We left the  old Road Atlas in a box

London is bewildered by its roads
The Circular, the North,the South,  the Codes
The Morse  and the  Enigma Turing broke
So now we have new bicycles with spokes

Once we had the A to Z  in hand
Turn it upside down and you’ll be grand
New technology has  made  great strides
Carrying us to Eden ,what a ride

The motorways are  empty  for  tonight
God decided  we had too much Light
He  taught the bare cheeked Moon   on Jesus’ mount
To turn the other side when love’s about

I liked to use a compass and a map
But now, my dear,  most everything’s on tap
I crouch  beneath my sister as she drives
In the dark on the M 25

But if it’s closed, we are completely foxed
We left the  old Road Atlas in  a box
Along with all my ex’s underpants
And naturally  his principles of Kant

We may be in Watford  or in Bucks
I  often wonder what will rhyme with luck
We may be near St Alban’s, we can’t see
The car ran up the trunk of this oak tree

We rang 999  and they are here
A fire engine filled  up with Kentish beer
A ladder  for the ladies to climb down
Now they are just women on the town

London won’t exist ,destroyed by cars
Angry men who cannot find a bar

The raspberry canes, the honesty know more

The empty canes of raspberries  hang low
Red maple leaves are mashed up in the mud
 Nature  seems to  hover by death’s door 

Animals and humans drained as whores
No feeling ,no  green sap,no  flowing blood
The crackling canes of raspberries hang low

What can we say un-cliched, metaphored?
At dawn the sun will  burn despite the Flood
Nature  did not force us through death’s door 

Can the death  of God    mean this and more,
Though love and hate are fractured, life is good?
The chuckling canes  the berries sang below

Can  a life  with heart not be restored?
End  retaliation,   understand
Nature  did not wave us through  the door 

At the edge of Europe  are no hordes
Jesus is  more small  than any  bud
The crackling canes stored laughter in their cores

The remnants of the foxgloves in the wood
Wave politely . even seem to nod
The raspberry canes, the honesty know more
Nature ,light and darkness, affect stored

 

Why write poetry?

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3 Reasons You Should Write Poetry Today

Extract

The greatest reason to write poetry is because it will make all of your writing better. I promise you.

Poetry gives you a deeper understanding of the language and it allows you to see your writing differently. Poetry enables you to express yourself and your ideas better.

Take Shakespeare for example.

Shakespeare began his career as an actor and a playwright. In the middle of his career, in 1593 & 1594, the theaters were closed due to the plague. During that time, Shakespeare began to publish poetry.

After these two years, Shakespeare went back to writing plays again, but something had changed.

Previously, Shakespeare had written mainly comedies and histories. After taking the time to write poetry, he wrote dramas and tragedies, like Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth. These later works are considered some of the finest works in the English language.

All heart

The slanted beauty of the winter light
On people walking by , their shadows long
The day of beauty and the deep, dark night

The gift of gladness and of our  own sight
Be your weakness, then you  might be strong
The slanted beauty of the winter light

Do not let your mouth with sarcasm bite
Pause before you act or write or fling
On days of beauty and their still, dark nights

Free like colour runs  when wet  yet bright 
Translucence of  love’s  eye can make one sing
Of slanted beauty  in  the winter light

 This  is just one day, and yet  Good might
Be here and now, eternal in our songs
On days of beauty and their too dark nights

The one we love must speak in their own tongue
Truth  will stand and with it we belong
Oh slanted beauty and your winter light
You make the day  all heart, bring long sweet nights

 

 

 

What is irony?

 

 

pair of leather boots hanging on sconce
Photo by Helena Ije on Pexels.com

https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irony

Extract

Irony is a term for a figure of speech.[1] Irony is when something happens that is opposite from what is expected. It can often be funny, but it is also used in tragedies. There are many types of irony, including those listed below:

  • Dramatic irony, when the audience knows something is going to happen on stage that the characters on stage do not.
  • Socratic irony, when someone (usually a teacher) pretends to be stupid in order to show how stupid his pupils are (while at the same time the reader or audience understand the situation).
  • Cosmic irony, when something that everyone thinks will happen actually happens very differently.
  • Situational irony e.g. Mr. Smith gets a parking ticket. This is ironic because Mr. Smith is a traffic warden.
  • Verbal irony is an absence of expression and intention. Sarcasm may sometimes involve verbal irony.
  • Irony of fate is the misfortune in the result of fate or chance.
  • The difference between of things seem to be or reality.

