Archives for posts with tag: endings

There will be a final page,
the faded note
and empty seats.
One day the concert hall
will be an office block
and after that a hospital.
Our hands
at the serenade
took home the note that fades.

blue pink birds illustration, vintage new year postcard, singing birds clip art, holly berries bird illustration, music conductor bird graphics


It’s spring again. The blossoms I wrote about last year came too early this year, even before January had concluded. I wasn’t ready for their exuberance and I wasn’t ready for what 2016 would bring.

Here starts a new season of public posts. ‘Jangle Between Jangle’ are words about working, living and trying to survive in the big smoke. Not all the verses are as gentle and nostalgic. I, die-hard BBC Radio Three devotee, have been listening to a lot of Grime Shutdown and Rap Caviar on Spotify. Please visit again soon for some grittier verse. In the meantime, may ‘There was a first time’ ease you in.

BeadedQuill
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With thanks to the Old Design Shop for the image of the vintage New Year’s postcard.

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An illustration of a prawn salad from from Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management, 1907.courtesy of the Old Design Shop., a vintage image treasyury.

An illustration of a prawn salad from Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management, 1907.courtesy of the Old Design Shop, a vintage image treasury.

 

The orange has been wrung of juice.
The garlic’s lost its tang.
The salad leaves have dropped their wings.
The kitchen now has closed.

 


I do like a good food-related poem. Sometimes it’s more or less simply about the food:

Most versatile
Salad with mackerel

Or the words:

Recipe
Kitchen Alchemy

On other occasions, food is a conduit through which the poem explores a theme:

Just right
Mouse Days
An overdose of summer
At the moment: £2
Let them eat
Supreme ultimate
Tightly Sealed
Packed Lunches
The currency of sugar
London. Is it worth it?
Tumbling After
To the Valleys
Today

These themes include provision, community, comfort through distraction, class/social identity. Perhaps you notice some others? Do leave your thoughts as a comment below.

Twitter: @BeadedQuill
Facebook: BeadedQuill
Books:
In the Ocean: a year of poetry
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012

Escucha

My new muse 
is light in his visits,
is late,
never calls,
smiles his cheek,
tells me nothing.
So I invent 
everything.

My new muse
wears white-soled trainers
and a St. Christopher tucked against 
the tattoo, never seen in full.
When the night begins, 
the muse’s t-shirt smells of clean laundry.

My new muse
is an impish sprite.
He wears his hair
in spikes,
is light on his feet.

He’ll offer 4 minutes to Prince Royce,
“escucha las palabras”
but I wear too much clothing 
and worry about accurate footwork.

In the dance,
the muse
is patient with the serious poet.
He smiles a thank-you,
lets go,
leaves the floor,
leaves me turned,
shares nothing.
So I fabricate
the poem.


This poem marks the final work of my 104 project. I set about to write two poems a week for 52 weeks, to total 104 poems across a year. The aim of this endeavour was simply to produce on a regular basis. Irrespective of quality, subject matter, tone, style or artistic investment, the resulting works would be allocated to the 104 project and posted on this blog.

The creative burnout I experienced at the end of February, after a solid month of posting work, was unexpected. Production seemed to be on such a high. Another learning curve has been the resistance to completion. I have wrestled with this over the last couple of weeks.

In truth, during this time I have written more than the two poems required to complete the count. I have judged some of the work too personal or inadequate to post, thereby ignoring the very rules established at the beginning. Each of these recent poems fell short. It was not my intention to have the project end on an unceremonious note. None of them deserved to be The Last Poem.

All in all, these 104 poems (plus the 25 that were siphoned off for Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys) were not the sorts of poems I had intended should fill a book. It was my intention to explore grand themes of ars poetica, politics, justice and humanity. It felt time to explore the wide, broad, deep, conflicted, enduring state of the world.

Instead, my writing inevitably turns to examine the minutiae. Much of this last year’s work presents daily concerns of an ordinary suburban life. There are the quandaries of emotion and soul, work and provision, grocery shopping and living in rented accommodation.

130+ poems later, I am tired. It would also seem I cannot count, for not only did I recalibrated the mark as 102 on Monday, I have also counted 107 poems posted since last year. I have swum in a sea of poems and I am weary.

Truly, it has started to feel as though the muse has left me.

Those of you who follow me on Twitter will already know about my current interest in Bachata, a dance style from the Dominican Republic. I have now had all of eight lessons and this last Saturday attended my first open dance party.

In this inspiration dearth, I think the muse has met me on the dance floor.

The poems of the 104 project will be compiled into a book. This will be my third since February last year. Subscribe (see tab below right), or follow on Twitter or Facebook for updates.

My other titles, available for preview and purchase via Blurb.co.uk, are Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys and Shining in Brightness.

Detail from Anton Melbye, "Lighthouse at Stora Bält" (1845) from image courtesy of www.wikipaintings.org/

Detail from Anton Melbye, “Lighthouse at Stora Bält” (1845) from image courtesy of http://www.wikipaintings.org/

The second-to-last exertion
is not the rainbow.
It is the to-and-fro flight 
of a raven clamped in darkness for 150 days.

Let there be
	beats the raven’s wings
Let there be
	beats the raven’s hope

No land, raven. No release.
Below yap choppy waves,
corpses float and catch 
on broken trees. No release, raven.
No land.

The raven’s wings beat
	there be no land
	there be no release
The raven’s wings beat 
above the choppy waves
and the rocking sucklings of the flood.

But the dove! 
This white-winged wonder bird
reaps the budding olive branch
and on the second flight, freedom.

The last exertion
is not a rainbow.
Although supposedly
one beamed for Noah
when the dove flew
away.


A link to Genesis 6-9 (NIV translation), which outlines the Bible story of Noah’s ark, the flood and the reconnaissance birds.

With four poems to go until the completion of the 104 project, there’s no denying that one may read in here an echo of art imitates life.

When I’m not posting on this blog, I tweet as @BeadedQuill. This Twitter account is linked to the BeadedQuill Facebook page.
If you prefer your reading in old-school format, perhaps you would consider adding one of my books to to your library? There are two from which to choose. Click on the titles below to preview.

Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys

Shining in Brightness