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Saturday, January 13, 2007 A sword's soliloquy
gives me a keen edge, gives me shine, some glamour, magic, sharpens up his pledge to use me just for justice for the fight for the poor, to use me in the forests, plains, against the brigands on the moor who fight for little reason, well, maybe money to survive hard winters, roaring winters, snowflakes forming to a hive of vicious hornets biting those brigands like my steel, they grow weaker with the winter, sword or snow their only deal. He rubs his stone across me. I will be used for Right. He chooses victims wisely. I act through his Might. . 
Sunset tree  The tree's on fire burnt to charcoal black and crumbling sunset tree. The tree's all black behind it fire blaze all the clouds sunset tree. The tree's leafless bare branch on show with fire between sunset tree. Sunset tree sunset tree take the fire and simply blow it out fan it off sunset sky will darken. . .
The Spider
Spider, Spider hanging right in the centre of the night, what empty hand and empty brain keeps your web whole in the rain? Who spun your web you spin all day to catch the world that flies away on wings that never want to land? Who spun your web by loom and hand? Who cupped your silk, made your spinner, urged the threads now thinner, thinner? Who made your patterns, web-like, growing spiral-wise with genius showing? You did, Spider, no-one else formed your spider-silken pulse. You grew yourself out from the silk passed down the years like mother’s milk. You planned designs, perfected them as faultless as a faultless gem – hanging dewdrops in the sunrise dazzle all onlookers’ eyes. Spider, Spider hanging right in the centre of the night, no empty hand and empty brain keeps your web whole in the rain!
. Duck in rain
All together When one is there and one is added two is the product of this addition when two are there and one is added three are standing in the station when three are there and one is added four are ready for their mission when four are there and one is added five are alive to the situation when two are there and two are added four are there like corners of a square when two are there and three are added five are the number now present there when three are there and three are added six results from this computation when three are there and four are added seven exist for your information! when four are there and four are added eight is the outcome of the assignment when four are there and five are added nine now stand in precise alignment when five are there and five are added what you get from this is exactly ten five fingers plus five fingers make ten fingers five toes plus five toes make ten toes five fingers plus five fingers plus five toes plus five toes are equal to ten plus ten and all together they equal twenty
"The big world" [a frog song]  The big world gleamed and glimmeredand I was just a frog! New York and London shimmered none knew my bog! we frogs are happy fellows obscurity is our fame as autumn's evening mellows the flies remain The big world trilled and sang a trifling frog was I! Paris and Petersburg rang for envy sigh? we frogs are happy creatures and bogs are our delight this field shows all the features of autumn's light The big world beamed and flittered I was a frog forsooth! Mumbai and Rio glittered I'd spent my youth! we frogs are plesant peasants and bogs suffice our need the thrill of autumn's presence we love to heed
Shopping (a "number-dabbling" poem) (one two) when I (three four) went to (five six) the corner (seven) market (eight nine) every cent (ten) bought me one thing (eleven) what was that (twelve) that I bought? (thirteen fourteen fifteen) ought (sixteen) I reveal to you what I (seventeen) purchased hmmm? okay (eighteen) honeydew (nineteen) melon (twenty) mmmm! [This poem is a little "recitation exercise." It can be recited by two people: one saying the numbers, the other telling the story. If it's done that way, they both try to keep the rythm of the lines going as if it were one person speaking both parts. Even better than two people, is if it is two groups of people -- one group for each part, of course. They can also devise hand gestures that go with the recittation. For example, the numbers people can do very vertical gestures, while the storytelling people can do storytelling gestures -- going leftwards or rightwards and at all kinds of angles too! If there is a large enough group, the numbers reciters can divide into two sections: one for even numbers, the other for odd numbers. I this case, the even numbers can do horizontal gestures, and the odd people can do vertical gestures, and the storytelling people can do all kinds of gestures, but especially angles, and maybe even some circles. Then, after they hvae recited it with all these gestures, they can recite it again with NO gestures -- and speaking intensely but very quietly. Then, the numbers people can whisper the parts while the