Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

poems? yes, poems.

We had a meeting of the Writers’ Group tonight and it has inspired me to post a poem for your enjoyment. It is not the poem I wrote this afternoon to read at this evening’s meeting (because that one is all the way downstairs and it’s cold in our house), but it’s one I wrote in 2001 for a poetry class at B-W.


Boy, Age 5

He struggles with the tying part,
His chubby fingers in a losing battle
For a chance to grip the dirty cloth.

Quite easily he forgets the task,
And runs along to play with an
Untied shoelace left trailing

OR, for a bit of much-loved symmetry, the following poem which, according to my records, I wrote exactly 10 years ago today:

rainy flowerpot thoughts

i left my flower pot out in the pouring rain
but there were no umbrellas in sight
now my yellow blooms may die before they
have a chance to grow i wonder if my car
will start this morning if it doesn’t i’ll
have to take the bus again there are people
on the bus who haven’t had their baths yet
i think they need the rain more than my flowers
i think i need a nap i have never caught my Zs
before i wonder where they are hiding
if i do catch them i’ll call my taxidermist
and have them stuffed so i don’t have to tell
stories about the one that got away to polite
company who still put their elbows on the table
look there goes the neighbor’s teeny tiny
puppy dog Mandy who has black fur and white
fur and floppy ears who names their dog Mandy?
isn’t Mandy a gir’s name? maybe the dog is female
if the dog is female then it’s a bitch *gasp!* my
daddy told me never ever ever say that word
oh no another flower fell much too much water
i think i’ll bring them in from the rain i think
i can see some Zs running by in the distance
but i think they are too shy to come any closer
and i think that i am too tired to catch them.

Also somewhat cyclical considering I can’t sleep.

Tomorrow, if you’re lucky, I’ll post the poem I wrote today. If I can remember. If I can drag myself out of bed and get it done.


p.s. Both poems above are original works written by myself. Please do not steal them. It would make me unhappy. Trust me when I say you don’t want that to happen. It’s very bad.

p.p.s. I hear there’s quite a bit of snow out there in the good old US of A. Good luck with that. The high temperature here today was 46*F. Balmy.

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sad news

The poet Edwin Morgan died today at the age of 90.

I had never heard of Edwin Morgan until 2002 when he collaborated with the band Idlewild on the final track of their album The Remote Part. The song is titled “In Remote Part/Scottish Fiction” and Edwin Morgan wrote and recorded his poem “Scottish Fiction”  for use on the track. The poem below is copyright the author and taken from HERE.

Scottish Fiction

It isn’t in the mirror
It isn’t on the page
It’s a red-hearted vibration
Pushing through the walls
Of dark imagination
Finding no equation
There’s a Red Road rage
But it’s not road rage
It’s asylum seekers engulfed by a grudge
Scottish friction
Scottish fiction

It isn’t in the castle
It isn’t in the mist
It’s a calling of the waters
As they break to show
The new Black Death
With reactors aglow
Do you think your security
Can keep you in purity
You will not shake us off above or below
Scottish friction
Scottish fiction

I have been a fan ever since, especially after moving to Scotland. His contributions to Scottish literature are immeasurable and he will be sorely missed by many friends and fans.

A Gull

A seagull stood on my window-ledge today,
said nothing, but had a good look inside.
That was a cold inspection I can tell you!
North winds, icebergs, flash of salt
crashed through the glass without a sound.
He shifted from leg to leg, swivelled his head.
There was not a fish in the house–only me.
Did he smell my flesh, that white one? Did he think
I would soon open the window and scatter bread?
Calculation in those eyes is quick.
`I tell you, my chick, there is food everywhere.’
He eyed my furniture, my plants, an apple.
Perhaps he was a mutation, a supergull.
Perhaps he was, instead, a visitation
which only used that tight firm forward body
to bring the waste and dread of open waters,
foundered voyages, matchless predators,
into a dry room. I knew nothing.
I moved; I moved an arm. When the thing saw
the shadow of that, it suddenly flapped,
scuttered claws along the sill, and was off,
silent still. Who would be next for those eyes,
I wondered, and were they ready, and in order?

And below, my favourite Edwin Morgan poem.

The Loch Ness Monster’s Song

Hnwhuffl hhnnwfl hnfl hfl?
Gdroblboblhobngbl gbl gl g g g g glbgl.
Drublhaflablhaflubhafgabhaflhafl fl fl –
gm grawwwww grf grawf awfgm graw gm.
Hovoplodok – doplodovok – plovodokot – doplodokosh?
Splgraw fok fok splgrafhatchgabrlgabrl fok splfok!
Zgra kra gka fok!
Grof grawff gahf?
Gombl mbl bl –
blm plm,
blm plm,
blm plm,

Listen to Edwin Morgan read “The Loch Ness Monster’s Song” HERE. It’s absolutely wonderful.

Both above poems are copyright the author and were taken from The Poetry Archive.


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