findingtimetowrite

Thinking, writing, thinking about writing…

Archive for the tag “DVerse Poets Pub”

Weekend Fun: Library Pubs

Something completely different today. Over at dVerse Poets we have been celebrating all week: it’s three years since the opening of our virtual Pub, where we meet weekly to discuss poetry and display our poems. Instead of a poem dedicated to the Pub (or to any pub), I thought I would share with you some pictures of pubs which look like libraries. Sounds like an irresistible combination!

New York, NoMad Hotel, GQ Magazine.

New York, NoMad Hotel, GQ Magazine.

Plaza Hotel, Copenhagen, librarybar.dk

Plaza Hotel, Copenhagen, librarybar.dk

Auckland, New Zealand, travelbugtv.com

Auckland, New Zealand, travelbugtv.com

Dallas, Citybuzz.com

Dallas, Citybuzz.com

Los Angeles, frenchdistrict.com

Los Angeles, frenchdistrict.com

My only question is: are the books just for decoration, or can you read them? And what sort of books are they?

An Even Better Cat Poem (By My Sons)

My sons were not impressed with the poem I wrote about our cat for dVerse Poets Pub. They suggested (insisted) I should post their ‘Song for Zoe’ instead. They’ve composed it themselves, written the lyrics and regularly perform it as a lullaby for our bemused cat. So here goes: the much better cat poem which perfectly captures her quintessential nature (and it rhymes!).

Zoe can be fierce and Zoe can be scary,

Zoe can be cute and Zoe is so hairy.

Zoe can be fussy and Zoe can be strong.

Zoe can be greedy and this is Zoe’s song.

My First Pub Night and Animal Poem

I am very honoured and pleased to be hosting my first session behind the bar at the dVerse Poets Pub today. Feel free to join me there for an animal-themed poetry session (and link your own animal poetry if you feel inspired).

ZozoBlankieThere are two reasons for this animal theme: first, it is Poisson d’Avril (the fish which the French use to trick you on April Fools’ Day). Secondly and more selfishly, I cannot get enough of singing the praises of my lovely recently-adopted cat. Today is her (approximate) birthday: we think she is roughly two years old. It has been my lifelong desire to have a cat, always thwarted by parents, landlords, spouses, travel and international moves. But my patience has been rewarded with the sweetest, most affectionate cat in the world. Even though she does bring in an occasional lizard or bird…

 

At night a cat purrs me to oblivion

with rhythmic chant she kneads my mind

wet nose nestled in my blanket

she slows my needs and wants right down

mistress of silent companionship

she asks nothing, no rush to judge or refute

listens with pupils like pools of ancient knowledge.

 

I live scarcely aware of the encroachment of loneliness

until the tinkle of her arrival signals comfort

that small paw of trust

nuzzling the crook of my arm

her hunting instincts quelled for the moment

bloodthirst slaked in the wish to be loved.

The Birthing Pangs of a Poem

I’ve got an issue with privacy. I’ve never liked open plan offices, I don’t like people coming into my study at home, I don’t like showing my work in progress. Psychologists may see a link there with the fact that my mother read my diaries and opened my letters when I was a teenager. I just call it personal space: I’m happy for those around me to have theirs, and hope they will allow me mine. So it’s unusual for me to show you a first draft, but I thought it would be interesting (for a later version of me too, perhaps) to see how my poetic mind works. This is still too explicit, personal and verbose. It leaves nothing to the imagination. It was written after a rather frantic weekend alone with the children. I will come back with an edited, perhaps even a final version and would welcome any suggestions for improvement.

It’s been a day of shouting

Coffee-ad family picture frayed and curled,

burnt up in blood-hot temper.

Sullen moods, sulk and whine, heave and lift

of bone-breaker words:

careless second of uttering,

then a lifetime of regret.

It’s been another day of failing…

my children, my ideal, myself

and all the compensatory cakes I bake

turn to sand in our mouths.

I’m left chasing words on empty beaches,

finding other people’s discarded treasures

more plentiful than shells.

I pick up a conch and pour my anguish in its ear.

I pour all my inadequacy into a jar,

screw on the jam-stained lid so tight

then fling it back into a sea just lukewarm.

So my poems are merely turgid,

my thoughts piddling, my family average.

