Author Archives: gareth roi jones

Day 02 – twilight (& touristas)

02 twilight

No longwinded introduction needed tonight.

*****

twilight: autumn roll call driving home

in the 25 dusky kilometres
between work’s end
& my welcoming door
i choose the slower route
the winding back way
through hills

by so doing, i glimpse three
glitteringly furred foxes;
half a dozen twitchy roos;
two scraps of darkness
reveal themselves as bats;
a crossing echidna forces brakes;
& a stealth owl i can’t identify
skims the windscreen
in an unwise game of chicken 

& although these are all
common enough creatures
for my part of the earth
every one ticks the box
inside my greengrass heart
labelled TINY THRILL

 

 

BONUS POEM: April 2, 2018

Wandering round Rome’s big Roman attractions (the Flavian Amphitheatre, Circus Maximus, Palatine Hill, the Forum) has been somewhat surreal. I loved classics since a kid; read countless histories & fictions set there, that to experience them firsthand was bliss (despite the blisters, boom, you’re welcome).

But this is the subject of a separate poem. What you get today is somewhat lighter & more whimsical 😬.

*****

Selfie Schtick 

something about me
clearly implies trust
(or an ability to fake it
photographically)

for today, on top
of Palatine Hill,
i’ve been requested
to supplant
the selfie stick
almost a dozen times

i quickly developed
my own schtick
by the second request
— a trio of American
boys who laughed
at the result

which of course
meant the joke
grew with exposure
till its inevitable
demise with a Russian
(perhaps) family 

who failed to see
the humour in having
one photo of my face
& two blurry ones
of their own four
(so poorly framed
owing to gross self
congratulation with
my cheekiness)
i neglected to include
the Vatican
in the background

02b-view-from-palatine-hill.jpg

Day 01 – the present (& the past)

knee

As much as I dread this time of the year, in a way I look forward to it too. The challenge of making yourself write something new is always illuminating. Particularly since I haven’t written as much poetry recently as I’d like. In the past 12 months, I have been overseas, packed up my old house, secured a loan, bought a new house, & moved back to the country where I grew up. It has been an exhausting but ultimately rewarding 12 months.

But for many hours today, I debated whether I would bother with another NaPoWriMo (they are quite exhausting) & I have participated every year since 2014.

That said. I really didn’t feel inspired. So I checked out the official NaPoWriMo page to see what the prompt of the day was: poem in the form of instructions on how to do something (a recipe, instructional manual, etc). Less than inspiring. None-the-less, I attempted for a while to fashion something I’ve been thinking about for a while — the “Goldilocks zone” for planetary habitability. But the recipe format made it too didactic, it clunked along & would take far too long to get it to work, so I abandoned it & felt like abandoning the whole idea, when …

 

the present

there are times : when in stillness : in solitude’s silence : in the black hole : of recrimination : i catch myself : remembering : who i was : grieving : for who i might : have been

when my dog : even if in slumber : feels the air shift : a gasp : tear : tremble : thought : paddles over : rests chin : on knee : looks at me : with liquidlove eyes : offers : a blessed moment : of forgetting

 

 

 

NOTE: Last year during NaPoWriMo18 I was overseas. I had intended to use the WordPress app to upload a poem daily but for three days the Italian wifi seemed unable to accommodate me. So instead I simply posted my poems on facebook. As a “bonus” I intend to share the poem I wrote each day a year ago so they too are on my blog.

BONUS POEM: April 1, 2018

TL;DR
Participating in #napowrimo/#glopowrimo again. Writing every day. WordPress sux. Posting on Facebook not blog. Catching up now…

Take 1. (Original Post)
Well that traumatic but challenging time of year has arrived again #napowrimo/#glopowrimo. Even though I am away from the Deskal Area of Creative Output, I was hoping to participate in it using the WordPress phone app.

However, even though 2 days have passed without a post yet, I have been writing heaps every day, so there is plenty to choose from. That said the excitement & exhaustion of OS travel (as well as just, er, frustrating technical issues) means I just … haven’t.

They will form, I hope a kind of mini travel-diary in poetic notation. They may not be the best poem of the day (though I’ll try) but one which captures the spirit/primary activity/mood/lesson (for want if a better word) for the day. But enough blather …

Take 2.
Okay so there’s a lesson learnt, I think … & that is that hotel wifi may not be “strong enough” to upload a new wp post. (Yeah I dunno either…) Either way, the spinning wheel of death went round & round for 20 min trying to publish before I was forced to concede & quit it. I lost it all & had to start again.