storytelling people speak rather strongly and grandly. (But they have to be able to listen to the hushed tones of the numbers people in the silent parts when they are not speaking. A final phase is when the numbers are not spoken. Instead, the numbers people CLAP their hands to represent the numbers. Another phase, even after that, is when the storytelling people only clap (one clap for each syllable) instead of saying any words. Finally, the numbers people can use other syllables -- like "oooo" or "oohhh" or "mmmm" instead of clapping, and the story people can say the words of the story, but in a quiet -- but intense -- tone of voice.)] "The green-life" [a frog song]  the frog-life with its bog-life is alright! the green-life with its keen-life is superb! the bugs would never dare a frog to bite! mosquitos fancy froggies? too absurd! we go about our way befilled with song our views are stark some say our feelings strong the frog-life with its bog-life is delightful the green life with its keen life is amazing the bugs would never think to take a biteful thus unmolested we keep busy praising we go about our way our songs extend so long as time flows round the river bend original photo source: Red-Eyed Tree Frog "to tell you all about it" [a frog song]  O green am I! O glad am Ito tell you all about it! quite keen am I most mad am I the livelong day I shout it! exact am I! no platitude to tell you all about it! intact am I with attitude the livelong day I shout it! how wise am I! so clear am I to tell you all about it! the lives all die where fear have I the livelong day I shout it! alive am I! & deep am I to tell you all about it! a'thriving? aye! with weeping eye the livelong day I shout it! extreme am I! but circumspect (image modified by d.r.i.) / orig. photo thanks to Red-Eyed Tree Frog "When spring returns" [a frog song] When spring returns [image source: tropical-frog] "More than blue" [frog song I]
 (i)"Fundamentally, I am a frog," remarked the frog (who also typed those words). "My fiction and poetry both reflect this fact," the frog added, by way of elaboration. "As for non-fiction, I address some range of subjects, it's true," the frog allowed. "Still and all, froginess oftentimes comes to the fore. Even when ranging afar, a frog's-eye-view indubitably influences the subtext. Frogs, you know," the frog added, "have never developed a unique socio-economic philosophy. But in matters of esthetics (especially poetics and musical theatre), our contribution is well-known." The frog was perhaps thinking of his species' high fortune and celebrity in Indonesia and certain other out-of-the-way cultures. The relative neglect frogs suffered from humankind's characteristic general disregard, was an injustice (or at least a shortsightedness) the frog had long since come to accept (for frogs are famously happy-go-lucky fellows).  (ii) The frog, at any rate, having written so many words on his archaic manual typewriter (he was not fitted out with electricity in most seasons), felt satisfied for having usefully filled the better part of a lily-pad-page. He liked the sense of eloquence a filled-out lily-pad tangibly bespoke. Up beside a certain fir tree (not so far from the riverbank), the frog had stacked a careful collection of his writings. This lily-pad, too, he added to the pile.  (iii)It was late on a Friday night. The frog felt the urge to croak. The stream was flowing nicely. Probably it was raining, somewhere upstream? The image of rain never failed to move the frog. He sang first a dirge, then a ditty, then finally a lengthy saga, reflecting on the feelings frogs harbor for rainwater. Yes the stream was flowing nicely. Certainly rain somewhere upstream! The waning crescent of a moon finally appeared over the eastern horizon. The frog knew several lunar tunes as well, and began to sing one. note on illustrations: frog images borrowed, w/ thanks, from these respective sources (hereby acknowledged by means of hyperlink): frog #1, frog #2, and frog #3. Solar System Songs - Venus  Hidden, sweeping over, unseen. No gap in-between the clouds to peek through to what it’s really like. And pointless anyway: where a day is only a lightening of cloud and slight weighting of the heat that beats upon the surface, what point is there in waiting around beneath acid clouds on burning feet? No grass or flowers on vicious Venus No happiness or calm, no strolls in the park, there are no parks or anywhere you’d want to call a park. But were you to land and walk you’d see red rock to horizon and clouds. No sun, no weather, no change at all. Night is like day except darker. Day is like Hell only hotter and calmer. And were you to raise your face for rain there’d be none, no rain at all. It evaporates long before it can fall. And there is almost nothing to see a few rocks and mountains, volcanoes – all dead and hot and dry – few craters, little wind, no sunrise. You cannot see the stars, cannot trace the hidden constellations in the sky. .
