Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry
write long poems on short days
short poems on long days
you don’t need a drummer
but you do need rhythm
avoid melodrama
your head cannot explode all the time,
there is uncharted territory
between ecstasy and despair
look after your images
they should splash like cold water
on the reader’s face
observe, always observe.
Caye Caulker
In the café below
the locals talk about the old times
about Eve and the apple
about Paradise lost
about how all the bottles
washed up on the shore
carry the same message.
pelicans plummet into the bluebottle sea
sting rays undulate
out on the coral reef
tiny organisms
fret about climate change
and that damn carbonic acid
I fink the pH is dropping, I really do
meanwhile, over in San Pedro
on the Redneck Riviera
hermetically sealed resorts
march north towards Mexico
and thin, blond soccer moms
mingle with sun-damaged matrons
dedicated to the preservation
of floral print muumuus.
in the café below, Bob Marley’s still jammin’.
This poem has had a few lives. Participating in open link over at earthweal. Head over and check out Brendan’s thought provoking and eloquent post .
The Influencer
sometimes we travel
a long, hard road, to arrive
at the obvious:
the unbearable flatness
of pancakes in the morning.
The Influencer
sometimes we travel
a long, hard road, to arrive
at the obvious:
the unbearable flatness
of pancakes in the morning.
Solastalgia (an alternative etymology)
solas in Gaelic
means light, solastalgia,
a longing for light
hidden under a bushel
at the end of a tunnel.
The challenge over at earthweal is to “Write a new poem on the theme of Solastalgia” which is “a form of emotional or existential distress caused by environmental change.”
Machu Picchu
I
Backpacks
bucket lists
smart phones
selfie sticks
altitude pills
attitude pills,
sun hats
sun block
Lonely Planet Guidebook,
don’t drink the water
don’t eat the salad
no ice please
this is our tribe
this is our tribe.
II
The Incas long ago
left for the valley
to grow their quinoa,
wheat and corn
but we keep coming
to look for something
that may have been left behind;
we are a benign invader
a tad earnest maybe
mild-mannered to a fault
but hand us a weak wifi signal
and we go ape-shit.
There are those among us
who have already abandoned
the physical world –
I see them
sitting in restaurants
heads bowed and thumbs
working beneath the table
connecting by radio waves
to a digital stream
of consciousness and banality.
I am he as you are he
and we are a river of electrons.
Photos by Marie Feeney
This poem was originally published in The Galway Review.
Taking part in Open Link Night over at dverse
Greta Thunberg at Davos
Pharisees, temples
the young lecturing the old
wilderness, a voice.
Taking part in open link weekend over at earthweal.
Woke
He’d not yet
gone to sleep,
he was that
far from woke.
the patina on the bell’s surface
was anathema to Brother Jacques
Sonnez les matines?
Ring your own damn bell!
Sarah, over at dVerse , is asking us to brave the elements and visit the Periodic Table. This is a slightly revised version of a previous post.
Oganesson
the heaviest of elements
always obsessin’
about its atomic weight,
the size of its orbitals.
Four Expressions Using The Word “Hell”
that’s one hell of an expression
it’s all going to hell in a hand basket
they were scattered all over hell’s half acre
hell hath no fury like a president impeached.
that place you will never go
it can be one hundred miles away
it can be a stone’s throw
but there is one thing that is sure
there is one thing that you know
in the land called Where You Are Not
you will always be a no show.
(I located my inner Seuss over Christmas)
Taking part in Open Link over at dVerse
That Smell from the Fridge
that smell from the fridge
yes, it was the Camembert
noisome, and then some
wet dog, feet sweat, camel’s breath
a toilet door opening.
the sheriff is dead
failure to shoot deputies
is not a defence.
Christmas Shopping
lost in Costco
abandoned in The Gap
feeling stale in Joe Fresh
seems like everything here
is made in Bangladesh
‘tis the season, I guess
deck the halls with human folly…..
Post Grammatic Stress
like a lot of nouns
he had spent a bit of time
in declension centres
discussing cases
with case workers
it wasn’t that bad
he just wishes
they weren’t all
so accusative.
The Unbearable Lightness of Verse 4
he was the envy
of all the envoys
because of the size
of his diplomatic pouch.
he felt deleted
like a worn-out expletive
declined, like a noun.
Photos: Waiting for the Drop
A Tanka for Boris Johnson
morning has broken
Boris is talking bollocks,
the sun’s going down
Boris is talking bollocks,
sun comes up, yep, you guessed it.
Too Many Questions
U is at?
Is u at?
At issue?
Is it u?
*a slimverse using only 6 letters
Bones of Contention
Bones to pick
bones to chew on
Anderson, Chris and Don
but there are no metrics to measure by
so the discussions drag on and on
and the screen splits into two heads
and the screen splits into four heads
and the screen splits into eight heads
a pundit arrives
a pundit leaves
a pundit gets indignant
a pundit gets emotional
a pundit gets that gotcha smirk
there is talk of smoke and fire
there not been one without the other
and I see this distraction of pundits
this deflection of pundits
this confusion of pundits
standing looking at the horizon
across an open plain,
oblivious, while behind them
Rome burns.
Peripatetic Blues
The signs along the highway
are leaking semiotic fluid
psychotic cacti strike a calculated pose
linguistic lizards parse the parched desert floor
Slim’s feeling demotic,
neurotic, anecdotal, over-used
he’s looking for a sanctuary
the fisherman and the shoes
he’s got those my way is the highway
peripatetic blues.
Taking part in Open Link Night over at dverse.
Verse Form Freeway
a derelict lai
an abandoned sestina
a rusting rubai
the iambic sun beats down
tarted-up tankas roll by
articulated sonnets
pantoums, tricked-out villanelles
a herd of haikai
a herd of haikai
Participating in Open Link Night over at dverse.
The Stack
And what a
beautiful
plume we have
here, Nigel,
a plume with
time on its
hands, look at
it loping
across the
sky like a
giant Chinese
dragon, let’s
hail a cab
to find the
plume’s end, where
the last wisps
of vapor
drift upwards
and a blue
mist hangs, yes,
there it is
in the sky
to the west
stalking the
cars in the
parking lot
outside the
big box mall
while the sun
bawls and the
sky gets all
indignant.
Post Poem Interview
You played well out there tonight, Slim.
Slim: Well, you know it’s not about me, it’s about the poem, I’m just part of the process.
Are you suggesting that you are perhaps some kind of conduit linked to some higher power, some higher resource.
Slim: No, I am just mouthing platitudes, isn’t that the idea?
Quite, so I am sure everyone is wondering, who is Nigel?
Slim: He’s my cousin.
That’s a very English name.
Slim: That’s hardly surprising, he is English.
Do you call him ’Nige’ for short?
Slim: No!
It sounds like he could be a member of one of those floppy-haired synth bands from the eighties, you know, like Soft Cell or Human League or The Pet Shop Boys. Didn’t XTC have a song about a guy called Nigel. Is he in a band?
Slim: He’s a welder.
Does his hair not get in the way?
Slim: He’s bald, where is this going?
(mumbles) somewhere slow or nowhere fast. So tell me about the structure of this poem.
Slim: I took the 3 syllable line, 4 line verse , I have been using, and applied it to a poem that I was never happy with and it worked, at least it made me trim a lot of the fat and I came up with a better poem, I think?
……….what? Sorry I nodded off there for a bit. Well, I’m sure you are itching to get back to the dressing room and join the rest of the lads in a lukewarm bath of diluted sweat.
Slim: Can’t wait!
no more séances
these days, it’s hard to find a
happy medium
Stopdraggingthepanda 