Filed under: Parenting, Poetry, Writing | Tags: family, food, NaPoWriMo, poetry
Unable to get home, out with family, stuck. By divers devious means I can at least post a poem.
I sit surrounded by family
Star Plus on the television
Chattering all around the room
So much noise, too much, too much noise.
Sore tum, I think I ate too much,
But how can I resist paneer?
The sad truth is that I cannot.
I am so uncomfortable
I have enjoyed myself too well.
But why not, the dinner was such
A pleasant unexpected treat?
I am very pleased I came
My family matter to me.
Filed under: Poetry, Writing | Tags: memories, music, NaPoWriMo, poetry, Sounds Of The Sixties, yesterday
Saturday morning, Sounds Of The Sixties. This evening the first James Bond film on television. Nostalgia it’s running rampant. Right You Tube isn’t cooperating do this is getting posted as it stands.
The End Of Days
The Sounds of the Sixties
Played on my radio,
Bringing back memories of long ago.
The songs of my childhood
Listened to after school
Beneath the blankets with the volume low.
In Sixty Two James Bond
Came to the silver screen
Tonight I have been watching Doctor No;
Which is where it began.
I was young, not a man,
How my life would turn out I did not know,
But since then there have been
Surprises on the way,
Sometimes I wish my life would run more slow.
Those were the days, my friend,
We thought they’d never end;
We could never know how fast they would go.
I enjoy the old songs
On the records I play,
I realise I believe in yesterday.
I look at my grey hair
See the sun going down
Christ you know it ain’t easy, so they say,
Someday all this will end,
Those days won’t come again,
But With me they’ll stay forever and a day.
Filed under: Poetry, Writing | Tags: inspiration, NaPoWriMo, poetry, writer's block
Were I to be honest I would have to admit today’s poem owes more to craft than artistry. The deadlines of NaPoWriMo present a challenge to my normal creative process, I cannot wait for ideas, I have to force them; I think it is an uncomfortable, but useful discipline.
The tyranny of deadlines gets to me
Daily during NaPoWriMo, you see
Time, rather than ideas, determines what
I write, but there is a mindset you know
That, with focus and rhetoric, can sow
Seeds that will germinate in your mind’s plot
And, by inspiration watered, blossom
With beauty in the garden of your bosom.
I pray that it may fall unto my lot
That urgency will set my ideas free
And music shall spring from the heart of me.
Filed under: Poetry, Politics, Scotland, Writing, Yes Scotland | Tags: Muslims, NaPoWriMo, poetry, Scots
Tonight too busy to record anything. However I produced a rough draft of what was conceived as a very much longer poem.
Muslim terrorists? Not next door to me.
Muslim family, I count them my friends.
My Muslim neighbours, I’m glad they’re there
For my Muslim friends care. Their kids and ours,
Scottish and Muslim both, grew up together.
Muslim? I tell you what, call them what you will,
They will always be Muslim Scots to me, .
I said the first few words to my wife, just after midnight, before we fell asleep. They grew as I slept into this.
The You of You
I love the feel of you,
the smell of you,
the you of you.
I love the taste of you,
the waist of you,
the moist of you.
Not most of you,
but all of you.
The what of you,
the who of you,
the what you do of you.
The word of you,
the true of you.
The way you lie of you,
the repose of you,
the pose and poise of you.
The eyes of you,
the nose of you,
the ears and hair and mouth of you.
The smile of you,
the warmth of you,
the ‘I want to be with you’ of you.
The honest, decent work of you,
the occasional berserk of you.
The weep of you,
the care of you,
the what, the why, the where of you.
The kiss of you,
the sex of you,
the, ‘there’s something I must do’ of you.
The cook of you,
the look of you,
the knowing what to do of you;
the somehow always pulling through of you,
Whatever others may do or demand of you.
The brain of you,
the mind of you,
the kind, the light, the bright of you.
The motherhood of you,
the working for good of you,
the knowing the right thing to do of you.
The lips of you,
the hips of you,
the funny verbal slips of you.
the study of you,
the write of you,
the never ever wrong of you,
the laughter when you are of you.
The you in everything you do of you,
The love you have for me of you,
the love I have for you.
The thinking of you,
and the thought of you;
the should, the would, the ought of you.
The glimpse I caught of you,
the hug of you,
the hold of you,
the touch of you,
the being there for me of you.
The eternity of you,
the always there of you
the everlasting love of you.
The joy of you,
the play of you,
the lay of you,
the each and every day of you.
All of this is true of you,
and all of this I love of you,
But most of all I love
the You of you.
Filed under: Poetry, Scotland, Writing | Tags: gardens, NaPoWriMo, poetry, Scotland, Spring
This evening, having spent the day in the garden, I looked towards the Kilpatrick hills at sunset and seeing them silhouetted, grey against the pink sky, this poem suggested itself.
The spring evening sun enflames the Acer
Outside my bedroom window it has grown.
I purchased it because it was a dwarf,
That is what I was told, I was told wrong.
Below the Acer, Daffodils in bloom
Shine bright, reflecting the evening light
That turns the sky above the grey hills pink.
As evening settles on my garden
Narcissi, Tulips, and Hyacinths white,
Stand out brightly in the dying light.
Primroses like posies ‘neath the roses
Demand division, but my decision
To lift them with the spade has been delayed
By my indecision; they remain marooned
In the unpruned rose bed. Lack of courage
And lack of knowledge stays my secateurs.
On some spring morn soon I should grasp the thorn
And do the many jobs that should be done,
But I would rather just sit in the Sun.