Hurry-Up Charm 
The Princess & Her Chapati Bird  1. I think the time has come to tell the tale of a bird who flew beyond an ancient wishing well & nested in a tree a lovely bird was she they say her feathers all of green or blue her singing filled with charming play in tender melody 2. This wishing well were in the north & north she flew when spring returned she'd wintered in a distant south where life flows leisurely but with all wintery snows well gone from northern climes her soul discerned its need for travel once again to seek an olden tree 3. The tree stood near the wishing well (beyond the well as I have said) standing on its slope I tell a thing my eyes have seen! when such a bird in such a tree is perched & sings your ear is led through mysteries of melody her feathers gleaming green 4. There lived a princess dwelling near this wishing well she'd wander by of course in afternoon she'd hear a minstrelsy so keen one bird who'd travelled north again when spring arrived now caught her eye there in a little vernal glen gleaming blue & green  5. She said to me this princess did can you catch that bird for me? I wondered at what meaning slid into her thoughts & words did she desire the bird to be placed in a golden cage? did she consider how a bird when free can be the happiest bird? 6. Were I the guru of this girl? not I! I couldn't presumptuously instruct her on the moral world or emotional life in birds yet she were oft' a thoughtful lass betimes she brightly noticed me in silence caught quoth she alas don't keep from me your words! 7. Fair princess! I with caution spake (addressing one of royal birth is what could make a person quake for we of humble station) the bird you heed & love to view belongs to tree & sun & earth & proffers free her song to you with perfect intonation 8. This ancient well if I were she if I were such a bird as this would hark a trenchant wish from me well mark its implication O water! grant I dwell in sky this branch is all my happiness! I live to sing & love to fly for all of life's duration! 9. The Princess heeded well my words & pressed me not toward catching birds instead to sit she often came in quiet by the well here she'd read her myriad books in afternoons with friendly looks cast treeward now & then again time passed with naught to tell  10. The bird & she turned friends for years recalling this a tinge of tears invades my heart the bird she named "chapati bird" how strange! a silly name at first it seemed for none of us at first had dreamed she'd feed the wild thing once tamed chapati bird would change 11. A time arrived when trusting her chapati bird came following her back home in evenings just as her own dinner hour would come a serenade would sound from fruit trees all through dinner caroling her with southern songs whose mellow beauties framed the setting sun 12. Next autumn once again the bird flew south each year it proved the same each year when spring arrived she heard that princess her wee chum new southern melodies she'd bring & yet this spring no music came without chapati bird fair spring dropped like a voice struck dumb  CODA: the princess sighed & in gentlest whisper caroled a prayer for her blue-green sister concerning "griesbrei"  I would not like a griesbrei bowlI'd like it neither half nor whole I do not want it breakfast-time no matter how you chide or chime I will not take it for my lunch nor late in afternoon my hunch is even eve will never draw a bowl of griesbrei to my jaw  the gries of griesbrei is my bane perhaps I've made this matter plain? the brei is merely mush meseems I would not touch it in my dreams! let griesbrei grease nor bowl nor plate & may its mush ne'er mar my pate! although the stuff I won't consume... the word itself I will translate griesbrei = porridge (in German) With apologies to Dr. Seuss (and thanks to Indeterminacy). Redmond wore a yellow sack  Redmond wore a yellow sack back in the days when fireworks, Turks and lone Byzantines burst firstly, wholly in the sky trying up to ante them. Gems of light parading down, clowns of fire sparking out shouting for the silver sliver riverbank and wondrous day. "Say can you see," asked Redmond - headwound sparkling with each bang - "hangdogs, drowncats, electrified snide and libellous hamsterwheels? Fields and fields and fields of them. Come take my hand and grab that sack, tack that dress on top of mine, climb on me and let us run one mile and more on riverbanks. Thanks go to those who gave me feet. Meet us there, when life has gone, dawn has arrived and sunset fallen. Stolen by the end of days..." Amazed by this our Redmond chose clothes that suit this glorious sight: light and airy like the sun. Pun-infused with scent of dead wood Redmond chose his yellow sack. . a ltl natural history of gr8 gr8! someone said When new years came they got loud-drunk it seemed sad-strange one might have thunk they could've behaved in quite-quieter ways when matters so grave as the dying of days & the birthing of years were current? I'd claim the gleaming of tears when new years came  it's true they wept and then they slept I'm here awake and quite o'er-swept with wondering what a year can mean? I feel inept and scratch my bean a year twelve months fifty-two weeks? with three-hundred-sixty-five mountain peaks! Loch Na-Cuidigh  My grandfather had on his mantlepiece an old photograph tattered and muddy. He said it showed the view that his father could see as a child over Loch Na-Cuidigh. And I asked him if he had ever seen it - that boat and water at Loch Na-Cuidigh. He stared blind out across the motorway and said: "I don't think there's anybody who's seen that same view for many a year. No man, nor woman, nor living body has set their sunlit eyes on the water that rushes in and out of Loch Na-Cuidigh." And he kept it clear, safe, above the fire. And I keep it still, but have placed it higher. Note: Cuidigh is said to rhyme with "muddy". It means secret/hidden or maybe help/assistance. .
