the theory of knowledge from a poet's corner
the expressionless face
hides behind the door –
her elbows and knees
fall below to the floor
the expressionate face
the centre of now –
his body and soul
climbing high from the bough
the facade takes the place
of the expressionless face
and picks herself up
by the door from the floor
the centre of now
shares facade’s dream
declaring themselves
more alive than they seem
Fuss and Nonsense went to the bay
leaving Grumpy and Difficult at home to stay
they went to sit down on the beach on the sand
until Fuss said to Nonsense; I’d much rather stand
Nonsense misheard what Fuss had to say
and sat on the sand on the beach at the bay
Fuss turned her head to a mighty foul sound
it was Grumpy approaching and shouting out loud
I’ve come to spread torpor and to wither and fade
I’ve come for a day at the beach in the shade
as Fuss became grumpy and difficult too
she took on a persona depressingly blue
she started to shrink and to shrivel and wilt –
Nonsense caught with a start at the spite Fuss had built
Nonsense could sense an odd feeling impart
so he swam over to Chance who cajoled a fresh start
they talked babble and jabber and twaddle all day
and swam to the new world where they’d canoodle and play
they were free to be flippant and simply have fun –
leaving Fuss and her ‘friends’ in the company of Numb
I have to print it out to break it down
I have to read again to understand
I separate the lines to see them flow
and build a construct and watch it grow
If everyanything* can be done
and we make a life from one block – two
then somebody’s something we grow to behold
welcoming all and sundry into the fold
In other words positive beats negative down
and words build spirit – life jumps from the page
read aloud or in silence – effect is the same
my friend is poetry – words given a name
*the word ‘everyanything’ comes from E E Cummings’ ‘adult nursery rhyme’ ‘If everything happens that can’t be done’
Whenever I sit in the grandfather’s chair
I dream what I wish for – that you would be there
in a disorganised muddle – I fuddle about
stumbling on affection – tripping on doubt
yet in your eyes I see a girl –
sweet and serene – as if you’re careening –
I canoodle and cartwheel as I try to find meaning
we’re the what in the why and the how within showing
as I follow a butterfly on a leaf in a flutter
(like cream rising to top when we mix milk with butter)
you’re my sweet summer sunflower in polk-a-dot dresses
that fall off your shoulder under long flowing tresses
I reach out to touch you with the tip of my finger
on the nape of your neck is where my touch lingers
you are my red and my yellow – my green and my blue
the most wonderful rainbow remaining in view
the butterfly fluttering – always on cue
in the grandfather’s chair I dream only of you
walking down to the train I am followed by no-one
hearing their breath in the middle of spring
turning my head I see a couple –
smiling with force – (feathers from a wing)
of a bird at the back – by the door he lay sleeping
as I push the receptor to enter the station
how do I know the bird cannot fly
or is he simply a part – of my own creation
I go to approach him – but the train has appeared
making grand noises just as I suspected
my thumb and my forefinger touch the tip of his wing
and he splutters his feathers – injured (affected)
he is black as spades with a spatter of whiteness
a magpie perhaps – yet how can I say
yet he silently flutters unsteadily by
barely visible – in the darkness of day
did you see that bird; I say to the couple behind me
as I push harder and faster ahead to the door
they seem very small (almost midgets I thought)
and their voices are squeaky and fall to the floor
I sit on the train on a bench made for sharing
but alone I reside – without concern (without caring)
where goes that bird – flitting about in the tunnel in fury
a life made for one – the source of an ending
yet as I muddle along on the train bound for nowhere
the midgets appear and grow taller than me
we saw that bird; they both say – with a shared smile
and we brought him along so that he could be seen
and treated and cared for and loved and looked after
would you like to join us – that is – if you have time
I’d love to; I say – as we leave the train station
my day passing ridicule on the way to sublime
I stand above the solemn field
where strangers come to see
whatever shall be wishing for
in news endowed to thee
I walk beside the strangest beach
where friends of all kinds walk
and then I dance the dance, so dear
but cannot talk the talk
But ever shall we wonder
whatever could have been
if only I had held your hand
if only I had seen
Never too late – the high sea tells
for tides may come and go
but love for other never strays
beyond the deepest foe
Who stands beside when told to move
who cannot make it clear
that always and forever thus
will bring the deepest fear
Of a poem in the making
a romance come what may
and dance the dance that’s sent to chance
and speak the words to say
I am a meagre, lesser man
when faced with you alone
and strive to be another
to the mirror, on my own
But no words mean no feelings
for they lead to actions thus
and always will they dare to build
a stronger, wiser us
Do not deprive your liberty
do not abide by chance
your eyes look to my feet to lead
and then we’ll dance the dance
And as the years may pass
and the passing comes to be
I’ll take your hand and walk my sweet
together – to the sea.
Does a poem need a picture
a tapestry of thread
layers of a fabric
in your stead
for what came before it –
the tapestry of mind
interpret as it’s seen
or as it’s read
like a quilt – a covering
a line of stitching – all in sinc
does the poet rely on more
than merely what the pen may bring
the web of inspiration –
haiku, elegy or rhyme
does the poem need a picture –
Art –
The embroidery of time
Because one said so
is it true
who else says it’s so –
do you
because one warrants
you agreed
who else will agree
with thee
because one stands tall
do you stand too
does anyone else stand tall
with you
out of many, one –
(e pluribus unum) –
thirteen letters
scattered some
emblazoned seal
in eagle’s beak
diversified –
it’s you one seeks
to be one day
though many tried –
it’s you the one
most deified.
What can I see
when I say I can do
and the bird in the tree
reminds me of you
and the little lake ponders
and paddles and pants
and the stars in the sky
over yonder way land
speak to the children
who chide in the snow
and the sleet turns to feet
on the ski-slopes on show
and the fire has embers
that keep lovers warm
cuddled and huddled
under blankets in storms
and when thunder breaks
and pets hide out of view
the thunder’s anger
reminds me of you
when I said; I don’t love you –
can’t take anymore
and you told me; get out
and you showed me the door
as I dangled my feet
in the water below
and thought of the time
on the ski-slopes
in the snow
it was you on my mind
my ‘one’ grown from ‘two’
the bird in the tree
under sky, clearest blue
Forever is ever
will never be lost
in trees in the woods
in the snow’s early frost
always is tomorrow
and days yet to come
now is the moment
we delight in the sun
the sky may be mourning
the wind saddened, it seems –
the tsunami of senses
that comes with the breeze
becomes something more
in the wings of the trees
from a bud to a blossom
in the Spring-time we see
no need for eyes –
our senses will tell
when we smell freedom
no longer under the spell
of life told to us
like a story-book, read
sitting upright
with a pillow
under blankets in bed
and once upon a time –
…the end.
we will cry
now is the time
that never says its
Goodbye.
