Self-defeating

Annexed in a place where thoughts are reason,

Justifying all you see as real,

Stories oft repeated since the childhood,

Demonic, possessive, charlatan’s fairy tale.

 

Round and round on fairground’s junk attraction,

Addicted to the thrill, a do-again,

Dizzied, doltish, stubborn, self-defeating,

Spin the words, the thoughts, repeat refrain.

 

Creative truths or lies to self repeated,

Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, now believe,

Cost analysis negated, void or vapid,

Giving vent inside. Repeat. Receive.

 

Might the mind be mired in fault perception,

Spinning wheel of fortune for a prize,

Deflated, once again, at arrow’d misadventure,

Repeat, ‘my luck’, behind the wishing eyes.

 

Inducing vomit with the same old story,

Round and round and round, repeat once more.

Negativity, counter-clockwise, lost to present,

Dismount, alight, firm ground, fresh thoughts in store.

 

Tell yourself your story if you have to,

A rationale for what our lives reveal,

Tighten vice on regular rotes so writ there

Or change the record, let the spirit heal.

 

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Within

Exquisite state of intention,

Matchless promise within,

Necessity breeding invention,

Compulsion exceeding the whim.

Credible plans for completion,

Investment in all else but sin,

Sense of surreal motivation,

Hindsight, forerunner of win.

Inhale The Heights

Now, I’m actually fine, so no smart-arsed comments about losing the plot. I had a wee conversation in the comments section with John over at JMC813. He wrote a fabulous poem called Silent Scream which rather put me in mind of a time I wanted to…well, never mind what. If you want to know, visit John’s. It’s all there in the comments.

Unspeak the words.

Unwrite.

Return to underground passages,

cavern deep,

where echoes scream

for certifiable silence.

quieten then

voice

into

nothing.

No asylum

in complacent,

knowing

nods.

But fear and terror

where madness breeds

among misunderstood.

So write then.

Speak the words.

Climb to the mountains,

unstrangle the scream,

heavy air freed

to thinning ether.

Inhale the heights,

expunging darkness

with light.

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.

In The Cloisters

One of my nieces graduated yesterday from Glasgow University, a beautiful young woman now independent from the hallowed halls of a structure of sublime architecture. My camera phone does not do the cloisters justice but I hope my words may. There were tears of pride and happiness as the 100 or so new graduates from the Veterinary School took their Hippocratic Oath and tears of familial love as the sworn-in veterinarians applauded their family and those who had guided their path for their five years of study. It was very moving. I slept for 10 hours straight when I came home!

 

The cloisters

 

Under shelter’d walkway ’round the courtyard of my soul,

In custom-built protection I may stroll

Some time or two, meandering in seclusion,

In contemplating fragments of the whole.

 

Colonnades supporting covered arches, portico to all that lies beyond,

Finger’d thoughts meander deftly, softly, touching swaying ferns and synapse’d fronds,

Face uplifted to the filter’d breezes,

Spirit sails on sun-streaked golden pond.

 

Arcade where columns peak to vaulted vantage, background buzz of bees and dulcet drone,

Nestled hemisphere of hermit’s haven, causes sought beneath a hallow’d dome

Where intersections advocate for essence,

Intercede and plead my way back home.

 

In teardrops’ rain a moment of calm capture, the briefest sort of pleasant reverie,

Infused prayer, exhaled from central solstice, length of one, eternal brevity,

Whose hush of rapid rapture leaves me breathless,

Gasping for source-poured liquidity.

 

In quiet cloisters fit for pensive purpose, open galleries portray their ancient frames,

Past and present catch up to the future, in cathedral’s mind where echoes may be tamed,

Till tumult teems again ‘mid errant pedestrian,

But solace sought in silent space still reigns.

 

Rebecca’s graduation coincided with her dad’s – my brother –  34 years ago and the Independence Day celebrated by Americans everywhere. I hope your day of gratitude for liberation was as special as that of my niece’s. I hope your future shines from cloistered thought.

Heaven Forfend!

Heaven forfend!

gasped gaze to stuttered winks 

ruptured navy sky,

bombarded stars with accursed dimming dust,

acquainted light with shadowed

silhouettes,

merged eclipse to one darkness.

Heaven,  offended, blinked sad eyes,

dispelled day

and bowed.

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.

Transform

Slake, with gallons,

            from the lake

of deep tranquility,

 

find solutions,

            in the mind,

nurture serenity.

 

Cope with problems,

            amid hope,

despite complexity,

 

serve our causes,

            driven with verve,

remember levity.

 

Drink from life

            unto the brink,

too brief mortality,

 

cast futile fears

            or worries passed,

transform our destiny.

 

Plan for kindness

            when we can,

Karmic codicil,

 

not all choices

            need be fraught

nor made against our will.

Chantilly Dreams

…and we drift

off into oblivion,

sheltering sanity and cost to trust,

reposed breaths taken to ease,

soughing breezes without,

chantilly draped eyes cease to view,

seeing only treasure scapes unfolding within,

spiralled connections,

vanilla’d comfort,

cream-coated tendrils woven in dreams…

Dawn to Dark

Whose shadow-darkened thoughts encroach and question,

Diminish dawn’s cockrow, dispel the day,

Worming into loam and taking root there,

Nightshade weed, asphyxiating prey?

 Invasive views, punitive to thinkers,

Banks of clouds eclipsing all sun’s beams,

Unsummoned guests disabling reason,

Recurrent words, distorted earthly themes.

 Florid-faced to grey on one perusal,

Ashen breath obstructing air, extinguish torch.

Whose mind a firmament of pyrotechnic danger

Erupting in the sentinel’s night watch?

 Where dreams are blessed with skies of bluest sunlight

Whose nightmares purge my soul with caustic fright?