In the Neighbourhood Take a walk down this street that I live in and you will see all my neighbours and friends as well as the enemies I’ve gone and forgiven and the people I don’t know who live at the far ends. There’s Mr McKenzie who wears a hat like a bowl painted black and upended to cover his head. He pops into the shop for six morning rolls, a newspaper, some milk and a trip back to bed. And my mate Nathaniel (it took me ages to learn how to spell his name even though I’ve never needed) stays six doors down – just leave my house and turn to the left and walk straight and it’s that way you’re headed. On the corner, that’s Danny. I hate him, he hates me. We fought once at school and he busted my lip. I remember last year when he was real clumsy and I laughed when he fell when raking in a skip. And Auld Mrs O’Boyle who invites us inside to get a glass of ginger if we go to the shops and buy her her messages. And I always get a ride on the back of Nat’s bike while my wee sister hops on the pavement and sings all her daft, wee songs. Look, Jamesie and Rab coming back from their work and banging the lamppost making big giant G-O-N-G-S and shouting all the way ‘til it starts getting dark. And that leaves Nat and me and John, Kieran and Connor and Liam and Kyle and all of the rest still playing out for a bit (Kyle once found a tenner) and then getting called home by mum, who’s not impressed by the time of night. "What time do you call this?" And I could just tell her that we’ve been really good and behaved and did nothing but she wouldn’t believe us so instead I’ll just tell her what happened in the neighbourhood. Some words/phrases you might not know skip: one of these, for collecting rubbish in. auld: old. ginger: this means any sort of soft drink. to go for messages: to go shopping. tenner: a £10 note. . The Bicycle  photo-credit: Anita Bora Who parked the bike Castle Gloom  Castle Gloom Castle Gloom high up on the hill what room do you have for friends? Castle Gloom Castle Gloom I ask you still as you wait do you have any room for friends? Castle Gloom Castle Gloom I'll will ask until one face appears to show you have some friends. Castle Gloom Castle Gloom will you never fill your roofless halls and empty gardens with friends? Castle Gloom Castle Gloom I know you will spill your gathered raindrops on the surprised heads of future friends. .
