One of the reasons I like performing is because some poems are given life by being spoken. The sounds the words make, the rhythm of the metre can transcend the sense of the poem. This is an example that I found myself creating when I was out jogging. The pounding regularity of feet, heartbeat and breathing provide three rhythm patterns against which I can match the metre of the poem. Doesn’t really work for heartbeat so much as that’s usually escalating! After coming up with the first two lines (which I found myself endlessly repeating whilst slogging around the park) the rest emerged nonsensically, probably as an effect of oxygen deprivation 🙂
The chorus lines have a different pattern but when the complimentary patterns emerged then I’ve found myself teaching the first verse (only!) to the kids. I have written another verse but I found myself trying to put a narrative arc in whilst the origin was purely nonsense, so I stopped. Enjoy the nonsense, maybe take it for a run or cycle and let me know whether it works for you.
Nonsense
Chunky chunky chips
Chunky chunky chips
get your monkey butler
to bring in all the dips
Salsa, guacamole, sour cream and chive
Blue cheese, Tzatziki, keep me alive.
Slivo slivo vitz
Slivo slivo vitz
tell your monkey butler
we’re gonna get so pissed
Whisky, ginger wine, gin and iced tea
Vodka, alcopops, no sobriety!
I was tidying up the kitchen when I came across this in the sink
Angry tea
the cup of tea looked so sad and angry, I wrote this:
I beg at least for eulogy
I’m an angry cup of tea
How come you’ve discarded me?
Without your touch I grew cold
Unloved and left to grow old.
Exiled to this dirty sink
Unfulfilled, an undrunk drink.
Soon I’ll just be memory
Shunned, abandoned cup of tea.
So this is it, my last post for NaPoWriMo 2013. It felt different to last year, not easier or harder. I’ll try to quantify it.
- More people followed and liked my work than last year. I’m very grateful and I hope I have reciprocated sufficiently. I have liked when I’ve genuinely meant it and commented (hopefully constructively) when I’ve been honestly motivated.
- I’ve read more widely than I have done last year and enjoyed a greater range of other people’s blogs. Food, shopping, fashion, lifestyle, photography, poetry (especially), fitness spirituality and even those annoying ‘Hi! My name is Shitface McTwat and I love your blog. Follow mine and I’ll show you how I travel the world making a paltry amount of money whilst posting photos showing what a conspicuously shallow and unconvincing life I lead!’
- I’m pleased with some of my poems, I particularly enjoyed April 8 Fluoxetine 20mg capsules x 2. Being my own worst critic means that I felt as if I cheated by doing Haiku for my catch up; even though I’m really pleased that I put the effort in and caught up.
- I’ve enjoyed sharing in the journey of NaPoWriMo.
- A special thanks to Bruce who has determinedly followed me, despite my lack of regular posting outside of NaPoWriMo
- I feel a little sad and lost in the sense that I need another writing challenge to keep me motivated. If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know.
So this is my last post, unless it isn’t. I have written a triolet which aims to sum up NaPoWriMo. It also meant I spent a lot of today trying to get it to work and resist the desperate urge to use the line ‘I’m stuck on the triolet’.
Farewell NaPoWriMo 2013
What has taken up most of my time?
Whisper it, NaPoWriMo.
Fight every day to find the right rhyme.
What has taken up most of my time?
Writing blank verse or tightening a line
Sometimes easy but usually slow.
What has taken up most of my time?
Whisper it – NaPoWriMo.
Thank you everyone. G’night
Penultimate poem! I feel that this year has been a real fight, roll on next year! Tonight’s poem is one I wrote about two years ago, it feels downbeat but I like it’s fragility. Hope you like it.
If I fell from a bridge
If I fell from a bridge
or a tree
but fell gracefully
willingly giving my body to gravity
relaxed with a smile on my face
to the point
where you, watching
weren’t quite sure whether
I’d chosen to do this
would you be surprised
when I hit the ground
and crumpled
and broke?
