Monday, 14 May 2018

The Journal Jar, A Surprise Poem

A surprise because I was looking at one of Monna Ellithorpe's post on Writing prompts and she mentioned a Journal Jar. Never heard of this ; then surf over to see what it is all about.

Anyway, I had written a poem from one of the prompts offered and feeling at a loss for something to do, I though I might try another. But upoon reading the post I though, "Why not?" and proceeded to write a poem about writing a poem. Mmmm, I seem to have done that before now I think about it.




Well here it is:-

THE JOURNAL JAR


Each day I open up my journal jar,
When I find time to rest. 
I pick a slip from deep within,
To provide a little test.

Chose at random that's the key 
And write a poem upon request.
A poem based upon the prompt
Now in your hand, Just do your best.

That's all I ask, and nothing more,
Apply your writer's mind. Invest
In words, attest to deeds to come.
Or maybe even deeds repressed.

Just write, compose, transcribe your thoughts;
Don't leave them unexpressed.
Don't wait, it will work out in the end,
resulting in a poem, to leave you  most impressed.

Seems like there are days when words just flow, of course there are many days when it is almost impossible to start. Just take things as they come and make the most of the good days. Seems to be the best way to treat it, don't you think.

Thanks for the visit and hope you enjoyed the poem.

Sunday, 13 May 2018

Information Overload, A New Poem

Another light-hearted piece of creative writing based on a writing prompt from Monna Ellithorpe. I do enjoy writing from a limited set of prompts, as I don't have to think, "Now which one shall I choose?" I pick the one of two or three which Monna has selected for that week and then I can concentrate on the subject matter. I find it so much more fun and easier. Lists of hundreds can be found on the internet but they simply confuse me. I suppose that I should pick a number at random and use that one but .....

 This week I read a contribution from another writing friend (before writing my own) and found it was very similar in direction to what I at first, was intending to write. So I took the hard way out and changed my attitude to the prompt - of course this is always possible. Part of the fun really.

Anyway, a little tongue-in-the-cheek attitude in what follows is not amiss in light of the research I have been involved in on the internet over the recent past.



Information Overload


As a scientist, I am used, to searching out the truth;
Information is the basis of my trade.
But so many of my friends just click a link and find, 
That truth is not always what's displayed.

Information is at hand, for those who wish to search
The problem is to know what to conclude.
It's tempting to believe simply everything you read
And forget it's information overload.

The first and easy choice may not provide that truth,
Despite it being easy to believe.
The resourceful knowledge seeker, will not presume
To find. the truth in all that he perceives

Anyone at all, can with illusions fill a screen.
Anyone can write though not bestowed
With intelligence and knowledge of the simple facts.
Take heed, reject information overload



Thanks for visiting and reading (you did didn't you?) my newest poem. I hope you enjoyed it and smiled -  just a little.

Tuesday, 1 May 2018

New Poem - Wild River

Well I am having such a difficult time and my poems are reflecting this, Another dark image in this one.

Wild River


I see a wild river blocking my path
I see a bridge destroyed in their wrath
I see a dark army no quarter allowed
I see myself lonely but brave, head unbowed

River Wye at Ross, photograph by the blog owner

Ahead's a wild river,  I must cross o'er
A boat is the answer, but would it be slower
Than the approaching horde at my back
The bridge is no answer; ruined, burnt and black

The Rollright Stones, The Kings Men
photo by the blog owner

I'll cross that wild river, cross and survive;
I'll summon my friends, let them know I'm alive.
My supporters will rally and help me across,
I'm not done yet, I'm no albatross.

I wont be a burden, wild river or not
But I know I need help, to cut that knot.
I'll take what is offered, no more and no less
And I'll pay back my dues by being a success.

Christmas display at Wyevale garden centre
photo by blog owner


Excuse the "silly photos but this poem would not come easily. In these circumstances, I often create a photo board. Just a little trick which helps me to get the story together - sometimes.

Sunday, 22 April 2018

A New Poem - Daffodil Destruction

I am usually very much against poetry that doe not rhyme. Of course when I put this view to friends and others alike, I am inundated with examples of non-rhyming examples. But today, I was in a hurry to complete a poem and found that rhymes were not forthcoming. And so, I found myself writing what I would normally call a piece of prose. OK, it is based on lines and at least it has a metre of sorts, but I feel that I have failed. It is a compromise which I am not really happy with. You might say it is out of my comfort zone but I was desperate to get out of the "Slough Of Despond" I have found myself in over the past couple of weeks.

A vase of floribunda daffs, blown down by a storm

So, aims achieved, I present a new poem. Actually I used the same prompt for this poem that I used for the poem in the last post. Of course it was a prompt which could be interpreted in a very free way. It was provided once more by my friend Monna Ellithorpe, one of her weekly writing prompts.

