A somewhat lighthearted pome for an otherwise rather emotional day. It’s also 9 years & one day since my housemate brought Chester home to live with us.
me or the dog
high on one
of my shelves
a book titled
as per this poem
jokingly perhaps
or perhaps
genuinely concerned
my significant other
bravely asked:
which would you choose?
i told her
i’ll call you
the very day
the dog dies
A smaller more personal poem today, after the excesses of yesterday.
*****
peak pandemic
how perfectly pleasant
to sit inside rug on lap
book in hand tea by side
warm as butter slowly
melting into hot crumpets
dog snoring nearby
while outside trees writhe
in the window-rattling
thunder-spreading wind
the sky grey in all ways
& the rain hits the roof
like a million microscopic
viruses trying to breach
my home’s defences
all while knowing
i’m
helping
save
the
world
life has reached peak
.
.
Note: I’m borderline embarrassed to admit (but not quite really) that I almost spent more time looking at images of cups of tea next to books by rainy windows than I did writing the poem. OMG I’ve discovered a new way (as if one was needed) to waste valuable interwebs time.
Yet another poem about the joys of reading — which took on a life of its own. And even though the last line might be a wee bit much, I still love it.
*****
intertextuality
a startling line of text hooks me sideways
from ancient sword & sorcery Cimmeria
arcing me skywards, belly to the sun;
into other stories, real world experiences
& perfumes, already lodged in synapses flash
light silver-gilt sparkles quivering
from networked neural nest to another;
whirlpooled into the closeted green
dirty underwater of the Black Forest
where we each tread our paths on the way
to Red’s Grandma’s little log cabin.
breathing heavily behind a tree, see her skip
basket-swinging foolish innocence knock
of knuckle on the old crone’s red door
— but miss what happens next when a tap
on my shoulder reveals one angry looking
wolfskin-wearing weapon-wielding woodsman
…………
…………
…………
…………
BONUS POEM: April 27, 2018
Self explanatory.
NOTE: 2019 edit. Various minor tweakings & enjambments to improve the pome.
*****
#nofilter
despite gut-dropping
disappointment upon discovering
every shot of the castle
I’d ever seen had been
carefully crafted to crop
………………………………………… out
all neighbouring car parks,
camper vans, hotels, the town,
tour buses, & souvenir shops
I’m relieved to realise I need
not set an Instagram filter
on the sublime Andrews-esque
middle-earth mountains
……………………………………………beyond
Again, working on a longer poem today. Knew an hour ago I wouldn’t finish in time, so started a new one. Coming to understand, NaPoWriMo is less about the poems you finish this month — and more about the poems you’ve long wanted to start and will finish next month.
*****
Will never end
Will you forever be
the quintessential
enigma-wrapped-
conundrum-encased-
paradox-generator?
or will your secrets
one day unfurl?
a swan ascending
from the mute stream.
so many want so much
from your cursed bones;
but so little remains
& it’s oh so easy
to fabricate tales
to suit our own
desperate desires
.
BONUS POEM: April 23, 2018
Unresolved & unfinished I think, but the others I wrote today don’t fit …
*****
First Folio
all this fuss
over a book
plenty of books
have existed
& been lost
& the world
continues on
at once
a little richer
& a little poorer
for having existed
yet been lost
which is which
you must determine
Again, working on a longer poem today. Knew an hour ago I wouldn’t finish in time, so started a new one. Coming to understand, NaPoWriMo is less about the poems you finish this month — and more about the poems you’ve long wanted to start and will finish next month.
*****
Will never end
Will you forever be
the quintessential
enigma-wrapped-
conundrum-encased-
paradox-generator?
or will your secrets
one day unfurl?
a swan ascending
from the mute stream.
so many want so much
from your cursed bones;
but so little remains
& it’s oh so easy
to fabricate tales
to suit our own
desperate desires
BONUS POEM: April 23, 2018
Unresolved & unfinished I think, but the others I wrote today don’t fit …
*****
First Folio
all this fuss
over a book
plenty of books
have existed
& been lost
& the world
continues on
at once
a little richer
& a little poorer
for having existed
yet been lost
which is which
you must determine
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
If I said I understood everything I wrote, I’d be lying. Today’s effort comes from a form of poetry-generation; a pome-making game I guess. The steps are simple.