Had I known what would happen?
had I believed that the air
would catch me up
so that I soared and spiraled
joyously caught up
in an elemental expression
of freedom
or did I know that
I would break
and yet still
welcome the end?
I will endeavour to be more upbeat tomorrow and I will give more formal thanks to people that have followed me 🙂
The last week seems to have passed quickly and apart from the normal domestic routines I feel like I have done very little. I could put that more positively. I have invested lots of time in staring at the ceiling, staring out of the window, watching birds on the bird feeder, boiling water in the kettle and forgetting to make a drink, lying on my bed, on my sofa all the while wondering what is going on in my head. There seems to be two states. Nothing going on, loads going on. What is common to both is a high state of anxiety that means that I jump when the post hits the mat. Twitchy! This poem gives some words to this week.
Days
the statcato slap
of rulers run along railings
the clackersnap of playing cards
in bicycle spokes
the flick flap of
flicker book action
each day snaps by
jumpcut
momentary images
black white
day night
passing
retinal
blurred
gone
BTW, I thought I’d posted this yesterday but it appears I only saved it in draft. Apologies for lateness.
I’ve just come back from my son’s friend 18th birthday party. It was a fun event with talking, singing, dancing and reminiscing. I used to hate parties and my wife still does. However, I have learnt what to do in a way that is congruent with my personality. I think everyone copes with parties in differnet ways. The most straightforward way is to avoid them like the plague, but that isn’t always possible. The second way is to go but to hide and pester to go home. I have, over many years, come to realise that most parties are shit. The only thing that makes them interesting is if I make the effort to talk to people. I’ve spent so much time waiting for someone to come and talk to me but this rarely happens, so instead I go and talk to people which, using my guide below becomes an excitement and reward in itself. I try not to offer advice but my poem below is a checklist for how I enjoy a party.
Party suggestions
so here are my suggestions for social engagement
simply remember these key points.
most people don’t like parties
you’re not unusual to find them
awkward and false
all that fake bonhomie,
the forced enjoyment
that sense of Christ. I’m the most boring insecure person here
and stare enviously at those people
who seem to make the party come alive
well, if you’re a poet you have skills that others would kill for
you have imagination
you delight in seeing what others miss
for you the world is technicolour
and can focus on the mundane and make it magical
you are perfectly suited to the party environment.
These are my ways to make a party work.
Most people’s favourite subject is themselves
so ask them what they do
what do they enjoy
what are their frustrations
how did they come to be in this position
where do they live
do they rent or own
are they in a relationship
or looking for love
have they travelled far
how did they get here
how do they know the hosts
just ask open questions
and above all
listen
be interested and share similarities
without trying to direct the conversation
to your own points of triumph.
Don’t be competitive
unless their an arse
in which case use the leaving line
which is
‘It was good to talk to you but I must circulate’
then run and get a drink
don’t drink too much
drunk people are boring
find someone who looks lonely
and engage them with genuine interest
you cannot be fake
as the socially uncertain can always spot a fake
if they’re boring
use the leaving line which is
‘thanks for your company but I must go and circulate’
in this way, by being genuinely interested in other people
by asking questions
and by listening honestly to their answers
you will find that parties become places
where you can explore what other people are like
and in return
people will remember you fondly
Use the party as a time to explore
join in without compromising your own standards of morality
and fill the time with inquisitive, honest and genuine exploration
of the people that I find so baffling and intriguing
so full of stories and love and heartbreak and experience
so in a spirit of genuine enquiry,
don’t hide, explore with love.
make your departure a positive choice
because your life will improve for not being at the party
and remember your leaving line
which is
thanks for inviting me, but I must circulate
I know there is a connection between restoring my (and maintaining) good mental health by getting fit again. Endorphins work as a barrier against depression. With this in mind I have started jogging again. God it’s painful but it is also fulfilling. I do listen to music but there are times when silence is more important. When I can only hear my breathing I become aware of my breathing and breathing patterns. This in turn leads me to create running ‘songs’ which are based on the rhythm of my exhausted panting.
