Nobody Can (NaPoWriMo day 19)

The Well of Wandering Companies,

The Towers of Silence,

The Four Daughters

(Virgins perhaps?)

The Way of the Guns,

the Djinn of Two Masters.

Inevitably, to our shame,

It is both sad

And terrible that,

Even if they wish to –

Nobody can hide forever

These days.

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A Marvellous Impression: NaPoWriMo (Day 18)

Imagine:

Me –

Away from the crowd –

In comfortable, bar-stool

Bubble.

Secret eyes

Are on the green table.

The barmaid,

Doing a marvellous impression:

Of somebody who is not bored,

Is not tired, hasn’t

Seen it all before.

Music runs from history,

Positives and negatives

Wrestle over the

Wrong-shaped ball.

I may have  had it all,

Along the way …

Now I don’t …

And none of it matters.

Express? NaPoWriMo: Day 13

There it is,

Ticking, temporarily settled;

Longer than the platform.

Beckoning, sighing, impatient

To be flying the rails again:

Locomotive to the right,

Atop the bridge:

The home of the power,

The place all motion begins

(The capital, driving, letter

In a back-to-front sentence).

The coaches line up,

And there is the calaboose.

Me? I am reflected in

Carriage windows;

Surprised because

I was beginning to think

I’d missed all of these chances,

Journeys, risks…

.. and reflections work two ways,

So, as she steams onwards, outwards,

Am I on the seat, leaving,

Looking at the platform?

Or on the platform,

Left behind, doubting

Again?

Across the Water

Man hangs, happily distracted,

From a dream of smoke.

In another world; his

Friend is at one end

Of a fight-tense line.

Between them a woman whose

Skeleton is a charity-shop stool frame.

Across the smooth water

A thin stick holds up a man.

Me? I’m here; balancing unsteadily

On a reflection that shifts and

Cannot possibly be me

I’m not that colour, I’m not

That rigid, that tired, don’t

Look as old as the water

So faithlessly shows.

Daughter Mine.

Maybe –

She realised it so suddenly,

It actually caused physical pain –

She’d spent too damned-long

With her sleepless head

Inside a dark box of quiet,

Chocolate-bitter thunder

That echoed and repeated,

Stitching restless days together.

Continue reading

“What Will Your Verse Be?”

 

This  comes courtesy of blogger Dyan Diamond who posted this

http://wordpress.com/read/post/id/45100490/1504/

Being both curious and not a little inspired I had to look it up, first the wonderfully imaged advertisement, then the Walt Whitman poem which is voiced so perfect-well by Robin Williams.

So ,take a peek at the ad, remember I am not a great fan of I-pads (but shamelessly use one when it suits me!) and then read the original below.

Muse with me and as I did, whether it is better to have the images put before you – as is done so creatively in the ad – or to simply imagine your own.

I don’t even know what I think myself any more.

By Walt Whitman 1819–1892 Walt Whitman

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
                                       Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.