Day 18 – dog praising (& flag waving)

Today’s pome is inspired by a poem I read part of yesterday & wanted to i) play around a bit, ii) try attempting a different form, iii) honouring a subject I rarely write about (haha).

The extract I’m referring to is taken from a very long poem Jubilate Agno (Latin: “Rejoice in the Lamb”) by Christopher Smart, written 1759-63, during Smart’s confinement for insanity, but first published only in 1939. Divided into four fragments A, B, C, & D the whole consists of over 1,200 lines: all the lines in some sections begin with Let; the other sections begin with For. The poem is chiefly remembered today for the 74-line extract wherein Smart extols the many virtues and habits of his cat, Jeoffry. It begins:

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
……For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.

& I will use the same/similar lines to begin my (considerably shorter paean).

*****

Jubilate Canis (shout out to my dog)

For I will consider my Dog Chester.
For he is the servant of the Infinite who is throughout the universe.

For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he wisely sniffs every piece of food offered to him
For secondly he quickly, softly, licks my toes should a leg drop over the bed’s edge
For thirdly he rests neatly, his forepaws politely crossed
For fourthly he sleeps wildly, upon his back, legs sprawled in 9 directions, completely at peace
For fifthly he always stretches his back properly upon awaking
For sixthly at dawn he wishes to smell all that his new in his yard & let others know of his return to dominance
For seventhly, beneath the desk even as I type, he reaches out a paw to ensure there is contact with my foot
For eighthly believes when he has the ball, all others want the ball, & it is his sworn duty to protect & retain the ball
For ninthly he does not consider himself too big to climb onto my lap & cradled like a babe
For tenthly he still whines excitedly (& only a little pathetically) at the gate, when I have been away a long time, as if he did not believe I was ever returning to him
For food
for walk
…………………………..for pat
for drive all delight in equal measure
For he is optimism beyond all reason for hope
For he finds joy in the simplest of things.

For while I claim he performs divine duty in ten degrees
For sure I could easily list ten times ten times ten more.

BONUS POEM: April 18, 2018

You don’t see as much of this in Australia, though it is getting worse…

*****

flags

proudly flapping
every where you go
patriotism overload
overwhelming, cloying
we have hung
them everywhere
outside our homes
along the roads
on tree branches
twigs, bushes, brambles
caught on wire
strung from fences
in towns, cities
& isolated country
hideaways
places you wouldn’t
places they shouldn’t
shreds of flag
shards of flag
a sliver, a scrap, a slip
the smallest fragment
enough to remind us
you can’t escape
the jingoistic fervour

despite the propaganda
it’s hard to take pride
in any of our billion
billion plastic pennants

Day 17 – tops (& tails)

An auspicious start to the day. Happy 95th Birthday gran.

*****

day of birth

air of gold sky of water
bow of rain leaves of blood
a promise of home

BONUS POEM: April 17, 2018

One of the highlights of the trip is seeing these little critters first hand. Pookie you’ve got a lot to answer for.

*****

the shadetails

now seen : a dozen, more?

frozen tension : quicksilver bounce : flag fluttering frenzy : the business end ; of the gymnast’s ribbon : electrified question marks

still every time : there’s a flash : a furry pulse : an extrapolated heartbeat : I experience : a silken thrill : of my own

Day 16 – fire (& stone)

Spent a large chunk of my writing time today trying to craft a pome comparing & contrasting the fire at Notre Dame with the fire in our climate. While many parts worked, a few did not & I realised longer would be needed to resolve the kinks.

However, while researching the idea I came across another, far less known story, which led to this …

*****

holy houses

in less widely covered news, the revered
al-asqa mosque in east jerusalem
was also struck by (a far less dramatic)
blaze at the same time as notre dame’s
inferno in france — damaging solomon’s
stables beneath a corner of temple mount

here’s a thought:
perhaps god is trying to tell us something

BONUS POEM: April 16, 2018

The theme persists.

*****

immemorial

stone is worn
moss softens
lichen gathers
chiselled lines
flatten
it rains hard
the sun shines
& pretty soon
everything
is forgotten

Day 15 – sadness (always sadness today)

29 years today.

*****

home, less

the home is new
but sadness stays

my old heart yearns
for all the birthdays

that never came
.

.
BONUS POEM: April 15, 2018

Today. Every year.

