2019.10 Clerihewn

Explanation at the beginning again, as you may need to brace yourself for the ridiculousness. I was a little desperate after the last one, so requested help from social media: give me some names, and I’ll give you clerihews to match. Probably. The result is a mixture of friends, friends of friends, famous (if occasionally obscure) people, and legends such as Washing Machine Trev...


Somhairle Kelly
Is obscenely fond of jelly.
Ask what their favourite flavour is
And they’ll tell you surprisingly sternly that it’s none of your biz.

Katherine Burr Blodgett
Had a most peculiar pet.
She’d explain that she’d simply made it invisible,
But the other physicists took pains to let her know that they considered this risible.

Kasha-Faye Pascoe
Is inordinately fond of eating snow.
When queried on the source of this compulsion
She informs her interlocutor that it’s the thing that fires her extraordinary propulsion

Elly Merry Hadaway
Likes to swim like a manta ray.
They owe this remarkable aquatic prowess
At least in part to their skilled fashioning of a fetching, neoprene, wingèd dress.

Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant
Kept an enormous army ant
She liked to decorate it with feather boas and glitter,
But never trusted it with cash as she suspected that was something it would fritter.

Keir Thomas-Bryant
Is rather amazingly pliant
His displays of this quality sometimes cause the neighbours consternation
But they say nothing to the effect because he’s very generous with his libation.

Paul Darrow
Is the owner of a silver-plated harrow.
He says he doesn’t mind that it’s a tad impractical,
As it’s surprisingly helpful in matters parallactical.

Washing Machine Trev
Prices all his business transactions purely on the lev.
While this would be perfectly acceptable in Bulgaria,
It makes the prospect of his ongoing prosperity in south-east England that much hairier.

Alan Rickman
Would always end his handwritten notes with a stickman.
When asked why he would even do this at home he
Would generally mutter something about the venerable clan called Nakatomi

Toby Dylan
Is a master of the brass-cast quillon.
When queried about his choice of profession
He expounds upon his love of cross-guards with a remarkable quantity of self-possession.

Jorge Luis Borges
Liked to talk at parties about his latest fork case
It was said that if he ever started to wax lyrical on the subject of the spoon
That would be a sign that the Apocalypse was due soon.

Lee Nelson
He’s a man you’ll never quell, son.
You may think you’ve got some lustre, kids,
But when you go against him, you go against his fiercely loyal gang of mustelids.

2018.18 Three Card Draw

IV The Emperor



Every element is carefully selected, from the rams’ heads to the shades and shapes of his draperies. He is bulked and bulwarked, encased in ridged, rigid materials from crown to spurs. Everything is gorgeous, from gorge view to gorget, and preparation is everything; thin-lipped, narrow-eyed, he is unfond of surprises.

He waits, gripped in dread
Battles the creep of ageing
Less feared than fearing.


6 of Wands, reversed



Dread Emperor I have…
Dread…
(Dread)

So, my liege, a funny thing happened
On the way to the battle
And.

No.

Bravely caparisoned and thronged we strode
High were our hearts and strong our voices
Many who cheered us along our road
Blue were the skies with a myriad choices.

Cut to the chase. I think he’d…
He needs to.
I’ll.

Fear now follows fear
A new day beckons the land
The wall has fallen.


8 of pentacles 



No matter what occurs, the sky never actually falls. It calls: blue, grey, white, star-sparkling, or rain-blessing. The sky knows its own business; a kind of competence that only the masterful possess. Gaze focused, intent on craft, this one spins out protection, carves calmly the shape that turns back indignities into equality, perfectly balanced.

Empires creak and fall
Wisdom rises to artful
And work still goes on.

2016.18 Conclusion

I've counted them up, and I've already written 33 poems this month.  Between #napowrimo entries, #poetrytogo commissions, random birthday card inserts, and "write me a haiku about having my hair cut" challenges, I've done over the amount required for me to "pass" NaPoWriMo.

And yet.  Yet I've given myself a barrel of grief over not doing it properly.

And luckily, some good people were there to tell me why, in the kindest terms possible, that's just nonsense. Weirdly, it's what I would have told them myself, were the roles reversed.  One to try to remember, eh?

This one's for them/ you:

---

It's been quite a difficult session,
What with being in thrall of obsession -
It's hard to find time
For good, shorter rhymes,
When you're learning a show - did I mention?

My head's full of timings and edits,
And "Is that how they would have said it?"s,
But if I scribble more,
Quickly ramp up my score,
This might still redound to my credit.

If I stay up 'til late in the night
And tie myself down just to write,
I might feel some pride
And no longer deride
These efforts I deem far too slight.

But you intervened - some of my friends -
And took time to kindly amend
My self-image so low,
Saying "time to let go -
With just one, you've still won, in the end."

See, turns out it's just me who sees failure,
Who's forcibly tucked in my tail, yeah.
I'll stop kicking myself -
It's just bad for my health -
And indulge in some kinder behaviour.

2015.27 - Shades of Bentley

Hereward the Wake
Ate a lot of cake;
Drowned his face in orange squash
Then refused to have a wash.