Take 3.
The ultimate lesson is that three (3) separate hotel wifis aren’t up to the task (2 in Rome, 1 in Tuscany).

So it clearly must be the fault of the app. In three evenings following delightful outings, I’ve managed to upload one saved version of Day 1 but not post it. & that took so much time I was able to read Chapter 1 of The Raunbow; a none-too-brief introduction to the Brangwens.

So I’ve decided the only inelegant solution is to only post on fb & updated the blog later.

 

Ancient Ostia, under the flight path

deliberately avoided
the showstoppers
wandered the small walls
half rooms,  broken paths
& togas of headless marble
once were somebodies

so when I arrive
via stone
steps so steep
OHS would object
i’m ready for breath
to be stolen

the ancient
amphitheatre’s
gasp

natural focal point
of congregating school
groups eating sandwiches
packets of chips
& browning precut
pieces of fruit;
impromptu lectures;
philosophical thoughts;
families clowning round;
kids singing songs
on the orchestra
while parents
applaud, laugh

even after 2000 years;
even while the big
planes bellydown nearby;
this long lost theatre
still works magic

Mask

Day 30 – poem about you

the_forest_whispers_sanguine_CROP

Thankfully NaPoWriMo 2017 has come to an end, for although I enjoy it, it’s always a relief when it’s over.

A couple of choices today from the things I’ve played with. One was a love poem in fragments. One about how country towns don’t exist anymore. Another about the city, under lights. All of which I’ve sort of done before (or variations of). So I’ve gone with something a little bit different: a “sequence” (?) of very short poems which all came out about the same time & all seemed to be semi-tenuously linked. Once I noticed they were coming I applied a 5 line rule to them, & re-edited them all into second person. Originally there were 10. Here are the best:

5 modern mini-faery tales where you are the star

i.
Using your red brolly
you hitched a ride
to the sky
to walk upon
the live wires of electricity

ii.
You carry a swarm
in your bloodbrown hair
ready to sting
all who displease you
into submission

iii.
You catch clouds in a jar
high above the trees
never thinks about how
it just
seems to happen

iv.
You wear ribbons
at your wrists, ankles & neck
all tied tight
to stop your appendages
falling off

v.
After teaching your elephant
to lift you on her trunk
you’ll focus on
tandem bikeriding
(once it’s been reinforced)

Day 29 – poem about mines

cornish_mining_heritage___st_agnes CROP

Good one gareth, mining the same old topics. Sheesh! Maybe next year’s NaPoWriMo you could try something different …

emotion mining

sometimes the people who enter our lives are of our own choosing
while others are introduced by loved ones who should know better

i.
i’ve spent the past 2 months with several
of my mother’s dearest most beloved friends
who have suckered me into their whirlwind
unconventional romance, their aching love,
heartbreak, their failed business ventures,
smuggling, revolution, trials, jealously, the death
of their firstborn & the wild beauty of life
on an old coast, & a few days ago, Francis
drowning alone in a dark place

ii.
only moments have passed since Ross began
the affair he’s been threatening for years. now
it’s been so brutally consummated i cannot
contain my shock & as a consequence Demelza
has determined to go unattended to a ball
where who knows what calamity will befall.
i’m too afraid to turn, begin the next chapter
of course i will, after zapping this cold coffee

iii.
but the greatest betrayal of all is my mother’s
for she knew these calamities occur, yet still
blithely offered me the first in the series leaving
me to experience the emotional rollercoaster
…………………………………………………………………….alone

 

 

Day 28 – poem about eggs

nest_ii_by_kasiaznana CROP

Hmmm, I wrote this yesterday (Friday, in the early post midnight hours before going to sleep) & having written it, didn’t think of it all day. Clearly I thought I’d posted it. Just as clearly coming online tonight to post today’s (Saturday) I did not. Thank gawd NaPoWriMo is nearly over for another year. 