*****

goldfish kisses

in the back of memory
monks monophone softly
as fish shivers pianoforte
glockenspielling my spine
these tingling goldfish kiss
past present & forever
into one molten lovechant
calcium dissolving moment
lift me up-in-to you
a been apart too long
old friend reminder

the sadness builds
I wait
to come home

Day 14 – silences (& more silences)

Familiar theme. Unfamiliar ending.

*****

Sunday afternoon farm sounds

mostly sleepy silence
a suite of breezes
of differing thicknesses
cartwheeling leaves
bone-crunching lawn dogs
young pup’s yips
unsure what’s going on
mad gabbing of parrots
lonely cry of a duck
searching for the lost flock
solitary desolation
of the only crow around

the soporific drone of man
whether high sky, dirt disturbing
or distant roadway rumbling
a forgotten radio
playing to a shed of ghosts
the irritating digital pings
as new words arrive
at my mother’s phone

& my beautiful grandmother
humming made up melodies
& starting sentences
memory won’t let her finish

BONUS POEM: April 14, 2018

Bit of theme developing. Oh well, it’s part of the reason behind the trip …
NOTE: minor 2019 edits to improve flow.

*****

looking for Ambrose in the Torringtons

start in lush Merton sunshine
where we are confident one is sown
yet six of us, crisscrossing, find nothing
except freshly cut grass, lichen
& boredom blooming like mushrooms
— so five leave as one goes on
to the Torringtons three: Little —
unclear if any were ever planted here
regular — where a football pitch garden
implies looking for needles that might
not even be in this granite haystack
for not a single 18th century date’s
visible beneath time’s smoothings
whereas ironically Great — no longer
seems to exist. realise I need simply to enjoy
the moss path beneath my feet
settling sunbeams on my skin
& be reassured that if Ambrose et al
even still care, I have tried.
moments later I pass a bus full of silly
young people preparing for a wedding
which seems eminently appropriate —
reassures me I made the right choice.

Day 13 – sport (& fashion)

For about a decade of my life, Saturdays in Autumn & Winter meant sport: football & netball. For the first time in forever, that’s how I spent my Saturday.

*****

Autumn day

it’s as if I’ve just finished playing u/17s
& we’ve come down to watch our girlfriends
(or more likely) those we wish were —
except the ones i played with are fat & bald
& the girls i once fancied, grey & chubby

everything else — the tinkle of coins
as goals rustle metal nets; the wild calls
of support; the choc of ball on court;
insistent whistle chirps; the scent
of homemade soup; kids queuing
for lollies too excited to choose;
others sausagerolling down the mound;
stars of yesterday cunningly disguised
as grandmothers; repeated complaints
about the too cold wind — the same

the minor differences — infinitely
more stylish uniforms; better hair
cuts (only one mullet); & everywhere
smartphones plastered to every palm

sadly there’s still that one jerk
father cheering too hard; screaming
pressure pressure; always over
aggressively; threatening to blow
his gasket; as if a gold medal
is on the line

BONUS POEM: April 13, 2018

A slightly lighter toned pome, just for some variety.

*****

lemmingwear

The North Face
clearly seems
to be the current
accoatrement
of choice
for the fashion
conscious
rambler

— or it would still be
if not for the fact
my mother
recently bought
one each
for her & dad
sending stock
prices tumbling

as if from a cliff

Day 12 – hares (& old stones)

Been playing round with some hare-inspired poems. This is my reconstruction of a West Country legend of a witch who takes the form of a white hare.

*****

white hare

while hunting : in the afterbones : of night : her siren warning : sways over the valley : a white hare warms me : goldeneyes gleaming light : look away look away : must not stare : into her eyes : or my soul : she’ll steal : a swift shadow approaches : white haired woman : wooing me : face of ashen grey : begging me to stay : look away look away : white belly : dancing bare : on the heather : from dusk till dawn : hounds bray

look away look away

BONUS POEM: April 12, 2018

Part of the holiday experience is visiting places my ancestors left a century or more ago. This is one of them. EDIT: formatted lines the way I wanted them to look last year, but couldn’t owing to facebook.