Rosalind Franklin
Liked to straighten lank pins;
Decorated lampposts
With things that looked like damp ghosts.

Stephen Hawking
Loves to watch a cork spin;
Doesn't know why,
If you ask him, he will sigh.

J.K. Rowling
Will often stop for bowling;
Gets fed up as hell
When asked to do a spell.

"Syd" Barrett
Imitates parrots;
When asked if he likes cages
Says: well, it's all the rage, yes.

Susanna Clarke
Goes punting after dark;
Sings carols to the bats,
Says they have some lovely chats.

2015.11 - Sunday Chorus

Hark to the song of
The summer to come,
The deep-throated thrum
That's as welcome as bumblebees

See how the sleepers
Are quaking and waking,
No, I'm not mistaken:
They're breaking out daily.

The greenery rattles,
The shade loses thatch,
As a million grand schemes
They are starting to hatch.

In the gaze of the sun
There are things to be done,
And plots to be spun
Now that next door's begun.

Yes, the ode of the mower,
The whack of the hatchet,
Says winter is over
In blade-breaking racket.

2015.9 - Revelation 2015

You're wondering why
My smile slips wider
Now young men's eyes
Slide from mine,
Minutely shaking heads.

You'll never guess.
It's all in the power of my
Totem creature, who strolled up
Last week: pleased to meetcha,
Calls himself the Don't Care Bear.

He wears comfortable socks,
Rocks the latest line
In careless smiles,
Whiles his time
Doing things he actually likes.

He spikes his own drinks,
Winks at the elderly,
Weds elegance with
Effortlessness,
Gets his kicks from "just enough".

It's tough shit if you want
To buck him, he knows
How to make his own luck,
Has no truck with truculence,
And gives precisely zero fucks.

Good in a ruck, he knows
When to to step up
And when to step on
Ominous as thunderheads,
He calls himself the Don't Care Bear.

And there's the final jest -
Best if you remember
That his love is strong, and
His heart is true, it's just that
He knows whom to give it to.

2015.4 - Apocritical

Spring is sprung, the grass is ris',
The bird is on the wing,
But I'll confess to hating
What these warmer seasons bring.
It isn't buoyant crocuses,
Or curly lamby mops -
I even love the dandelions
That feed those bunny hops.

It isn't randy froggies
Frothing up my pond at night,
Or the fact I leave work later now,
Confused by longer light.
It isn't that the pretty folk
Strut out in short-cut tops,
It's that when you leave the window cracked
The bathroom fills with wasps.

Okay, it's not that large a threat -
In fact, it's one wasp only -
But the first ones of the season
They are big, confused, and lonely.
The line about them being
Frightened more of me is crap
If that was so, why would it
Try to cwtch up to my lap?

As an adult, I know fine well,
Even given half a chance,
It wouldn't sting me rigid,
And yet still I do that dance
The one that is accompanied
By hopping, flaps, and squealing,
As if, with sheer decibels
I can yet send it reeling.

In the kitchen I could take
The chance to trap it in a glass
But, here, bereft of clothing,
Well, I think I'll take a pass.
Perhaps it's time for therapy
Where my fears some shrink dissects.
It's that or spend the summer
Out-manoeuvred by insects.

________________________

True story. Also: this is why I don't do rhyming poems... :-p

#28 My Second Love

Today I attended a workshop for Allographic on writing for children led by Joshua Seigal. One of the exercises was to write a love poem... to our favourite food. We decided that it would count as my NaPoWriMo poem of the day for a variety of reasons. I reckon that declaring it first counts... :) See if you can guess the foodstuff before the end.

Find out more about Josh at http://www.joshseigal.co.uk

How sweet your salty flesh,
Gathering its temptation to my tongue
On wafts of morning vapours
Or when the hard day's over.
You are undeniable,
Unmistakable, unfakeable.

I have stroked your cool,
Elusive edges til intention
Heats you to a gentle curl.
Expressive, delicious,
The thing most missed
By those who have renounced
Your family's kisses,
But you have cured me
Of my ills.

There is nothing that
You don't complete,
Savoury or sweet,
Neatly cleaved or
Heaved in one slick lick.

Accompanied or solo
Hole-filling you dole out
Comfort on cold nights
A morning delight,
A roadside surprise,
A wonder under blue skies...

Oh, bacon - say you'll stay
Forever mine.

#25 On the peril of Facebook ads

If you're looking for inspiration, you can do a lot worse than read the social media posts of creative, talented friends - e.g. Nick Rawle, whose Facebook musings can be found at https://www.facebook.com/nick.rawle

And he's a mighty fine photographer to boot: http://www.nickrphotography.com :)

They got me at last,
By past deeds impaired,
For where it was once bland,
Mad and resistible:
Silk dusky negligées
And dating for the aged,
It's all debonair shoes,
And new lightweight cycles.

I've been framed -
Heuristical statistics
Making a hole in my
Fiscals, wholesale risks
Beckoning bliss
With each bargain click,
Unmissable.

Too late to save me,
In a pauper's grave
They'll lay me -
Made of titanium frames
And lined with fine leather,
Headstone engraved with
Caveat emptor...