New Take on Unforgettable (Poetry)

Like honey melting on your tongue… the delicious sounds of Nat King Cole singing Unforgettable.

With apologies for subverting those lovely words and heavenly voice, here is a poem which I wrote with that music (and that landscape) in the background. I’m linking it up to dVerse Poets for the Open Link Night.

Fallen trees, from creeklife.com

Incompatible…

… that’s what we are…

We never danced in rhythm, it’s true,
no ballroom twirls or tango glottal stops for you
suffering in brief acquiescence
for the rewards at the end.

You were fast and harsh, I fell for you
out of nostalgia for my previous dance partner
the tall, dark, unattainable one.
So we came together
went out together
grew apart together.

All the art you didn’t see, all the music you made me switch off.
All the books you didn’t read, all the video games I had to watch.

No one ever changes, they say,
but I know I sprout daily
in all directions.
It would only be a matter of time
before we entwined once more into fresh landscapes
I whispered to myself, oh wistful, oh longing.

But now…

all the forks in forest paths we didn’t take,
all the branches we didn’t climb
all the logs we hid behind
until we jumped over them and stopped caring.

You squeezed the music out of heavenly spheres,
you sapped neutrinos of their poetry.
robbed dark matter of its mystery,
tested me on the law of gravity.

Twenty years I’ve listened to you drone
like the exhaust of those Bugattis you admire so much.

And now I sit and ogle at men twenty years younger.

As if life ever gave one second chances.

Having Fun with Poetry

I’m not participating in NaPoWriMo, as it’s too busy with work and children’s holidays accumulating this month. But I continue to write poetry as often as I can, even if I don’t always feel inspired. One good way to get into the groove is to play around with words, as if I were doing Scrabble or crosswords. The result is no masterpiece, but a great way to loosen up and perhaps produce better work in the following hour. Here is an example, where each verse starts with a letter of the alphabet, and I allowed some of the recent news to take over my subconscious.

Alphanumerical Fancies 

Aardvark primogeniture, he exudes all the confidence.

Barely born, he knows best,

Campaigns for privilege to remain untouched,

Dares others to get a word in edgeways.

Events all too graphic are kept from his gaze,

For ignorance is blissful,

Grovelling amiss, unless it is done well.

Hate-filled discourse seeps through filters

Into public space.

Jealous of those audience figures?

Know that it is not in vain, how easily

Like buttons are pressed

More substance and depth not required

No foodie picture is wasted

Old friends swoon in envy as we unleash

Perfect pouts

Quirky triumphs

Roiling we may be but

Surface is all, consumption

Trafficked widely, flung in our teeth,

Until one day, if ever,

Vaulting truths life’s misadventure

Wears out our curiosity about the world of others

X-rated, celebrated, maligned

Your small sequestered corner becomes precious

Zealot-free place.

 

The Search

I looked around for beauty but I got distracted

by the grey rain streaks echoed on my kitten’s fur

as she sits all pensive on the window sill.

All I notice are water-stained window panes.

 

My brain fries synapses and skips seven beats.

She darts forth on sure-footed pads through the snow

like a lynx in the mountains I no longer have before me

to make up for the fault in my wiring.

 

I missed the deadline on dVerse Poets for the poetic prompt on anthropomorphism of beloved pets, but I am not sure that this poem would have been quite suitable for it anyway. So I am linking it instead to Open Link Night. Join me there for some poetic fun during this month of poetry celebration!

 

The Candidate

On the next page the ink turns green

Fresh shoots, new hope, all that palaver

You examine the manuscript under a loop of magnified manifold

You process pleasure in Powerpoint bullets

Tarnish templates with monotype ghosting

It’s all done with robots now but you like to muck in

No parchment too precious for fingers to wander

You meter their words, box in statements of intent.

There is such a thing as perfect length or outstaying welcomes

There is no such thing as the perfect applicant.

 

World Poetry Day – a few spring offerings

A day late is par for the course for me at present. Here are some poetry exercises – 1, 2, 3 and 4 line poems, mainly about Spring as I was driving two years ago to Provence.

1 line poems:

There’s too much beauty in the air.

 

Spring: the waiting is long, but the season is short.

2 line poems:

I cannot name a single bird.

Does that make my spring rush any less real?

 

How can you not let the landscape fill you?

Breathe in, let it tingle your ribs.

 

3 line poems:

Mountains shed their last

snow mantle. I sigh in bliss.

Car behind honks loud.

 

First full day of spring.

Saint Paul les Monestier:

very name a charm.

4 line poems:

Crooked stones with gaps for windows,

sun-baked lizard on ochre tiles,

birds call out their evening greetings

mending headaches, silent sighs.

 

Napoleon may have passed here on his way

to short-lived northern resurrection.

A stream’s the only one bustling today

in domaines of sea-pine covered indolence.

I am also linking this to dVerse Poets Pub for the Open Link Night. Any form or subject goes, so it’s a poetic delight!

Envy, 3 a.m.

I know I always pick on Facebook, but I really don’t like the showing-offiness of that platform. I haven’t completely abandoned it, because it did help me to reconnect with some long-lost school friends, but I visit it as little as possible.

From Cosmopolitan.

Afright from a nightmare where my mother once more

waxes satirical about my weight,

I shake off the sludge of family binds and turn

to my friends in the blue glow of pre-dawn screens.

That’s the way we do it now: no calling, no comfort

of voice. Mere updates and pictures of lives

manicured like a Wimbledon lawn.

But, curated or not, I still care about my mates

or so I think                 until I see

pictures of a party with all my favourite things

tailor-made for my friend and me.

 

Except I never received an invite.