First Meal of the Day

Up since five a.m. today exploring

others’ words.

Your dreams and hopes, fears and tears,

stirred into my coffee.

I take it black,

unsweetened,

not bitter.

I drink it down in earnest

appreciation of the full flavour,

picked and gathered

from plants

nurtured

around the globe.

Each bean picked

to give a mix

flavoursome

to my palate.

I inhale from leaves too.

First meal of the day.

Two drugs

with the words

makes three.

Nicotine and caffeine

coursing through

bloodstream

with words fed onto pages.

Sad words,

hopeful words,

words that speak of deepest feelings and thoughts.

They touch me.

Nourishment

swallowed and inhaled

with coffee

and cigarettes.

And appreciated.

Addictive manna,

nectar to my needs.

Nicotine,

coffee

and soul connections.

I rinse my mug, stub out my cigarette, close my kindle and begin my day.

It’s almost seven now.

Two hours of addiction satisfied.

But they will invite me back

for lunch.

Advertisement

Blog Tour

A very fine poet, Paul, a master with words and imagery, invited me along on a blog tour. I’m chuffed to bits that he reads my blog and makes lovely comments.

Now, I also feel a bit guilty because Ali invited me on a blog tour a wee while back and I agreed and then didn’t follow through on my side of the tour. My bad. But, here I make it up to her and, hopefully, send lots of new readers to these two wonderful bloggers. Both write fabulously well, leave me standing at the starting gate, so to speak. So I’m delighted that they each extended the invite and urge you to check them out.

This is my absolute favourite of Paul’s. I had to read it over and over again and eventually made a reading of it for my own pleasure. It’s a wonderful piece of work.

Ali’s writing is so often full of humour and this one appeals to the teacher in me and the love of a fine anecdote expressed just so.

 

The three questions I am to consider are these.

Why do I write what I do?

How does my writing process work?

How does my work differ from other genres?

 These questions  certainly got me thinking about how and why I write and when it all began. So I penned this. With a pen!

 

Poetic infancy, I guess,

began with a doodle,

a scribble on page,

just a mark

till letters’ formations

revealed their delight,

their sensory quality,

their spark.

 

Like moth to the flame

of the pencil and pad,

to the ink draining

out from the pen,

I scribbled and drew,

no clue what to do

but still the flow

raptured and then

 

I found out in books,

those worlds in the pages,

what magic

an author creates,

I gloried in them,

hid out in my den

while kids danced and larked.

My fate

 

was to wonder at words,

their meanings, their source,

to be spellbound

by even their spelling,

to capture each one

how they’d become,

connotations,

their secrets concealing

 

in Latin, in Greek, all the words that we speak,

in the French, in my own mother tongue,

I found that one word

may erupt as I think,

while feelings

course from

my lifeblood

to ink.

 

In angst of my teens,

I defined all my dreams

in writing,

who I was, the why of existence.

Years charted of life,

senses refined,

thoughts penned, but

only for my own subsistence,

 

to reveal who I am,

what I feel, what I think

how my mind

plays tricks in the light,

I wrote for myself,

filed the pads on the shelves,

opened new,

wrote into the night.

 

Till one day in June,

of two thousand thirteen,

at behest of my brother,

I clicked

on WP’s pages,

typed up some old stuff,

and haven’t looked back.

What a dick!

 

I now feel to have been

so shy to reveal

with the family of all

who love words

my offerings today,

as I make my own way,

not in forms recognised

but in floods

 

of joy that I’ve found

in expressing myself,

in floating, eyes gazed

to the sky,

that nothing is worse

than a tongue if it’s cursed

to a silence

that tells its own lie.

 

Now you’ll be sorry you asked

for a blog tour from me

‘cos bugger!

I just don’t do brief

but that’s just my style,

I’ve tried haiku and twitter

but syllable/character counts

feel like thieves,

 

reducing outpourings,

that I have to confess,

just splurge like

waterfall’d blurbs,

all the A’s and the B’s

right through to the Z’s –

no process –

just a huge love of words.

 

And pens and paper.

A bit of a fetish actually!

 

 

Why do I write what I do? Because I have to, always have.

How does my writing process work? Like a waterfall.

How does my work differ from other genres? Not a bloody clue! And don’t, frankly, care. They’re all words.

 

I’d like to invite a few others to this blog tour whose work I admire.

Cole, whose eloquence in words and thoughts on life and meaning entrance me.

http://colemining.wordpress.com/2014/06/03/poets-priests-and-politicians/#comments

She’s coming to Glasgow in September so we’re going to have a good old natter about politics and music and life. Over a couple of glasses of vino, of course. Looking forward to it, Cole!

I only came across this blogger recently and he has quite a distinct style that I really must try in that his poetry is prose is poetry.

Daniel at

http://danielswearingen.wordpress.com/2014/06/27/merle/

Now there are so many more I could mention whose blogs and words I love. But I figure you’ll have more than enough marvellous reading material when you visit Paul, Ali, Cole and Daniel.

Still Your Voice

I still hear your voice in my ear,

mellifluous melody,

sugar’d strands

melted on my tongue.