*****

wandering round the churchyard at St Winnow

good Cornish stone sprouting
grey
among green dandelions
& wild cowslips
long ago some single
still yet-to-be great
great great great grandparents
left what they thought a harsh life
for one with more
hope
in the far off dust
of Australia

a short prayer away the Fowey
flows south
like silver slate

I walk over lusciousness
wanting to make amends
for a hiccup of snow amongst
stones so weatherworn
& lichenloved
they’re illegible
we vow we’ll remember
forever
when a generation
or two is the most
most of us get

so though I might be
treading on
ancient ancestors
given the perfection
of their forgetting
place
I don’t believe
they’ll mind

~ Interlude ~

Been having a few issues with my computer this week. 2 hours Saturday night trying to prepare blog page, over 3 hours last night. Running slow, loading slow, despite turning off/restarting, clearing stuff off to try & make it run faster. Almost felt like giving up & abandoning NaPoWriMo this year. The poems are being written okay, just getting them onto WP has been a headache. But then, something strange happened. Woke up this morning, fired up the old boy … & everything seems to be working fine. So who knows. Maybe it just didn’t wanna work on the week end.

So the past three days’ worth of poems will now follow in quick catch-up succession (cross fingers) …

Day 11 – intertextuality (& introspection)

Book Club selection this week was Water for Elephants.

*****

big top potpourri

granted Water for Elephants
has been read before
but the deja vu familiarity blends
into The Night Circus, Cirque du Freak
numerous history of circus books
from when I was researching
my play The Menagerie of Broken Flowers
(later renamed Ugliophobia)
countless kids books by Enid,
others starring Paddington, Olivia, etc;

dozens of celluloid iterations
The Greatest Show on Earth,
Marx Brothers, Freaks, Elvis
probably worked at one in
the mid-60’s, a misunderstood
troublemaker; U2’s dreamlike video
to All I Want Is You; even Dumbo ;
& of course the exquisitely surreal
dustbowl drama Carnivale.
Plus: managing a kids circus;
working for Cirque du Soleil;
meeting many of Australia’s
talented carnies & contemporary
circus artists

means the words & situations
all blur together to fabricate
a simulacrum of surely every
eternal childhood dream

BONUS POEM: April 11, 2018

Final David-inspired pome (for now?).

*****

marble thoughts

schoolgirl groups
giggle, turn away
countless digital zooms
capture closeups
of my junk

others slide out
the extensions
on their ubiquitous
selfie sticks
pretend to balance
me on their palms
or once again
point how small
my tinkle is
(won’t even deign
to mention how cold
his studio was in winter)

some do little more
than click & walk on
one more cultural
checkpoint ticked off
the list

a few of these awful
smartPhone snaps
are even well framed

miss the days
people
actually looked

Day 10 – let down (& queuing up)

NOTE: Two long exhausting workdays meant poems were written on Tues & Wed just not posted. Aiming to catch up now.

Frustratingly, the universe slowed me down today (on my longest work day). But instead of allowing it to frustrate me (for too long), I played a little game with synonyms & metaphors to pass the time.

*****

deflated

feeling flat
sequence of entire
day scuppered
now under pressure
cancel first shift
plan how get to rest
done what began as
bright bubbly morning
had its mood pricked
spare at home, also flat
insurance overdue, not
renewed resilience resilience
pump yourself up
can’t be blowed
too deflated to even finish

but sitting in solitude
on back road silence
waiting for a saviour
not really speaking to
slowly
stone of stillness
inner tube of tranquility
pneumatic resolve
bones of birds
lift me skywards
a gnostic spark
ascending

BONUS POEM: April 10, 2018

After a scare with their prepaid Skip the Line tickets I finally saw my mother (Old Ma Jones) & my niece inside, when I thought, WTH I may as join the end of the queue & see how long it actually takes. Seemed a shame to be so close & not even try.

I was starting to doubt the wisdom of that reasoning, however, when after 15 minutes we had not even turned the corner … to get to the corner … where we could see how far we still were from the entrance.

Nevertheless, in just over an hour, I was inside gazing on a truly exquisite work of art. This poem is not about that, though there are a couple of possible David-themed poems perculating around which may pop up here later this month. This pome is about:

*****

Standing in the line to see David with 10,000 others

have to keep
reminding my
small country
consciousness
that this is
only the start
of turista season
— the shoulder
before the peak
summer months
really get things
swinging

if this throng
is shoulder,
i’d loathe
being here
for belly season

gareth roi poet boi

gareth roi's playful poetry place

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Tag Archives: #GloPoWriMo

Day 18 – dog praising (& flag waving)

Day 17 – tops (& tails)

Day 16 – fire (& stone)

Day 15 – sadness (always sadness today)

Day 14 – silences (& more silences)

Day 13 – sport (& fashion)

Day 12 – hares (& old stones)

~ Interlude ~

Day 11 – intertextuality (& introspection)

Day 10 – let down (& queuing up)

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