We muddle on and on,

imperfect and random

victims of illusions

drunk on lost words.

I’m linking this to dVerse Poets Pub, a friendly community of poets who support and help each other.

To Be Seduced

Purple sheets and iron rings

Seduction blares

A trumpet whore.

But I prefer the subtle strokes

of half-guessed thoughts.

Aslant leaves all to be desired.

 

It’s my favourite time of the week: Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub. Come and join me for some fun, a real community vibe and good poetry, of course!

Last Judgement

She sits in judgement like mayonnaise setting.

 

‘Mog!’ she utters with eyes of reckoning

slant with questions

dull with doubt

 

We held together

clung close and tearful

but the worlds we built

were arid

mouthfuls of discontent

 

Hereafter let dreamscapes guide you to perfection.

Let panoramas pulsate with fury

at the perils of being

One.

 

After all, the world ends not with a bang but a whimper… and so do many relationships.

I’m linking this to that wonderfully supportive group dVerse Poets Pub, which has become a much-loved second home for me on the web. The prompt was to write a poem in precisely 55 words. I only had to add the first line and this poem became just the right thing.

 

Precision Forever Eludes Us

When I swerve to pounce

I know! I am sure! I trap it with a single clasp!

Harvest-full  my hands are, with precious, rarest cargo.

Yet when I open them, they dangle

bereft and bare.

 

When I nail it on the board for spread-eagled scrutiny,

its beating heart flutters elsewhere.

Missing the target, pinpricks will render

Superficial shrills into confetti thrills.

No capture, falling,  F

all

ing

Quick shake-off -

nothing but dust -

back in ring to entice and encircle

voluptuous forevers and nevers,

untamed, unbowed, unrepentant.

 

I always fail.

Is there valour in trying?

Defeat feels anything but…

 

Next time -

always next time -

the vision will be luminous.

Sounds will surge forth, perfectly aligned.

Until then…

 

Here’s to the missing.

goliathus.cz

It is Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub – and have they got something to celebrate! An anthology of some of the best works of the pub regulars is now available on Kindle and in paperback. Much drinking, merry-making and reciting of poetry will be involved, so do join us there!

This is…

Not the life I wanted to lead

Not your average day of loopy well-being

Not the family I recognize as brethren

Not the word I dreamt up flowing from pen, blood and heart

Not the tensile stretch of muscle used in utmost longing, reach to beyond

No picture-book happiness of domesticity tamed

No anger or despair allowed to creep in

Save in the tumble – a little too loud – of ice cubes in a glass

as soon as cocktail hour will allow.

Fall into the flab of inane self-expression

with hiccup, giggle and gin.

Photo credit: cocktailbuzz.blogspot.com

Photo credit: cocktailbuzz.blogspot.com

 

Join me for Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub, the friendliest online poetry forum.  Drinking or writing a poem about drinking is not strictly compulsory, though.  

 

 

When Lightning Strikes Writers’ Block Alley

Today at dVerse Poets Form for All, Charles wants us to go all Dadaist and use Tristan Tzara’s cut-up lines and random words pulled out of a hat so as to capture that elusive flash of inspiration.  I turned to a poem I had recently been struggling to write and mashing it up (appropriately enough) helped break down my mental barriers.  And I’ve never used spaces much before, so this was additional experimentation. This was fun!

How long before it leaves                  me

was it fevered shock

what if it never strikes again

???

It came as a gurgle – and turned into hiss

Rattled

           shook thunder

                       protest

                                     groan-heaved

And when it finally shuddered out loose

it swept all before it               ignored the well-worn

Ah, paths

Ah, old groove!

From near to afar that glisten of new

no mistakes yet to clutter

Cleanse all ye moods

longings adrift

upwind endless to explore

photos.accuweather.com

photos.accuweather.com

 

Effortless Despair

Effortlessly limber she entered

His room, his mind, and the rest

She appropriated, triaged, rejected

With cool gherkin competence.

Neglected to fashion belief in his eyes –

Best leave him to wonder and finally mourn.

She entered, effortlessly limber,

And impoverished us all.

 

Finally I make it in time for Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub – one of the friendliest and most talented community of poets I have seen online.  Or in person.

Post Navigation