Examples[change | change source]

  • In Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet, Juliet takes a potion that will put her to sleep, making her look dead. She does this in the hopes of being reunited with Romeo. He incorrectly learns of her death, and kills himself. This is an example of dramatic irony, as the reader/viewer knows she is not dead, but Romeo does not.
  • A common example of cosmic irony could be that a child wants some kind of pudding, and misbehaves to try to get it. The parent withholds it because of the child’s behavior.
  • Verbal irony can be found in sarcasm, but not just that.
  • In Sophocles‘ play Oedipus Rex, Oedipus acts out based on the knowledge of his fate which in turn leads to the fulfillment of the tragic fate. This is an example of how fate plays on irony.

A dinghy holds the Saviour

Snow clouds hang  like   canopies forlorn,
Tinged with grey from lack of proper care,
While from the Channel sing the dread foghorns

Sailors in  the night  long for  new  dawn
Fear  boats of refugees may still sail there
Snow clouds hang  like   canopies well torn

A dinghy  holds the Saviour  lately born
There is no space on earth safe  from  great fear
From the Channel sigh the  families   drowned

From maternal’ space, Jesu  is torn
His father holds his arms  around  those dear
Snow clouds hang, are  lacy wings  no more

The hearts of  British ” natives”  have turned sour
Into Jesu’s side we thrust  our spears
Tune the channel.Requiems need scores

All  lives now, and all of time is here
Do not  mistake the song of silent choirs.
Snow clouds hang  like   canopies forlorn,
While in the Channel,  stuttering are the horns

 

The crows caw at half mast

We drove across the Pennines  East to West
Hoping to extend our  holiday
Snow fell down till once black  crags were dressed

Imagination should foresee such tests
Fierce as polar storms ,as mad as prayer
w drove  across the Pennines East to West

We passed through Bakewell did not stop to rest
Buxton was far worse with snow like may
Snow fell strongly ,oh wild crags were dressed

See these visions, travel if you must
See the sea freeze .see ice in Lyme Bay
We drove  across Great Britain East to West

Now it’s North to South as Brexit asked
Hear the people swear and curse and bray
Snow fell till the people  lost all zest

Now my love has gone, the car’s not here
Crushed to a flat metal I can’t steer
We drove across the Pennines  and we laughed
The sheep stared out, the crows cawed at half mast

 

 

 

 

 

No purpose, no desire

How can I judge you when I do not know
The river of your heart, it’s undertow
Forgetting  the wide looking that we need
Too attentive  to the goals of speed

I may   compare you to another friend
And in comparison, our love   might end
I may not take you in as one  true whole
How little do we look,  ensnared by goals?

When attention lapses and we  dream
We may see our soul and  its true themes
Too sharp a focus makes our mind compress
Our narrowed eyes  untrue to second guess

With my whole body I  perceive the  true
No purpose , no desire,  nothing  but you.

Without  our love  we give  but our own weeds

How do we know what topic will intrigue,
That draws the mind away from mundane tasks
 What will be fertile like a bursting seed?

What kind of  poetry do folk want to read ?
Must it tell or do  they have to ask?
How do we know what subjects will intrigue?

Emotions  run like water,with no heed
Floods of feeling  overwhelm defence;
Destroy  the berries and the bursting seeds

Strength is  torment, Stalingrad besieged
Rare will we find love without  these risks
We  already know what sense intrigues

The walls break down, the colder water  leads
Who foresaw the Flood and   its dark past?
This drives all away  both raw and seed

The  hand of God, the might, the holy fist
Kneel  before the  the humble,give them rest
We must know while   learning might intrigue
Without  our love  we give  but our own weeds

He’ll see you in your grave

 


The doctor says  he’ll see you in   your grave.
Will he bring binoculars and stare
God,help us all,I hope that no-one waves


They’ll say just what they want,  and how suave
He and the new trainee are a  pair
The doctor says  he’ll see you in   your grave.

Did he mean in ,to, I’m quasi dazed
I think his treatment of  my lip unfair
God,help us all,I hope that  that ghosts won’t wave

Well we’ll have to  do whatever will erase
The memories of Britain  when she dared
The doctor says  he’ll see you in   your grave.

