
Hesitate between
Silence or loving gesture?
Let your heart speak out
.
n.b. For once people, give your bloody brain a rest! It’s only once a year after all.
CLP 13/02/2020
Hesitate between
Silence or loving gesture?
Let your heart speak out
.
n.b. For once people, give your bloody brain a rest! It’s only once a year after all.
CLP 13/02/2020
On Venus
.
Brilliant jewel
Slips beyond reach, out of sight
Earth spins to find her
.
CLP 07/01/2020
On Friends
Present acceptance
With perspective and love
Without passion’s ills
.
n.b. You know who they are and they know you.
CLP 05/01/2020
It was Mrs Howard who Love taught me
In the temporary classroom
Sat on the rugby field
Her love of Love and its expression
From the page in gently found words
Spoken In bright metaphors
And subtle allusions
.
She spoke to me of hidden themes
And how a phrase could mean so much
How a rhyme can unlock the heart
Or harden up that vital muscle
To misunderstanding
And ill-focused yearning
.
She hooked me in
Close by the Itchen River’s bank
A young rainbow trout lifted up
From its soggy bed
On a fly fisher’s sharp whip
I was spotted, baited
Hungry to be caught and taught
To engage with finer forms
Than all those scawny spratts
With whom I’d been engaged before
Directed to gods, war, injustice
We were un-schooled
In more urgent places
Behind softly closed doors
Beneath blankets of meaning
Where bodies of learning could be openly studied
At length; in depth
.
It was not a coy mistress
Who opened Love to me
Her joy of Love
Without ambiguity
Writ large in her notes
Like billets doux that pointed me
Towards insights and Passion’s feelings
Mrs Howard my teacher
So pure and simple.
.
n.b. Paul Gordon and I formed “The Mrs Howard Appreciation Society” of which we two were, (dare I write it), the only members. She was a great teacher and we never thought of her lustfully. She was just a lovely person with a gift for sharing her love of poetry. Thank you, Mrs Howard, where ever you are.
.
n.n.b. NaPoWriMo 2019 Day 28 prompt: Write a poem about writing poems 🙄. Like writing songs about writing songs, this is navel gazing of sorts, which in the right company is a pleasant enough pastime I suppose.
.
CLP 28/04/2019
Lovers to begin
Then joined in marriage
Friends after? Maybe
.
n. b. The paths we travel follow uncertain routes and sometimes diverge.
CLP 31/03/2019
At last, the last dance
Fumbled requests, mute replies
Music slow, hearts frantic
.
n.b. Remember the youth club, or school disco? Nightmare scenario. Boys on one side of the hall, girls dancing around handbags. Then, with just a few minutes before the lights would go up, the DJ would put on something like “Nights in White Satin” by The Moody Blues and the excitement or embarrassment of asking for a dance, being asked to dance and possibly having a slow dance would begin, leaving the wallflowers and perpetually tongue-tied watching on in a confusion of emotions ranging from relief to frustration.
CLP 17/03/2019