Running song
My great pot belly
Jiggles around, jiggles around, jiggles around
my great pot belly jiggles around
it’s going to hit the ground
my great pot belly
swings left and right, left and right, left and right
my great pot belly swings left and right
it blocks out all the light
My great pot belly
has gotta go, has gotta go, has gotta go
my great pot belly has gotta go
it shouldn’t swing so low
So I’m gonna keep on
jogging along, jogging along, jogging along
so I’m gonna keep on jogging along
until my belly’s gone.
I’ve spent a lot of time recently playing pool and snooker with my youngest son (see haiku catchup 9 of 12). He is insisting that I let the world know that he has beaten me nine times. I’ll now wait for him to go to bed before I reveal the real scores!! OK, I won’t. Here is a limerick that we both came up with.
Pool limerick
A father and son played pool
their trick shots were brilliant and cool
they played so often
school and work got forgotten
they ended up being nothing but fools
By my reckoning if I post three poems tonight I will have caught up. So I’ve spent today writing. I have three new poems. One follows yesterday’s prompt to write Fortune cookie one liners. One is very dark and is to do with establishing power over children and the last one is nice and light and to do with confusion, cooking and chorizo. These fortune cookie aphorisms are all made up and are a mix of good and bad, happy and sad, obviously right and just plain wrong.
Fortune cookie aphorisms
Your tears mark beginnings, not endings.
The only thing that needs a good beating is your heart.
If you stray into the shadows make sure you carry a torch.
There is a difference between paying the bills and making money.
Keep life at a manageable level or let it expand to fill every corner, you choose.
A stupid question asked confidently will be considered more carefully than an intelligent question asked timidly.
Prepare for death, it’s life that’s the aberration.
Half-assed is worse than nothing at all.
The answer is in the bottom of the bottle, I just haven’t found the right one yet.
If I could whoop, I would. I’ve tried whooping and hollering but they just come out very self-consciously. I’ve seen and heard Americans whoop and holler. It seems to come naturally, an enthusiastic noise of approval against which my Hurrah! comes out rather cold and standoffish, very English really. I don’t know what the Asian equivalent is especially as ‘Asia’ covers so many different nationalities, people and cultures. Maybe someone could let me know. Nevertheless whatever noise I choose to make I make it enthusiastically as I’ve done it. I’ve caught up and I’m happy. It means that at long, long, last I can have that cigarette I promised myself when I finished, rather like James Caan in Stephen Kings Misery.
So I will be back to producing a fresh poem tomorrow but for now I’m happy in the knowledge that I’ve made the effort and caught up, a triumph of will, flipping the finger at my depression. Hope you enjoy.
Cryptic tea
The instruction stuck on the fridge door
Simply gave page number 144
Was it a clue for our midweek tea
But why the cryptic mystery?
Jamie, Delia or fucking Ramsey
Rustic chic or something fancy.
I rifled through our recipe books
The often used, the overlooked.
Boiled beef and dumpling, treacle tart,
Salmon en croute ordered a la carte?
Fiery curry or cooling sherbert?
What was it? Starter, main or dessert?
By now I’m angry and frustrated
Why make this meal so complicated?
I don’t want to solve a cryptic clue,
Work out whether it’s cake or stew!
Stop! Now! I need food that soothes and calms
Embraces me in it’s loving arms
Chorizo soup is what I favour.
Its smoky heat and dark flavour
Paprika sausage is where I start
It’s hot, sweet warmth like a lovers heart
Simmered and served with grated egg
A rough cut piece of handmade bread
And what of that taunting 144
The cryptic catalyst on the door?
A maths problem my son had to solve
What’s the answer to twelve times twelve?
If you are interested in the recipe you can see it here. It was really nice, the kids liked it and I even took a photo!
Uniquelyrussell 