I’ll go to  visit Plato in a  cave 
The people here will find out  how they’ll fare
God,help us all,I hope that  that ghosts don’t wave

In England it is very rude to stir
The poison of our words  till hate is bared
The doctor says  he’ll see you in   your grave.
God,help us all,I hope that he won’t wave

The radio was wireless

I listened to  no Carols on TV
The radio was wireless I believe
I  ate no Christmas Pudding but drank tea

I’d love to walk on shingle by the sea
Then eat a meal while deep in reverie
I listened to  no Carols on TV

I love only people who love me
Wherever have such notions been conceived ?
I  ate no Christmas Pudding but drank tea

I’d like a man of war to conquer me
We’d  go to bed where  love can be believed
I listened to  no Carols on TV

I must confess I have a Xmas tree
I want my husband’s ghost to relieve me
I  ate no Christmas Pudding but drank tea

I cannot be unfaithful to  green leaves
However much sweet flowers have achieved
I listened to  no Carols on TV
I  ate no Christmas Pudding, God bless thee

 

Grave the undertones  

I ran behind you but the hills were steep
I was frightened, left  behind alone
Now you go ahead into your sleep

Can’t you ever wait, so we could meet
Without you teasing me with  broken bones?
 I ran behind you but the hills were steep

Not held back  by fog or  frost  or sleet
Now you are a husk, where is your home?
 Oh,  must you  go ahead into dark sleep?

You were King , the girls and  boys all leaped
You would not let me use the gramophone
 I  tried  to  meet you,fear and love I keep.

The green sap rose, adventure was the key
Now we’re old so grave the undertones
 Might I murmur while you sink to  sleep?

Let  your hands stretch backward as you go
Before you’re in the earth so bitter,cold
I  passed you as I entered into speech
Yet still you  go ahead  my words can’t reach

 

 

 

 

Meet a few pals

 

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He kept his tongue in his cheek too long so he couldn’t eat
Starved to death

She  had her head screwed on the wrong way
Lack of light

He  had a cat which slept on the stairs
Fell over it and hit his head on a pile of wood
Killed by kindness and poor housekeeping

He wouldn’t wear his glasses so fell down a well
Unconscious suicide or vanity led to error

She wore shoes that were too small and died of untreated corns
Died of  trivial errors

His brain got stuck on the underground as his head fell off his body.
The glueless disease

She wore a yellow bikini on the beach which attracted a lot of wasps
Need I say more?
Died fighting as men wept

She was baking bread but got into the oven and was roasted with a potato
Bad luck.Only do one thing at a time
Died of hyperactivity and lack of concentration

He was writing a blog post and got sad as it seemed too poor
Then he drowned his sorrows [ and himself]
Moral: meet a few pals on their blogs

Day shall come again

When red sun  drops and  cooling night  rolls in
Darkness masks both danger and our vision
Ancient minds fear day won’t come again
Courage for the  delicate   seems thin
We  wrestle  with  our indecision
When  sun  drops  low and darkest night  rolls in
But now , new stricken by   a dread of sin
Who shall aid  the soul’s   derision?
Our  ancient minds fear   day won’t come again
When  we sleep we’e entertained within
Deft dreams squander all   illusion
When  sun  drops  low and dreaming night  rolls in
In reverie we’re loved  and  so  begin
Our  fancy turns to full communion
While ancient minds fear   day won’t come again
And so  it was that our own life began
When sperm leaped up in  proud confusion.
When  deep sun  dropped and  a   new night  rolled in
When  ancient  folk cried  “Day  shall come again”

The world is full of buds of love,respect

The world is full of buds, all interact
Gently touching with  our tender hands
Choosing,using, never going back

Without a choice,  we would not know our lack
Would not know how colours feel and blend
The world is full of buds, we interact

No single answer can be called correct
Uncountable,continuous, are the sands?
Choosing,losing, never looking back

Where we stand determines what are facts
See the children and their  wistful  hands
The world is full of buds, these hands react

Perspective is   a metaphor with tact
Less so  for  soldiers marching to their end
Choosing,losing, never coming back

When the birds cry out we must attend
They see more than we might understand
The world is full of buds of  love,respect
Choosing,opening,  sacredness unpacked

 

 

A sense of rumour

 

They say I have a great sense of rumour.
And I am extremely dutiful.
My hair is like spun mould or moss
My eyes are like two isobars.
My nose is ironic like the poet’s wits
All in all I am a site to be ribald.
My cooking is extra-ordinary ,indeed it is plain.
My figure is probably zero writ on a barge.
I am a very rude housekeeper and all the furniture is witless.
My husband buys me furniture polish for Xmas made from bees wax.This is true.
Do bees ever wane?I know they can buzz.
My doctor said I was the second cleverest person she ever met and she should know as there were ten patients signed on there.I still don’t know which one was the cleverest but I don’t believe in IQ anymore.You see mine is 200… and look at my life… then you will wonder whether I have no EQ..none at all..you don’t need it to do theoretical physics.
My therapist admired my dreams as she was in most of then rowing me out to sea.
She wanted to show me a new perspective on life
but we had to call the lifeboat out… should i stop the therapy and have swimming lessons instead ?
I think if one has to keep calling out the lifeboat it is not a good omen and I could save the money and buy more wool to make an Arran sweater.

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