Make up your own mind and please feel free to criticise, or otherwise, in the comments section below. The poem is called ................

Daffodil Destruction


Yesterday, 
We had a beautiful array
Of daffodils in our garden.

People passing
Had commented on the colours,
Of the late spring display.

But that wind
Blew up fast, from out of nowhere
And kicked the best for six

The floribunda,
With their heavy heads bowed;
Were no match, and fell prostrate.

I found them,
Their heads in the dirt this morning.
Wistfully, I collected the fallen heroes.

An assignment
Beckoned, to make them proud;
A gift for a mothers grave.

   


Saturday, 21 April 2018

A Crumpled Sheet Of Paper - A New Poem

Another difficult poem. I selected a prompt for this with an idea in mind. It is not quite what I had planned but it is what it is. A very untenable / illogical metaphor. I offer the poem with no further eplanation and make no apologies if it seems to make no sense.

A crumpled sheet of paper


A crumpled Sheet of paper,
It has no use, no more.
It's final destination,
That trash can on the floor.

A page so full of memories,
A story barely told;
Well written, but forgotten.
Disallowed from growing old.

A faded, yellow page.
The words no longer clear.
So difficult to read now,
But it still brings forth a tear.

But I cannot bear to lose
that which had meant so much.
In better times, supporting me,
an undeniable crutch.

I'll make a promise to myself,
I'll find a way to free
That crumpled sheet of paper,
Bring it back, as it should be.

Monday, 16 April 2018

Winding Rivers, A New Poem

Winding Rivers

                                       water colour painting by the author



Winding rivers
Sending shivers
Mental quivers
My life withers

Raging torrents
Stormy comments
Constant torments
Makes no real sense

Understanding
So demanding
Notwithstanding
Lifelong stranding

What's the meaning
No redeeming
Constant screaming
Pain repeating

Inside my head


A new poem from a prompt which surprised me, kinda came from nowhere.  Without further comment this time.

Monday, 2 April 2018

A little more nonsense from a poetic prompt

Well now I was missing my regular weekly writing prompt due to Easter and so I turned to google this week.Well I looked at many different prompts before I found one which seemed to turn my head. It was actually about morning being the best time for magic (?) well who knew, but I added a soupcon of another prompt and this poem developed on the page (or screen as it happened).

You might know that the weather is a standard, fall-back topic of conversation for us Brits because of our wonderfully creative weather and a the fact that we are really quite reserved when meeting and talking to people. In fact I have written many time before about various aspects of the weather. For example:- A Blast From The Past,  My Poetry Takes A New DirectionThe Wind And I.

In fact just browsing thru this blog for these few examples I realise I have written more poems about "Morning" and different aspects of a new day. I find that I have sadly forgotten many; I guess I need to sort out another book of poems.

Anyway where was I, oh yes - a title? What else but, "Morning In The Rain". Not very catchy, but I always have problems with titles. Usually the last thing I do with a poem.



Morning In The Rain


Another rare morning
Spring in the air
A red sky is warning
I'd better beware

You know what they claim
The weather could turn 
A whole new ball-game
Will I ever learn

Don't trust the weather
Mom always advised
You'll find that its never
worthy of compromise

So dress for comfort
But back-up your choice
You know that you ought
To heed mom's good advice

Another thin morning
It's cool, beginning to rain
Can't stand here talking
Nice to meet you again


Well that's it, hope you liked it. Hardly cartries an earth shattering message but then that's me. Down to earth and real.

Wednesday, 28 March 2018

Still writing, this one a poem for laughs

Well, back again for another new poem written using a Prompt from the Weekly Writing Prompt from my friend Monna, have you visited her site yet?

I was looking out for this one and when it came at first I scatched my aging head. But I took up the challenge of a bonus prompt! To create a short story or poem of your own that is totally unbelievable or ridiculous.

Well, how to start? As usual, I selected the first idea which came into my head and that just happend to turn into the first line of the poem. I called it, Moonwalk. Here it is I hope it makes you smile.


Moonwalk



I took a little walk last week
To the moon and back
I climbed a shining moonbeam
And I took a little snack.
I knew it would take a while
So I took along our Jack.
Great company with his pet monkey;
Which I think is a macaque

Along the way we were treated
To an astronomic thrill.
Passing meteors and rainbows
We danced an old quadrille
We had such fun, the three of us
But could only stay until
We remembered it would soon be time
To head back to Jacksonville

The title came to mind after the last word in the poem. I did not start with a title in mind, but let the poem just take me where it will. The last line needed a rhyme and Jacksonville popped up. After that the title seemed to put itself forward for me. I dont often think too hard about what I am writing, as far as I am concerned it is all a bit of fun. Although sometimes, rarely, it is about sad memories.