Three camels  Three camels walk, three camels walk three camels walk beneath the sun that baked the earth to fully cooked as the day had begun. Three camels ride, three camels ride, three camels ride on the sand in a line towards the horizon of this empty land. Three camels run, three camels run, three camels gallop away from the empty sky behind them to the dark end of day. Three camels sleep, three camels sleep three camels sleep beneath the dark star that floats like a sandstorm and leaves no mark. . The Yard Museum In the museum called My Back Yard leaves are exhibits and stones too the yard museum in winter the musem seems drab the curator must have gone to sleep! in midst of spring in spring some birds appear at my museum they're welcome as a special bird exhibit but sometimes there's been snow here everywhere since yesterday! what an exhibit! patchwork  Patchwork, match work work a scratch into the quilt then tilt it back and back scratch watch your finger pick and stack the blanket with the sticks of hatching chicks and chickens hatching from the quilt on tilting legs raised high on stilts from patchwork eggs brought low by pelts of muddy dregs from dirty puddles in the middle of playgrounds lost and founds and seen that from above are found to look from a helicopter like patchwork quilts on stilts with chicks from eggs with picks from back scratch match work patchwork quilt. .  Here is little Mercury: dark and dusty before daylight raging heat and fire before night. If you want a suntan, come here: it’s always summer when not winter and three days lasts two years. And what little air there is is blasted out like a tail by that thug of a sun behind there, next door, looming and pulling little Mercury around faster than any other – and hiding itself in being so close to a giant. Walk on the surface and you can see dust and rock, can feel the weight of iron beneath your feet, can be lighter than almost air, as weight on Mercury is a third of that on Earth. And the creator of craters takes advantage of this and blasts the surface with rock after rock. The surface is a book of the attacks of rocks on it, of invaders from space. Then walk, when the Sun is low to the Rupes, the cliffs, the ridges which tower a mile above the land. Look out at the setting Sun, enormous. You couldn’t block it with both hands. . Munni's Word Adventure  Munni hid one word in her palm and another in her ear. The act made her feel calm, made her feel free from fear. The words were like moist warm balm she was ready for good cheer. She kept away from peeping toms, did not let them come near Word in palm said, “Read me ma’am.” Word in ear was his dear peer. She didn’t know they were bad cons tricking folk year after year. She oped her palm with aplomb; tipped her ear, ran like a deer. The words burst like time bombs and lanced her like sugar spears. Solar System Songs - The Sun  The centre of it all, the solar plexus of the system. Sending out its threads and waves of light that braid themselves into the worlds and rocks, the gaps of what lies all around it, making a net, mesh and web with the solar spider of itself sitting there giant in the middle. Campfire, furnace, forest fire in a ball A snowball set on fire and left to burn for as long as it allows itself. Light and hidden gravity. Torch and battery weight to spin them orbiting all around this heavy ball. Sitting on the topmost shelf the heaviest object sinking in a pool of its own making. . I heard John’s mum went away yesterday. I met her once, then went to play with John – we kicked his ball around. And now John can’t be found even though I’ve knocked his door twelve times and then a couple more. And now he won’t come out to play Because his mum’s just gone away.  . Ruminations (thinking about mosquitoes) A certain mosquito Goeff and the Elephant Once there was an elephant Late summer day  a melting kite dissolving in the sky like red syrup in a warm glass and the grass below it shimmering by like seaweed as you swim past and sunbeams laddering up high like a crowd of people en masse and clouds dissolving before your eyes into every other object at last . Geoff thinks & thinks Geoff the mosquito Big Bang Questions  Why did the Big Bang bang so big? And what on earth did it bang from? What was it blew up and flew far apart? And what caused that cosmic firestorm? Where did it come from, that whatever that banged? And how did it fit into so little room? Where did it go when erupting about? And what was there before it went BOOM? . Suliman  Suliman dug. He broke the ground with slow batter thuds of his spade with no sweat no effort quite effortlessly and made progress through the day. And Suliman never looked away but always added an extra push to his shovel whenever some noise, some bird song or squeal, was heard far off or near to his digging. But Suliman, once, almost turned away to look and stare, quite curious of the fall of new picks digging cascading, an arpeggio of thuds like his but gone astray putting Suliman off his rhythm; their syncopated descent into the earth disturbed him but still, with extra force, he dug and broke that ground of his while others broke their own. Sad Suliman. Disturbed, he rattles his spade at end of day in the back of his van and thinks echoes of the rhythm not his but others and different to his. . Fuzzy Poem  Not a sound nor touchbut feel and hear and list and lost on contours sanded to an unending upwards round and down continual; hear, feel and take the shadow down to wash your face: buzz haze graze whizz onomatopoeia cause lies gaze sighs a shoulder left to take her a handful left to shake her a music fuzzed to wander over ears. .  