares in Rhodes;
I thought how I wasn’t scared of the game then,
wondering why I can’t get basis there again;
Time – how I got to here
and how important it feels to leave;
Thunder about the word collectors
those saviours
threaten about nouns
~ How to make goodbye to be better ~
How I would bake breath
in my safe European honesty;
Thought why those menaces cling
more than the acquaintance of discipline since;
I never flew hysterical in grief;
The only huns I fought were trial sorrows
and I always sided with the underclass and loyal
Combination is telling me that it’s tone
to state reality, Proust!;
Hoping for a riot, that witch put me straight
and cleared the form…
as the books keep dropping all around outlines,
the body spills across this empty pain;
The word collector erased
throwing his lifetime into the fireplace
(throwing his lip into the flesh).
It’s been several delights now.
Making It – 14th June 2025
From then until now only time will tell,
they said
We can only buy in this buy-and-sell,
make bread
For each other and we will share it well
instead
By the time we make it out of this hell,
– we’re dead
Full Bellies – 13th June 2025
Once I was filled with many dreams
Then reality made me doubt
But I’m failing on my own terms
This means some days I’ll go without
I felt like I was rich today,
I didn’t have to beg for food
I know tomorrow may not play
But full bellies make a good mood
40 Years – 12th June 2025
every day, no meat
it’s been this way 40 years
so much more to eat
every day we meet
for breakfast, lunch and dinner
every day no meat
a challenge to others’ fears
young and old alike
it’s been this way 40 years
a life still complete
without the death and killing
so much more to eat
A cascade poem using the haiku form (stanza 3 made inside out) as prompted at the Chimeric Poetry Scavenger Hunt: and shared with Poets and Storytellers United #180: Stubborn About the Small Things
Chequered Flag – 11th June 2025
The prizes so hard fought for
on display for all to see;
The holders of the winners’ cup
granted entry to the marquee;
A hall of fame so fleeting
seen only by a select few;
A name barely remembered
and mostly no one knew;
The best are filled with pride,
some turn arrogant and vain;
When the chequered flag is raised
they all end up the same.
Shared with the No Theme Thursday picture prompt
Final Solution – 10th June 2025
Inspired by a thought (‘magic blood’) from the Change My Mind Substack here.
* Repurposed from Chris’s poem ‘The Phoenix Tree Writes’
I am born of the magic blood
and God made his promises to me;
Envy and hatred are my razors,
the disease of nations lurches towards
a final solution.
I’ll not fight for your freedom
when there’s still history to be written;
Blessed for one thousand years,
one thousand years nearer to
a final solution.
Rough drafts scratched with dead desires;*
my maps are majestic cities in the mud;
The great insignificance, smaller than a secret
must not be told to a reliable witness of
the final solution.
A Grain Of Salt – 9th June 2025
The first bee arriving at the blooming banks
The pebble alone does not a mountain make
A lonely planet in the universe ranks
As a speck of sand washed up along the break
Inconsequential as our atoms may be
Our egos still require us to stake a claim
An eternal life in written history
The stars that saw our fire will forget the flame
Inspired by Cicero
Meanwhile, Elsewhere – 8th June 2025
Down in amongst the broken, dirty chaos
Restless rats are awaiting our return
Get me away, get thee away – gedouddaheah!
We’ve all got some loving to learn
Up among the trees and idyllic charms
Of sprawling lawns, quiet, clean and pure
Elsewhere, everything else is happening
We should’ve been there for sure
We gotta leave so that we can come back
To quiet ourselves amongst the noise
Knowing that everything will be waiting there
Ready to share its joys
Another poem inspired by the first part of this post at Spinning Visions blog. I’d forgotten that I’d read it before!
The Sheds – 7th June 2025
Those old wooden planks forming structures
stood behind my 400-year-old home;
still, they stood through each test of time
long after I had left this place to roam;
From the house and its slippery paths,
mossed and icy obstacles in winter;
stood those dilapidated monuments,
though each season would split and splinter;
To the left, “the office”, where Grandad
collected his postcards of the wild Yukon;
locked up tight his precious memories
that I would sometimes curiously snoop on;
Around the back, the gardening shed,
musty and full of rusting tools;
next to that, the beer shed
where empty crates were used as stools;
I still recall the stray cat delivering
us a parade of kitten after kitten,
so we kept and named her ‘Mother’
as we all became tragically smitten;
Sadly, she didn’t stand the test of time
and with her next litter, cruelly, died;
nothing left except a couple of photos
tucked into an album and simply kept aside;
Still more sheds stood next to the fence,
one full of coal, another with wood;
once a week, I collected both
for the fire; a role I understood;
But there were two more I don’t recall,
their purpose a mystery to my childish eyes;
perhaps full of junk or even empty;
so much for the test of time and how it flies.
All this is true.
Shared with the W3 prompt #162:
a. Your poem must include deliberate repetition of a word, phrase, or sentence structure at least three times throughout the piece.
b. Your poem must incorporate the word “still” at least twice.
This poem is way longer than I would like and became more of a rhyming reminisce for myself rather than an ideal piece of artistic poetry.
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