Archives for the month of: September, 2013

She takes to heart her ship

That is upon their advice.

 

Before her and harbour,

In good forecast she sets

Friendship to the friend

As the anchor of relationships.

 

Later she squints through time’s telescope:

Fearful sad that lens. It magnifies

other ways winds blow.

Visit my first volume here for a preview of other poems.

Follow my tweets about life’s journey, writing and, occasionally, martial arts. I am @BeadedQuill

There is exercise in

the rooted words. Knead! Knead!

Glance, the rooted words

are closing in.

About the even’ shift

the sprouting pipes creak thin their heat –

a flailing dance of

conker-burst  – Knead! Knead!

The Beautiful Life is different.

This poem is part of a current project to write two poems a week for 52 weeks. The aim is to create a pool of 104 poems and prove that if one writes enough poems some gems will surely result.

In the interim, preview here my first volume of poems published earlier this year.

Follow me on Twitter as @BeadedQuill. I comment on whatever passes through my day – which includes poetry and art.

the Shard in tall majestic glints

the architecture of its age

success of Empire State

and iconic like

 

afloat in grand isolation

there is also

an island set on a

raft of mahogany loss

 

a wall hit and under constant repair

encircles the floor

about which nobody knows

a floor matted with digested grasses

I tweet as @BeadedQuill. Please follow me.

Black coats, black pavements, black umbrellas, the rain
Nights black by 20:00. Achoos in the office.
Splutters on the train. Time to switch on the heating and
buy doughnuts in the morning. There has sprung the winter hunger
and it will only grow

On the 19th September 1819, John Keats wrote this lilting ode ‘To Autumn.‘ Images of his autumn’s fruitful harvest jarred with my Thursday of cold snap, rain and ubiquitous black umbrellas.

Follow me on Twitter where I tweet as @BeadedQuill.

Preview my first volume, SHINING IN BRIGHTNESS, here, It includes poems selected from twelve years’ worth of writing in South America, the USA, South Africa and Europe.

I have small veins
that have been drawn
in sinks of scalding water
and vigorous smacking.
Stopped at the upper arm
and with a pumping fist,
the supply is best tapped by the finest needle.

It is sometimes easier
to siphon off blood on Tuesdays
for doctors’ records
than write poems twice a week.

For over three decades I have had my blood taken for medical records, which have been used as teaching material by the hospitals in which I have been treated. Results tallied from my blood, a product of my body, have made a contribution to the world. It is my hope that my writing may do so, too.

My body produces and pumps blood. Surely this same physical entity should be able to produce words? One of my current projects is to write two poems a week. Over a year, this should total 104 new pieces. I sit down daily and write many lines. Sometimes the ideas and deft formations flow with ease. On other occasions, it takes some needling.

Preview my first volume of published poems, SHINING IN BRIGHTNESS.

Follow my tweets about the creative life and my running commentary on the audio-book of ‘Anna Karenina.’ I’m @BeadedQuill

Dear diary,

There is this woman

married to a man, unhappily.

That woman is not me.

Then she meets dashing young man.

He’s in the army and races horses.

She even knows his mother socially.

No, this man is not me.

They share some acquaintances

and family – the woman’s brother,

his friend, a well-known princess socialite.

The woman’s brother has affairs.

The friend is deeply in love.

The well-known princess socialite functions

as the hostess and message carrier.

 

Dear diary,

These people are tiresome

and interesting all at once.

 

Dear diary,

I shall write a story about them.

Image with thanks to "Homes and Garden" journal. See http://bit.ly/13ACooj

Image with thanks to “Homes and Garden Journal”. See http://bit.ly/13ACooj

Today latticed with songs and compound triple time. Hung

other times (such as late at night) with green-scaled dragons,

golden bridges, tilted bonsai trunks.

More often stretched across with traffic;

the commuter’s weave of fumes and crush.

 

From a vantage point above the screen, ideally

the viewing platform on the super moon,

we may all see

that which is not for the human eye too keen

 

a near proximity to the far off poem.

If you’re on Twitter, please follow me as @BeadedQuill. I tweet about arts and culture and life.

Preview my first published volume, SHINING IN BRIGHTNESS.

John William Waterhouse, "A Mermaid," 1900 Oil on canvas, 96.5 x 66.6 cm. Image courtesy of WikiCommons (http://bit.ly/162XAUQ)

John William Waterhouse, “A Mermaid,” 1900 Oil on canvas, 96.5 x 66.6 cm. Image courtesy of WikiCommons (http://bit.ly/162XAUQ)

as the Gothic Mermaid

in Act II

I siren from a fathomless sea

The kelp forest undulates to pulse.

 

in Act II

I am a Gothic Mermaid

my sequined scales swish side-to-side

I am suspended by a cable.

J. W. Waterhouse (1849 – 1917) submitted “A Mermaid” to the Royal Academy as his diploma work. Read more about Waterhouse and this painting on the RA website.

Follow me, @BeadedQuill, on Twitter where I tweet about art and performances I’ve attended.

I invite you to preview my first published volume of poetry here.

 

roll out AstroTurf

Pitch the Goalposts.

Upon it play the game.

It rasps your knees.

Nowhere can you poke your

finger in the soil

and the earthworms cannot

breathe.

Find me on Twitter. I tweet as @BeadedQuill