Posts tagged with “poem”

9 November

Isabel’s poem

06:21 AM
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This was written by my daughter at the weekend, I shall photograph the original text and post it, but this is my version typed as faithfully as I can:-

Look! a leaf
Scrunkling my life away.

Look! a rabbit hole
Like a bowl
Eating my life away.

Look!…a nest
Like a bed
Sleeping my life away

Look at the green grass
Like  a bean
I roll my life away

Isabel Eleanor Amelia Wrighton, November 2009.

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28 October

Three Score plus More

06:04 AM
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At the weekend I visited my father, aged seventy five, and made sure his computer was online.  Although I am quite sure he shall not manage to read this I thought I would put the poem he gave me at the time online:-

Three Score years and ten
So what does one do then?
The Bible says - that’s your lot;
“Can’t I do what I forgot?”
Now I am seventy two,
My latter years have just begun
Cruising, boozing, having fun
Seventy Two, don’t feel so well
My prostate begins to tell
Oh no!  I’m seventy three
My doctor has his hands in me.
He looked inside and said “It’s bad!”
My love, she pretended she was sad
Seventy four, my pension pot is growing,
I remember the wild oats I’ve been sowing
Seventy five, life goes quicker
And my blood is getting thicker
Oh dear lord six and seventy,
Does that make me feel more Heavenly
Seventy Eight, the reaper’s late
Seventy Nine, or is it Ten?
Hari Krishna - not again!
Jesus, Allah - I’ve got the score
I can’t do it anymore.

J.C.W. October 2009

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17 October

Fading

06:52 AM
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The older I get the more I see

People

The less they see me

 

Year by year I am fading

like well worn jeans

At least that is how it seems

 

One day the invisible man

might see all that he can

of all of the people

doing all of their things

 

But I can never see

What they are looking at

when they do not see

me!

 

 

                       Paul Wrighton October 2009

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8 October

Nations Favourite Poet

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To mark the National Poetry Week here in Great Britain I am exremely pleased to say that we have NOT voted Betjeman as our national favourite in a poll just announced on BBC Radio Four.  So you may wonder who was the most popular statistically?  The answer was T.S. Eliot, a worthy choice I think.  But it was close, and the runners up were John Donne and in third place Benjamin Zephaniah.  I have already featured Donne on my blog and I am certain I shall mention Eliot in the future.  So now I shall honour Zephaniah, the most contemporary of the favourites, if getting a poem posted on my blog counts as any sort of honour.

I hope to hear from the poet laureate, Caroline Duffy, but no doubt she will be busy enough this week getting inspired to make compositions to mark the week!

Since I seem to have decided the interesting choice was the rastafarian, here is one of his, entitled “Who’s who”:-

I used to think nurses Were women,
I used to think police
Were men,
I used to think poets
Were boring,
Until I became one of them.

Perhaps the next post I make will be part of “Blog Action Day” and perhaps not; I am very conscious that last year there was so little traffic and interest that taking part only raised £12 for a good cause and seemed to generate no interest I could detect.  It strikes me that Blog Action Day is largely a lot of bloggers getting excited and cross posting to no particular effect, although no doubt  they all think it is wonderful.  Any comments, as ever, are welcome.

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14 February

Ode to a burglary

06:48 AM
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Come on you burglers

Come and have a go

Take every thing I own

I’m a Quaker so

that’s OK….

 

The riches of my spirit

far outweigh your karma

if you want to hurt me

You’ll have to try harder

 

Come on all you burglars

You got my daughter’s DS

now you really shouldn’t

Mess with my princess

 

Come on all you burglars

show me your face somehow

I may be a Quaker

But I could kill you now

 

All the stuff you have is tainted

You can have it all

But frightening my daughter

You really didn’t oughta

 

That made it personal

that made me care

Makes me see your life as worthless

But I can’t go there

 

We’ll get our home back

we have our love

You have some stuff

and when you go above

You’re going to fucking pay for this in ways you never could imagine you fucking bastard.

 

Sorry I’m a Quaker

What I meant to say

was God bless and I feel sorry for you

and listen to a voice inside next time

Just LEAVE THE DS, OK?!

 

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4 October

Posting from a Library…

11:38 AM
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Right now I am in Castle Carey for the Childrens carnival later today. I shall try to get pictures onto my phone for later… it could be quite visually pleasing if the rain keeps off! This goes to show the blog addiction has hit hard, even though this offers a lovely quiet respite from the inevitable family drama as a bonus! I brought my laptop, but to hope for wireless access was expecting too much (it is pretty much a small rural town).

Anyway, with the country air I arose early. My father is quite the eccentric (you can see him and some of his poems from the “about me” link if you click on far enough and he has been moved to more traditional housing than his old beach hut on wheels!). So in his new abode he insists that visitors leave something in a Visitors Book provided for the purpose.

Arising early I found this book and the muse struck. Occasionally I may feature a poem in my Blog. BUT I am determined that it should not become exclusively a poetry nor exclusively a writing blog… So they will be tagged and archived in a manner of my choosing from time to time….

If there is no poem in this post it has obviously been done…. Likely gone on to a better place… But for the moment you will find it below:-

LOVE OF A POET
==============

Never love a poet
To love one is absurd
A poets love entirely
Being given to the word

Bad poets write of love
A moral for my daughter
Good poets love themselves
Like a fish loves water

The didactic part comes now
Not of love and not of poet
Of happiness and loving life
The poetry’s in how you show it!

PAW 4/10/2008

Feeling bashful now - sigh.

As I say - you may have noticed a previous post that has now self-destucted, well think of that poem as being written in an ink that fades very fast, because it too will join collected and selected ephemera in the ether at a future time. Of course copies may have been taken, but I don’t want to think about that… I’m weird and shy that way.

I am quite happy to blog and reveal my identity within the blog, but when it comes to publication in any traditional sense I would prefer a “nom de plume”. If anyone cares to suggest suitable pen names in comments - that could be fun, perhaps. But please, no Tadalafil based etymology or themes! Oh I just thought, I really need to avoid mentioning the C word, V word or any other pharmacopoeia or else the spiders are going to mark me down down down!

I notice now that being in the library with a timer on my connection really focusses the mind! Perhaps I need to start introducing a fake similar system at home? No question of idling off away to tweaking little corners of the site or googling weird wikipedian linkage chains. Speaking of which I have turned on a Wiki markup (you’ll find an example on the ABOUT DIDACTIC link for the word didactic). I’ve tried to make one on this post too (in the previous paragraph, for Tadalafil), but the internet and browser setup here may make this tricksome.

My next poem was intended to be titled “Ethereal Ephemera”, but the muse does not respect my future titles and plans. So there we are. Or here we are.

I can certainly feel the chill of the new season with October, added to the chill of the countryside away from the city heat. The children taking part in the carnival should be fine however - the theme is “Teddy Bears Picnic” and they are all wearing furry outfits… This time the great family drama (there is ALWAYS one) was brewing about the “float” trolley upon which my great niece Jessica (13 months) is due to perch… Anyway, my father has become the grumpiest bear in town with the sorest head…. and now refuses to push the trolley or even lend them his drill to finish the work!!

Sigh - and now I have to proof read, correct, and return to the melée!

Thank goodness I can return to domestic blogging come Sunday night, only 30 hours of this to go!

 

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