Author Archives: gareth roi jones

Day 23 – couple of presents for the birthday boy

Today is the anniversary of some guy’s birth who I’m kinda interested in. So I’m giving him two presents.

I started the first poem last year during NaPoWriMo14, but the loss of power in my house prevented me from finishing it. So it has been ‘rolled over’ to NaPoWriMo15. It’s still not quite what I want — but that’s what May is for, right? The second one is just a bit of fun — which no doubt only folks who know a bit about The Bard might find droll (but I’m not holding my breath on that). Really it was written to keep myself amused.

*****

I.
451 candles

though there’s doubt over the date
the compromise is St George’s Day
three days before your baptism
though under the Julian calendar
it’d be May 3, so what’s in a date?

admittedly you seem like a ghost
across all the lost centuries
we glimpse you only tangentially
through the dust & distance
your poor posthumous portraits
your six scrawled signatures
your small latin & less greek
your second best bed, your poaching
& all the accompanying apocrypha

you are perhaps the best known man
who we know next-to-nothing about
but the feeling of paucity stems from
the desperate intensity of our gaze
gaps exist for almost everyone of the time
your peers are no exception
yet of the 3000-odd plays believed staged
during this “golden age” of theatre
38 of the 230 extant manuscripts are yours
— 1 in 15 is a very respectable ratio

however, a succession of looneys enjoy
casting doubt on your every aspect —
appearance, identity, even your life itself
they cannot accept an ordinary man
can make extraordinary work
but rather needs to be from the ruling class
(bacon, de vere, queen bess herself, etc)

one thing that is certainly certain
were you still alive today
you’d have a heck of a time
blowing out all the candles

—

II.
the signing of the wills

far from being the genius
everyone claims
i counter you’re just
a willy-nilly-numpty
who didn’t know how
to spell his own name

that’s right i said it mr so-called

Wm Shakspe
Willm Shaksp
Willm Shakspere
William Shakespe
William Shakspere
William Shakspeare

you can’t even get it right — Shakespeare

*****

10 - BKA-Computermontage - Chandos-Portraet - Droeshout-Stich , 1995

Day 21 – a list poem that is not in any way reflective of my real life

Slight change of pace today. Not a big List Poem writer. But wanted to try a TO DO LIST list poem. The rest is both sad & self -explanatory.

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the TO DO LIST poem

  • find the to do list you made yesterday
  • prioritise the tasks on that list
  • then do the things on that list
  • actually do the next thing first
  • add the things you forgot to put on yesterday’s list, including:
    • pay bills (it doesn’t matter which ones, they’re all due)
    • submit the article that was due last week
    • read the book you need to review
    • wash the dishes (no seriously, you’re out of cutlery)
    • buy fresh milk
    • stop making cups of tea then absentmindedly adding off-milk
    • throw out off-milk
    • clean out whole fridge while you’re at it
    • take cans to recycling
    • register the dog
      • buy the dog a collar
      • register the dog, put the rego disc on the dog’s collar, put the collar on the dog
  • then prioritise the NEW list
  • work out how much time is left in the day
  • allocate a specific time to get each task done
  • make sure you stick to the schedule
  • get first two things done which takes 3 times as long as you thought
  • make coffee so you can stay up late tonight getting things crossed off the NEW list
  • absentmindedly add off-milk
  • don’t just put the off-milk back in the fridge, throw it out
  • treat yourself to a short stretch on top of the bed
    ——(ostensibly to read some of that book you need to review)
  • fall asleep after three pages
  • wake up, groggy, too late to make proper meal
  • eat half a can of baked beans cold from the tin
  • make a cup of tea
  • absentmindedly add off-milk
  • seriously why didn’t you throw that milk out, it’s not hard
  • climb in to bed proper
  • think of all the things you need to add to tomorrow’s to do list
  • promptly fall asleep & forget everything you need to add

*****

to-do-list

Day 20 – image games

The story of this poem tells itself within the poem. Makes life easier.