In whispers, airborne,

your song

lingers

coating my senses,

breathed as liquid chocolate.

I still hear your voice.

Right

When the upsurge

Rises,

Spurts!

And truth explodes

With meaning,

No argument

Or reasoned clause

Subverts

That inner

Feeling.

Acknowledged worth

Of human brain

With heart

And soul

And might

Embraces freedom,

Humanity;

Instinctively

Knows what’s

Right.

More Than Mere Words

Are you ok?

Are you well?

I need to know these things.

When I care, I care.

I can’t make that go away.

Are you thriving?

Are you happy?

Do you need someone?

Is life blessing your days?

Is there a way I can help?

Just say.

Love is what it is.

And spreads.

Be well.

Be blessed by love.

Don’t be afraid.

Or alone.

How are you?

More than mere words.

A Feeling

There’s a movement afoot,

Can you feel it?

A dawning, a heavenly herald,

A belief in the brotherhood

Of humanity.

It’s sweeping right over the world.

 

There’s an aura of great expectation,

Of light

To pour from above,

Like drowning

In oceans of wonder,

Suffused with unending love.

 

There’s a knowledge that’s

Patently pending,

Already it’s making its way

From nation to nation,

Through calm contemplation,

Simple souls inspired, come what may.

 

There’s a phoenix that’s forming

From ashes,

His wings are ready to fly,

Head raised aloft,

His tone one so soft

Recurring death his reason for why

 

There’s a waiting in anticipation,

Vast wings

To envelop and keep

All souls together,

To tackle whatever,

Arousing our spirits from sleep.

 

There’s a beacon that’s shed

From great lighthouse

Protecting all fleets from the reefs

Station the braces,

Let wind fill the main sail,

Make ready to fulfil beliefs.

For Now

For now, you’ll see a glimpse of life,

A fragment, just a little slice,

Enough to tempt and titillate.

Any more you wouldn’t cope,

You’d lose all trust and sense of hope.

For now, just watch and wait.

 

For now, my plans are quite concealed,

Later they will be revealed

When time is ripe for you.

Live it now and have no fear,

My eye is watching, hand is near

For now, your life is true.

 

For now, my angels guide your way,

Protect and shelter come what may,

All this, a mystic plan.

Revel in the gifts I’ve given,

Portents of a hint of heaven,

For now, no better one.

 

For come the day all answers lie

Before your mind and inner eye

You’ll know my cause was just.

The truth you’ll see and understand,

I hold all life in loving hand

For tread this track you must.

 

For now, let doubts be cast away,

Trust my love and, in time, sway

To heaven’s blessed chorus.

No greater plan you have to seek,

It unfolds before you, each day, each week

For now, bow to all glorious.

 

For now, this gift of life I give,

Receive it well and fully live

In spirit’s guiding orbit.

Be sure of love and light eternal,

The hub, the core, I am the kernel

Forever, your soul’s conduit.

 

For a better place will still appear,

I’ll comfort you and hold you dear,

At journey portion’s end.

Alchemy, base turns pure,

Be not afraid, instead be sure

For I am your truest friend.

Bountiful Benevolence

I can feel excitement surging,

Rising in my breast,

A sense of something imminent,

Not giving any rest.

The reason is elusive,

It lies just out of sight

But I know it’s on its way today

Or maybe in the night.

My heart is fit to bursting

And it’s tapping out a rhyme,

It’s spreading to my innards

And the feeling is so fine.

I hope it stays for quite a while,

I don’t want it to go,

It’s way too pleasant in extreme.

If you felt it, this you’d know.

It’s like love’s young dream has come along

And filled my flesh with fever.

Some may scoff at feeling so

But I am a believer

In wondrous possibilities

And anticipation wild,

A message from the universe

To me, her little child.

And so we all could listen too

To creation’s whispered words

And feel the spark of something grand,

Not weird nor too absurd.

Just bountiful benevolence

That fills and swells the soul.

I love it when I feel like this.

It makes me feel so whole.

One Single Tear

one single tear escapes and wends

its way slowly down from eye to cheek,

to wake in night unknowing what

has made me weep

one single tear

yet despair and grief are cloistered in,

suffusing, spreading still from soul out

to my pen.

one single tear wiped so easily,

no more to follow suit, but wonderment

that all I feel shed only

one single tear.

Non-Feel

I don’t feel …lightly, calmly,

It’s not part of a plan.

When I feel, I feel for real

That’s just the way I am.

Passion burns so brightly,

It’s who I am inside.

Others cannot comprehend,

And so I try to hide

This part of soul

That feels unwhole,

Incomplete

In being,

If asked to be, expected so,

All rational, no feeling.

Many things

Extract that part,

Imbue my senses,

Fill my heart.

A curse, I feel,

To feel for real

When others deal

In notions.

I wish to God I had

Some magic,

Self-healing ,

Non-feeling potion.

 

Then I could sup 

Life’s awesome cup

And calmly walk away,

Replete, complete

In life that cheats,

And fight another day.