Hot air balloon, hot air balloonflying as the sun goes down little people hanging tight and waving to the ground. Hot air balloon, hot air balloon staring in my garden clicking photographs and looking without a please or pardon. Hot air balloon, hot air balloon burning in the sky drifting up above my house you are a floating spy! Hot air balloon, hot air balloon will you ever go away and stop spying on my business. Go on, get on your way! (image courtesy of http://www.kidsdomain.com/) Green Tree Frog  Sticky pads stuckWhere does all the money go? This is where the money goes: first to the hand that hands you your shopping next to the till that holds it tight next down the wire to the factory that holds the money overnight. This is where the money goes: in the factory it’s placed in boxes then the boxes are stacked in the back of a van which takes them all to the harbour to get shipped overseas on a catamaran. This is where the money goes: from catamaran to the eye of a storm that sinks the boat and drops each box down into the depths of the deepest ocean crashing on deep ocean rocks. That’s where all the money goes. .  Three cows stood behind a wall and stretched their necks to eat. One pushed and shoved and caught her neck trying hard to beat the other two to a taste of grass while the wire hurt her neck. But the others stopped for a photograph and didn’t take a peck of the grass cuttings piled there at the wall but stood there for the photographer and tried to look their best while the other hoovered-up the cuttings from the lawnmower. And which is best? What one to choose when faced with food or fame? Do you eat the grass or risk that the camera will ask your name? .  Autumn is when the leaves go red and fill themselves with holes and drip out all their greenness into mucky forest puddles. Autumn is when the leaves fly off and leave the trees standing bare and Summer sends a postcard from its holiday in warmer air. Autumn is when the leaves just wait and stay on trees alone and the forest goes black and white behind because Winter’s coming home. Autumn is when the leaves get blown by winds and coated in frost. And isn’t Autumn a bit like Spring? (Although their paths have never crossed…) . Munna watches the spider  Munna, why do you sit there? Ma, I am watching the spider. Munna, what is it doing? Ma, a web it is spinning. Come in now, it is cold outside. A mo’ Ma, the web’s got so wide. Come in now, don’t make me angry. Wait, Ma, lemme see why ’tis hungry. What?! Why, that’s such a dumb question! But, Ma, why so much aggression? Boy, everybody has to eat. Ma, the fly is so wrapped and beat. Munna, do you want your own supper? Ma, the web’s caught a grasshopper! A mosquito named Geoff  Monkey lost his long birthday tail. He wanted good sense to prevail. He asked Munni to pin it up. He wanted a red fairy cup. Tail-tale? Beyond this poem’s scale! ********************* Deemikay found a little pebble. He hoped it would grow or be trebled. But it remained tiny. It remained smooth, shiny. He gave up; went off on an amble.  There was a James Bee from Delhi. Smiling, stirring, stinging J. Bee He posed as a shy spy. He left us high and dry. Got into a brawl buzzin' melee! What present to buy for Christmas? Give ‘em a book! A book’s the thing! It saves the thought of wondering if another gift is right for them. Will bath oils do? This novelty game? A luxury dinner for two in March? A new blue scarf that’s awkward to touch? An empty box or this dull curiosity? A four foot wide ethnic monstrosity? No, these can’t do. The thought’s absurd! And if that’s what counts you count too hard. So, just give ‘em a book. A books the thing. It remains the thought of wandering a bookshop for you.  Wormlike snakingthrough a grid of squares found winding into boxes of almost black and blue. Snakelike sliding lighting up the dark in quiet, rushing faster than a snake bite. Wobbles buzz invisible silent ‘cept when there’s a crackle thunder spark and light and flash.  I am a rainbow monster. I change my skin with a twist of the arm and a shift of light. Look at me one way: I’m blue, red and green. Look another I am grey with pewter stripes on the left and a duck-egg tinge on the right. I am multicoloured. Give me three days and I’ll show every colour there is from the longest red to the shortest purple you know. My body shows electricity sparking from colour to colour from deep blush to violet from jade to another avocado shade from indigo to midnight blue from apricot to an orange made by mixing tangerine and slate. My toenails pearl for half and hour, they change to amber with the light of the sun that shines on golden elbows that switch to pink at night. I am a rainbow monster. I have been told I’m glorious to see approaching. But I have never seen myself when crouching by a mirror in my glory, in my colour. I have a problem you can’t see: the problem is that I can’t see what you see inside your mind. My chocolate arms, my peacock face are invisible to me because I’m colour blind. . Milton's Dinner Milton left the grove of clover |
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