A poem about my Grandfather – “Grampy” – written for and performed at the Nottingham Poetry Festival, at the Crosswords Sue Ryder open mic night. I’ve attached the recording below on YouTube, with another poem from last night too. I’d love it if you checked it out 😀
Grampy died when I was young.
Young enough to remember,
but not old enough to know him.
He was a baker by trade, always
bringing oven-warm buns,
the three minute walk back to
his front door.
He’d served in North Africa
in the Second World War.
This utterly fascinated me,
the reality of war.
The notion of “service”. The grit.
But we never spoke of it.
The closest we came was him buying me
“Commando” magazine from the newsagents,
next to the bakers. Those pocket booklets of
heroism, jingoism. Derring do. Reality
safely sanitised into periodic pieces
where the good guys always win.
I never really cared for them –
I preferred when he
bought me “Buster” comics –
but I never told him that.
He thought I’d like them,
so he bought them for me.
Maybe he wanted to say more.
I wanted him to say more.
But he never did.
ate through him
In those final days.
A Brylcreem skeleton.
A shadow of sallow skin,
sunk in his favourite chair.
Unable to manage even that
short walk to the newsagents,
now knocked through into the
bakery, selling undertaxed coffee.
No more Commando magazines.
No more unspoken words.
This is the second in what will inevitably form a Halloween trilogy, concluding tomorrow… I am going to perform these poems, with others, at my first ever poetry performance (excluding open mics) this weekend. Wish me luck!
I met her in a graveyard
On a dark and stormy night.
Wrapped in blackest midnight
She was something of a sight.
Her skin was pale as moonlight.
She’d dark circles round her eyes.
Her countenance was serious :
Quite incapable of surprise.
Her long black skirt hid her feet,
She seemed to glide across the ground.
Made no mark upon the floor,
Moved without a sound.
She made a beeline for me,
As I was drawn to her.
Mesmerised by each other,
Quite forgetting who we were.
Neither dared to touch the other,
To break this moonlit spell.
This eeriest enchantment
That makes two hearts compel.
Standing, still not touching,
We danced upon the mist,
The tangled trail of eddies,
The only evidence of our tryst.
Our bodies now moved closer,
I moved in for a kiss…
But I fell and passed right through her
Denied that mortal bliss.
For though I was but the ghost
In a delicious irony
I fell so hard in love with her It’s her that haunted
So if you’re sat there lonely now
Sad, and praying for a date
Remember well this poem’s words:
It’s never too late It’s never too late
I read a timely post yesterday by Annika Perry on the value of, and more importantly the cost of, writing for and entering competitions – https://annikaperry.com/2016/10/16/the-cost-of-competitions/. Ironically, I had been writing a poem to enter in a competition this morning, but hadn’t checked the small print… it was only open to members. Paying members. There didn’t even seem to be an option to pay to enter this one competition – it was all geared up for monthly membership, which I’m not interested in. So, their loss (!) is your gain – I’ve included it below. Completely for free. Just for you 🙂
This is a palindrome poem. It reads the same backwards as forwards. This is the first I’ve tried…
exposed wounds numbness feeling without love friendship cresting begets attraction, expectation beguiling touch of reality love eclipse supernova emotions explode JOY! explode emotion’s supernova eclipse love reality of touch beguiling expectation attraction begets cresting friendship love without feeling numbness wounds exposed
You may have noticed that I haven’t been blogging much lately – life and work are getting in the way. Some of my favourite blogs have shut down recently, and I have contemplated doing the same… I’ve decided not to. I don’t know how much writing I’ll get to do, and how much I can share with you (am trying to work on some longer short stories and fiction), but I’ll still be around whenever I can 🙂
This is something I wrote this morning. A little haiku for the lovers…
I was lost in love Heart’s compass re-calibrates Now points me to you
Picture courtesy of : flickr.com/photos/chatterstone/21387614233
This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
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