Only A Game

It is the duty of the poet to tell the truth as they know it... isn't it?  Sad to say this is a true story - but I feel confident that Jessica has forgiven us...

John and I

dug Jess a grave

in the garden.

Dad had been doing some digging

and we asked if we could.

He did not know

why we were digging,

but we dug a trench

then mounded

up the soil

as if we had buried Jess there.

Then we made a cross

out of two bamboo poles

and made a paper sign

with

JESSICA BALDWIN

RIP

written on it.

When we told Mum

she thought we were mean.

So did Jess.

The Russells

were coming for tea

and she said

don’t let Ann Russell

see our grave

she might get upset

and cry.

Ann was seven

and

it was only a game.

So John and me

we went and

jumped up and down

on Jess’s grave.

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vis-à-vis love

Please allow me to list

some features of yours

deserving of a mention:

viz,

your lips, your eyes

your shapely thighs.

Do you follow my gist?

(There are others I’ve missed.)

Allow me to note

some personal flaws

I should bring to your attention:

viz,

my increasing size,

a predilection for lies,

though they stick in my throat .

I could catalogue

what I love about you

in the hope of redemption:

viz,

your smile, your charms

your money, my arms.

(Oh, I am such a dog!)

I would briefly relate

why you should

reciprocate:

viz,

my shining good looks,

my library of books.

(But have I left it too late?)

Wait! –

Before you walk away

please allow me to say

that between

you and me,

vis-à-vis love,

there could be

a passionate courting,

a wooing, resorting

to flowers,

chocolate, showers

of kisses,

an assault of the senses,

your crumbling defences,

champagne in the park,

fumbling after dark.

These are the ways I would love you:

namely,

gamely, madly.

Should you leave

I would grieve.

How would I beat my retreat?

Lamely, sadly.

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Trouble's Brewin'

My mother told me that I was the result of a row subsequent to an incident similar to the one outlined below.  She got me and a new washing machine.  But they weren't Sheffield folk and so this is purely imagined...

Fatther, Fatther,

What’s that on tha collar?

Muther, Muther

What does tha mean?

Fatther, Fatther,

What’s that mark on tha collar?

Muther, Muther

What has tha seen?

Tha knows what Ah’ve seen!

Ah knows what tha’ve been doin'.

Tha knows trouble’s brewing

‘cause Ah knows where tha’ve been!

Ah’ve just been downt’ road

t’ sup down a jar

like alluz Ah do

on a Saterdy neet.

Come on then out wi’ it

who was’t behind bar?

and don’t think o’ lying

‘cause you’re in th’ hotseat!

Ah never would lie,

oh my duckie, my cherub,

tha knows that a never could lie to you.

It were Malcolm and Raymond

and old Missis Flynn

and me an’ old Fred just had one jar - well, two.

Then how did tha get bright red stain

on tha collar?

And how come yer stinkin’ of Lavender Blue?

And how come yer breath smells of Woodbines and whisky

Tha said tha’d give them up if Ah did!

That’s true… Forgive me, me dahlin’,

forgive me, me sweetheart

forgive yer ol’ fella – tha knows that A’m weak

And as for the stain, I helped Joan with her shopping

and she give me one little peck on the cheek!

Nah don’t give me that!  Ah can tell when yer lyin’

It’s as plain as th’ nose right in front of me face.

Tha’ve been out gallivantin’ – no, Ah ’aven’t been spying

Th’ evidence is plain, it’s an open shut case!

Ah sweetheart, Ah’m sorry – tha knows it means nothin’

Tha knows Ah would never do owt to hurt you.

Ah’m a fool an’ Ah know it.

Ah don’t mean to blow it.

So please let’s get through it,

tell me, what shall Ah do?

What shall tha do?  There’s not much tha can!

My Muther was reet I should never have stooped.

Marry in haste and yer life goes to waste!

That’s what she said, ay, Ah think Ah’ve been duped!

So tha wants me forgiveness - tha wants to make up,

well there’s only one thing that will set things in order.

So fust thing tomorrer tha grabs tha cheque book

Get thi’sen down to Cole’s and buy me that front loader!

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#twitterings

Twitter offers lots of opportunities for working your creative muscle in small ways.  Various tweeters have established prompts and hashtags to inspire short micropoems and microstories.  On twitter search for hashtags #LossLit #HeartSoup #wordchimes #MSpoetry and plenty more for a rich compendium of tasty little poetic titbits.

These are some of mine:

#trance

Stood in a trance

at a busstop

I realised

my vacant gaze

had fallen

on a young woman

who was slowly

and deliberately

exposing her midriff

#capturedpoets

#JoyofDays

We shared the sunlit

joy of days

but unaccustomed

to its rays

you left

& have become

the Gothic author

of my sleepless

dreams

#RavensVeil

#climbintome

Climb into me she said 

but the ladder 

I had made 

from flowers 

& words 

& feathers 

was far too fragile 

and crumbled beneath me  

#stone

Stone-eyed children

 wander these dark streets

to sleep on 

granite pillows 

soaked by tears and rain.

#underwater

It’s only as I’m

drowning here

eyes and nose

full of sudden wet sorrow

that I can hear

the mermaids sing

#lists

With sharpie

she listed my patent faults

a post-it on the fridge.

I grated my fingernails

down the black

memoboard

on the door -

There’s another,

she said.

#snapdragon

You seem to follow

the snapdragon path

cleared by your

acerbic mother:

you, the bud

she, the wilting flower.