Apropos: the good old Facebook rehashed memories thing has shown me that it’s about this time every year I write a NaPoWriMo post saying how I’m feeling sick, & true to form, have been fighting an ever-increasing sore throat all day … Poeting is hard 

eggdreaming

& so at the end
of another weary
day flutter home
shake off shoes, feathers
fold away wings
strip down to skin
climb into my tangle
of sticks, soft fabrics
fall into fitful sleep
where if lucky i will
dream once more
of my lost eggs

Day 27 – poem about bad hair

g&g

Some days a poem just writes itself. This was one such. From a few notes jotted while I was visiting my gran in her “retirement home”, the tone quickly established itself & made me laugh out loud as the various descriptions presented themselves.

knot me

in the quiet blue of my gran’s tiny
room a photo of a long-haired kiss-
curled cow-licked feminine-faced lout;
smug in a purple-striped shirt under
neath an all-white knitted jumper
(as was, I hope, vaguely fashionable
in the Miami Vice trashed late 80’s);
set off with a heart-shaped silver bolo-
tie for fuck’s sake
                                 although i recognise
his confident cock-eyed grin, his too-
smooth clean-cut chin, & once-pride&joy
full-but-already-thinning head of fine
wavy hair, my stomach double knots
in grief & pity — for he does not yet
know all he has, nor all he will lose

Day 26 – poem about not asking your mother for ideas

Cat Nap Over a Starry Night CROP

Late at night, and no poem written, I foolhardily ask my mother for a noun, verb & adjective. The resulting cat, spinning & fluffy do little to inspire. Immediately I regretted asking. My first off-the-cuff effort took only 10 seconds.

     the fluffy cat
     did not sit
     on the mat
     instead spent
     her time
     spinning

After 45 minutes of trying other things, I had nothing so quickly whipped up… It could get better next draft. (Couldn’t it?)

fluffy spinning cat

i knew the cat was not
from the same universe
as me almost as soon
as she showed up
on my mat

now i’m not normally
a cat fan but this one
was so fluffy i nearly
forgave it its
felinity

which is, of course,
the very worst thing
you can do to any cat
intergalactic
or not

she slowly smiled until
she disappeared
teeth last, popped back
climbed with all claws
up my thigh

dematerialised with a ping
returned sitting on
the window sill, squeaked
in a high pitched voice
& sent me to asleep

as i start to drift off
the stars start spinning
she pulls out a red balloon
& floats away up
into the sky

& curls up for a catnap
in the crescent moon

 

Day 25 – poem about peace

cow-in-poppy-fieldCROP

Today is always a day of conflicting emotions for me. Been trying to resolve my attitude towards it for 25 years. This is one of the pomes that came out after percolating about it all day. I’m happy enough with it. Hope my googleTranslate French is accurate.

Voix parmi les vaches

All I’ve heard for a long time now
is French farmers calling their cows.
It’s a musical enough language
& everything sounds more beautiful;
but I do miss the Aussie drawl
And the sky over this western front
Is no where near as big as
the west where I was once from.

The sun has gone down.
All my comrades have grown
old, gone beyond. Joined me,
in their way. So let us sleep.
We are grateful for your thoughts
but our graves no longer want
or need your remembrances.
You offer us a minute of silence.

Let’s try it for a century,
see if we can let it all just, settle.

 

NB Very hitech technicalised tech issues meant I was unable to post yesterday’s NaPoWriMo post as intended. About quarter to twelve with the image chosen, the bulk of the text typed into this blog & most of the miscellaneous tags & faff taken care of, I was suddenly unable to type anymore: turns out the rechargeable batteries in my wireless keyboard had gone flat & being the organised soul I am, I had neglected to backup charge any for, oh some weeks…

 

Day 24 – poem about silence

analog-signal

A paean to solitude. It has its downsides, but man it has its ups as well.

noise

sound is stress;
silence, simplicity
too many people
need noise
to feel alive
get home, turn
tv on, open
their phone,
fill their lives
with chatter;
never allowing
the gentlest
of zephyrs
to blow all
that mental dust
across the vast
desert cavern;
that dirtbowl
behind their eyes;
& if lucky,
out an ear
to freedom

Day 23 – poem about idols

shakespeare_by_lastfirstkiss CROP

Unexpectedly found myself grapepicking for a few hours yesterday. Oddly, it’s not as much fun as I remember it (& I don’t remember it being any fun at all). All of which point to the fact that I was bone-tired & sore when I got home last night, & although the pome had been written, WordPress was as slow & creaky as I was, & so when midnight ticked over I thought, stuff it, I’ll just have a wee nap & post it early in the am (when I invariably wake up & wonder why I’m not sleeping). This did not happen. I slept very well.

Then most of today was spent writing & researching, until I’m now under the pump to get two NaPoWriMo posts up before midnight. Oh irony, your name is Alanis.

idolatry

i.
everyone thinks
they know you
despite how little
anyone does
just make it up
facts don’t matter
only selling
outrageous lies
books to fuel
the author’s
insecurities

ii.
still no idea
what you’ve
done to me
carved
your name
in my skin
tattooed it
acid-inked
above my heart
the shadow
i am always
under