1. Make a series of lists (using prompts).
2. Choose one element from each list.
3. Find a way to combine them in one pome.
Ergo, below…
surveying the damage
through the window
yellow leaves cover the lawn
on the table bread is dark
brown like chocolate
— the wind blew all night
forcing doors & knocking
knick-knacks from sills
too cold to emerge
from beneath blankets
so the water did what it must
— spend the morning
throwing all my books
into a pulping machine
they’re useless now
Life can be such a poo the way it gets in the way. The first draft of this pome was finished well before 11am with intentions to tweak later in the day; but work, 2 & 1/2 hours of driving, that pesky niece again (thankfully the essay is due tomorrow, well today now) meant it’s had no chance for revision & is being uploaded a few minutes after my midnight. Ahh well, it’s a solid start that can be worked on later.
cheap paperback wonderland
though the pages are yellow, foxed
though the spine brittle
though the glue cracks
as each page tumbles over
transforming bound book
into loose leaves no matter
how reverentially i turn
despite the damage i inflict
upon this precious relic
long savoured by my mother
as one of her favourite fictions
i am once more lost this time
in revolutionary cornwall
as the industrial age fires up
weeping at love gone awry
wailing harder when reconciled
every so often wandering astray
at the way words no matter
the medium these upright lines
curious curves intermittent
dots & convoluted squiggles
repeatedly rearrange themselves
into emotional outpourings
that make them the greatest
of all wonders
So as a kind of NaPoWriMo2015 midway point bonus poem, here is a Semi-Sort-of-Narrative Poem about one of my favourite passions, pleasures, pastimes, pursuits & predilections. (Today’s actual poem, still to follow.)
If you love reading, be warned, the following 244 words could terrify you.
*****
big angst over a relatively small number
in the 365 days of last year
i physically completed reading
56 new books ; give or take ;
another 8-10 audiobooks ;
for a lower than expected
1-&-a-quarter-a-week average ;
not included are books begun
but abandoned ; nor a half-dozen
reread books , first timers only
— but none of these
are the small number in question
i’m 44 & semi-fit-ish ,
if you look at me while
squinting into the sun ;
blood pressure 120 over 80
at the last doctor’s visit ;
my grandparental average age
is 90.9 , & still rising
— but none of these
are the small number in question either
assuming i can maintain
this minimal completion rate
until my , now meticulously
mapped-out , demise ;
& assuming i survive
to at least 80 ; 10 years shy
of my long-living familial median ,
the second assumption
far less likely than the first ;
then i only have 2,376
books left to read in my life!
— welcome to the small number
& the big angst
less than 2 & half thousand!
10,000 new books are published
in english … E.V.E.R.Y. year ;
360,000 during my imagined
remaindered lifetime ;
& i’ll be able to read a measly ;
0.69% of them ; if i’m lucky ;
not counting all the classics
never read but always intending to ;
the books already bought
but not yet dipped into ;
& of course the faves i’d like
to revisit at least once more
before the big shuffle off
hence my goal this year ;
& the next 15 at least ;
to religiously devour
2 a week ; that’s 1664
before i’m 60 ; leaving a lazy
712 to knock off between
then … & 2050
— should be a doddle
*****
I’m reading the biography of P.L.Travers (the woman who created Mary Poppins) – it’s a wonderful rich inspiring book (unlike Disney’s saccharine superficial movie). It sparks, tingles, fires & inspires so many ideas which I dash off as I read. This is the best of them from today.
night terrors
The children are frightened
of ceiling cracks
creaking radiators
& hot water services
which sizzle in the night
We calm them
with ancient tales
of transformation
flights against the sun
forest witches, & other grims
*****
gareth roi poet boi 