#petals

Hey,

don’t love me like petals:

they unfurl,

they curl,

they drop.

Love me like

pine needles –

fresh, scintillating,

evergreen.

#myfavouritelie

How will you love me?

What colour, your sigh?

You’ll be my what

that will never die?

Of all of yours

this is

my favourite lie.

#Dusted cocoa

1

Dusted cocoa,

Demerara sugar,

I’ll meet you in the middle.

you,

me -

crunchy,

sweet.

2

so we did the kitchen

in

dusted cocoa

but as Ben said

paint would have been cheaper

3

...and then dredge

with dusted cocoa

for that final decadent flourish.

Now lick.

#black satin

To thumping Clubland rhythms,

you dance out your pain

black satin and lace,

all hips and face,

you're beautiful,

Granddad.

#sudden glow

there was no

sudden glow

just an

undertow

dragging me into

this pool

of wine

Top Cats

Holly and Willow the cats,
Have found a wormhole in the slats.
They creep through and hide
Till the turn of the tide
And come home sporting boaters and spats.

#kiss

You want to what?

Kiss me?

Ok... Whatevs,

fill yer boots.

No tongues!

#quills

Grandma kept geese;

took goosedown and thread

to a quilling bee.

Wasn't it just a typo?

Nope. 

Now she keeps her pinions to herself.

#Universal Process

Un-likely as it may seem

I’ve never

r-eally doubted

Sal-ly was a

pro-fessional prin-

cess

Submissions

Just for fun, a few thoughts on writing pomes!

Do not send me poems written in mist!

Remove the words I cannot understand                                             

just leave the ones you need (take out "the clouds")

then fix them down with ink or blood or fist.

Clench the meaning, don’t ever let it slip.

And don’t add extra words to fill the line.

Find a different way of making sense

so what you say comes tripping off your lip.

You shouldn’t need to fiddle about with rhymes

I never really like them anyway

I find that rhyme can just get in the way

and make you say things you don’t want to say

And please don’t bring “your heart” into the verse

or tell me that your soul is “yearning still”

or make out that the night is “full of pain”

God!  Suddenly this headache’s getting worse.

If you’ve got something to tell me, tell me straight!

Don’t faff about with spongy epithets;

no symbols, similes or metaphors

just good old English – get it on the plate!

No more than forty lines, too, if you would,

and set them out in Times New Roman Twelve.

Double spaced!  Please – I need some space to write

these helpful little comments for your good.

So are we straight now?  Do you get my drift?

Clarity and truth is everything.

A storyline, some characters, a plot,

now that would really give my day a lift!

To an Early Blackbird

Another homework exercise - we've been looking at e e cummings...

Yes,

we hear you,

atop the stillhouetted tree

spillthrill the dreich with your persuasive song -

slice the ice air cleanly through and

clear the night from out of these dark webs.

source: http://www.nakedeyeplanets.com/venus-conjunctions.htm

Yes,

you raise breath, bones and bill towards

the drinkling sky

and shiver soundclouds slooping

round the terraced walls,

while we, two dumbly sleeping pillow stalkers,

flail for five few minutes more

in the trying embers of this turgid night.

Yes,

we who have loved and loved and loved

cocooned and canopied

hear-hear your counter-pointing carolling

while the startclimbing, starblinding Sun pours

cream and custard rays

behind the guarding gate.

Yes,

you break the fast-held night in two –

we two, in night, hold fast the break. 

What did you do at school today?

-What did you do at school today, Christopher?  Did anything exciting happen?

- We did papier mache.

- Did you?  What did you make?

- We had to cover a bowl with paper and glue till the glue dried and then take it off and have a paper bowl.  We have to paint it tomorrow.

- Oh, lovely – a paper bowl, how lovely!  Was it fun?

- Mrs White got cross with me.

- Did she, why?

- She told me off because she got gluey paper all over her fingers when she was helping me and she made me pick it off her fingers even though I didn’t put it there she did so I don’t know why she got cross with me.

- Oh dear.  Well, was playtime fun?

- Well…

- Well what?

- Well, a boy’s nose fell on a fist.

- What?

- A boy’s nose fell on a fist in the playground.

- Oh dear, was he all right?

- Well, it did bleed. But he went in to see the Nurse and she stopped it.

- Which boy was it?

- Kevin.

- Kevin?  Your friend, Kevin?

- Yes.  But, …

- But what?

- Well I’m not sure that he is my friend any more.

- Oh dear.  Why not?

- Because of the falling.

- What?

- Because of falling on the fist.

- Oh?  Why would he stop being friends with you, though?

- Don’t know.  He just did.

- What?

- When he came back from the Nurse after dinner he wouldn’t talk to me.

- Why not?

- He said it was my fault.

- Why?  Did you push him or something?

- No!

- What then?

- It was my fist.

- What?

- It was my fist he fell on.

- Do you mean you hit him?

- No!  He fell, but I had my fist up and he … he fell on it.  My fist.  And it did bleed a lot and he was really upset.

- Oh dear.  Well, …. maybe you could take him something tomorrow to make him feel better?

- What?  Medicine?

- No, I mean a little present or something…

- Like what?

- Well, I don’t know.  What do you like when you feel upset?

- I like dinkies.

- Hm?

- I like playing with my dinkies.

- Oh yes!  Well maybe you could take him one of your dinkies to play with.  Just to make friends again.

- I could take him my Mini but he can’t have my James Bond car.

- Yes, all right.  Why don’t you take him your Mini dinky?

- All right.  I’ll take him my Mini… … … to borrow.