*****

misplaced lake

one of my favourite travel stories
concerns a photograph of holy water

taken after my european sojourn
framed with precise pre-digital care

a vivid purple, a pool of venal blood
the top dam at twilight, my first night back

⋅

when showing it, i told my parents it was
a lake in france — for 3 days they believed

until i caught dad looking closely
it’s not really france is it?

no, i admitted, it’s your own country
the heart of everything 

*****

lake

(Hour 03) 12.30-01.30am. PROMPT, title: “before darkness”

I’m not too unhappy with this one, but likewise, I doubt it will have a life elsewhere (unless greatly tweaked), so it seems a solid one to share. As the heading suggests, the prompt was simply to use the title “before darkness”. The actual poem didn’t take long to arrive, but I had to think a long while (‘long’ being a relative term in this construct, ie about 35 minutes) about the best way to approach it, cos I found the prompt a little uninspiring TBH.

before darkness

before darkness : the rush & bustle : the sirens : the tunnel vision : the tap tap tap of 10 million keyboards : the conferring media : spin cycles : PR exercises : racing rodents : the tabloid’s blood : the dog & pony show : the argy : the bargy : the win/lose polarity : the butting of heads : the calling of names : the inciting : the absence of morality  : heat : sweat : steam

after darkness : sweet stillness : time for going deep : the slumber of shadows : the road of milk : the road of wonder : so many roads : spreading in all directions : the slowly descending silence : the chance to discover : catching thought : gossamer strings : self being mirrored unto itself : the beginnings of awareness : of everything : of which : you are unaware : cool breath

instead of fearing darkness : so much : we really should : question light

Day 17 – when biography becomes poetry

This poem is inspired by a fellow NaPoWriMo-er whose site I was checking out. Her biog read almost like a poem (whether intentionally or not I couldn’t quite tell). But I loved the idea & wanted to try it for myself. It was a truly wonderful experience trying to describe yourself, not in the dry blurby words of biographical accomplishment, but in the much more playful & liberating medium of poetry. I have a feeling this really is only a first draft. It came very quickly & I know there’s probably 100 more lines that could be written. I need to write them, then cull back to the best dozen or so. None-the-less, today I don’t have time for that so this is whatcha get …

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gareth: a draft poetical biography

there’s almost always music playing in my head

my brain tries putting every experience it has into a poem
— sometimes successfully

i cry at stupid dog videos on facebook

i prefer barefoot to shoes

i love stones, shells & driftwood

i have a sweet tooth i’m trying to starve

i was born an hour late & have been trying to catch up ever since

night driving in the country is a zen meditation

i know i could stop being a hermit if i make a concerted effort
— i think

sunglasses & i don’t get along, i’ve lost every pair i’ve ever owned
— (the last pair took less than a day)

i want to spend one night in a lighthouse during a storm

i want to live in New York at least once, Iceland twice & Lothlorien forever after that

you tell me my eyes change colour from deepest black
— to a goldenhoneyhazelbrown
— (though i’ve never seen it)

i knew i was hurt, though i didn’t realise how much till we met

more than anything i want to be happy
— except i don’t know exactly what will make that happen

*****

Roker_lighthouse_5_by_jonboy247

Day 16 – some music for you, as we start on the downhill run home

Not the poem I was planning to work on today (though it was on the NaPoWriMoToDoList), but a line which has been substantially altered, barrelled into my book-reading this morning insisting to be heard. So I got up, & 2 hours later …

*****

ingrained

we assemble in a darkened
room, which we proceed to fill
with the singing of hollow wood.
we prefer the hallowed. & we prefer
the new. for centuries they’ve carried
their bias beneath the veneer,
mixed with years of sweat, love
& complicated accumulated hubris.
we can’t quantify a subjective quality
like sound cry the one-eyed critics
clamouring to be heard over the still
reverberating air — nevertheless
ranking was what we are
in the dark room to do.

we understand, you don’t
always get what you pay for
but know this also love is blind
so, the Italians momentarily
lost their glamour, the hum
of their hubris, briefly dulled
but the mystique, the mythos,
the belief in the brand name,
remain, without, in any way,
diminishing the price tag.

*****

violin_by_soozn