Well there you are another poem thanks to Monna, and do visit her blog, especially if you are a beginning writer and hope to self publish. I  managed to self-publish my first book on Amazon with Monna's advice.

Saturday, 24 March 2018

Poem - "My Dog Ran Off With The Keys"

Can't believe that I am started to write again, creatively. But having just a few prompts to choose from instead of hundreds on the majority of sites which offer to provide them seems to concentrate the mind, I would recommend it to anyone enduring "writers block" or simply a lack of time.

Try this weekly prompt, just 2 or 3 offered on the site owned by Monna Ellithorpe which will offer a gateway to many more pages by Monna.

Mmmm, this one was a lot more light-hearted than the last. I enjoyed (and found myself silently laughing) whilst I put this one down on paper, well on to the screen. Hope it makes you smile too. Oh beware the french; a little trick to make a rhyme. I do feel that rhymes are so important.




My dog ran off with the keys


My dog ran off with the keys to my car.
its true, please believe what I say.
The distance from home to here is so far,
I'm just lucky to get here today,
At all!

How on earth did it happen, you want to know.
Well, I was just letting him out for a wee;
When I happened to sneeze, I dropped the keys
and he ran off, overjoyed to be free.
You see!

My phone was inside, what was I to do?
Had to follow the dog, for sure.
Lest he lost the keys, dropped me in the stew
with no means of contacting vous,
cet jour.

So pardonez-moi, I'm here at last
And ready to do what you need.
I'm ready and willing and able if asked,
except for one little problem, this hound on the lead.
No keys, no car, no home so far
had to bring the dog!

The prompt for this piece was actually, "Make up a creative reason for being late to an important function." Don't know why this sprang into my head, we don't even have a dog these days; our last pooch passed away a number of years ago. But it did and I like the outcome. 

Until the next time ....................

And do keep on writing.

Friday, 23 March 2018

A poem, "You Hide But Nobody Seeks"

I am still following up on the writing prompts posted by my friend Mona Ellithorpe, this weeks gave me the title for another poem. I know someone who I care for very much who has suffered from  aquired brain damage cause by a viral infection, the prompt, "you hide but nobody seeks ...", made me think of that person and this poem was written with them in mind.


You hide but nobody seeks


You hide but nobody seeks
you listen but nobody speaks
you look but no one is there
you cry but nobody cares

you hide yourself away
its another quiet day
your friends have long since gone
you've changed and they walked on

you never were to blame
but it happened all the same
an accident that left you changed
an accident, not prearranged

It never was your fault
that built this stifling vault
the man you were has passed away
look now, look to another day

to you your new life beckons
it only took a second
at least that's all you knew
until you learned what you'd been through

forget the past, mourn for that man
but live for tomorrow, yes you can
accept your new life and be awake
to opportunities that you can take

New friends will rally in your life
don't hide away you have a life
It can be good, it's not the same
but you never were to blame

I always capitalise my poems on each line and am obsessive about punctuation, but this time it did not seem important, even the title was an afterthought -- I have edited it into the post and added an image.

If this poem touched you then you may also like this earlier poem Helpless, which is very much connected to this one, you can find it on this blog from a few years ago





Wednesday, 14 March 2018

A little whimsy!

Sometimes I just feel that I have not enough time to write, and this was the case last night. I have been so busy of late but when I came across another post from my friend Monna Ellithorpe, another prompt which caught my attention on Facebook, I simply had to have a go.

This short piece came together in a very short time. No time to edit or anything like that, I just left it as it was. But boy did I enjoy the freedom not to worry about what it ended up looking like.

The prompt was to write a four line poem about your muse. Once when all lines rhyme and then again with no rhyming at all.

I put mine together and then simply had to get in another stanza to complete the poem. I enjoyed writing it, hope you can enjoy reading it.



Sir Galahad
We all have days when things seem bad,
When things go wrong and make you sad,
But never let it get you mad,
Summon up your muse, your Galahad.

We all have days we wish would end.
You’ve had enough and want to scream,
But don’t let your troubles grind you down;
Take a break, think of your Sir Galahad.

Sir Galahad, your knightly muse
Can help you through, he’ll help you choose,
Write a poem, don’t blow a fuse.
Think; if Galahad was in your shoes.

Wow it happened so quickly. It really liberated me although it is very trite and easy use of language I really enjoyed it. I experimented with limericks once (upon a time) and this seems to be on the same lines. Hope it makes you smile.



Monday, 26 February 2018

A Blast From The Past

Pardon the pun in the title, but this is a poem written after Hurricane Katrina wreaked so much havoc on New Orleans, a few years ago now. I was reminded of it today when I read a poem by my friend Monna Ellithorpe, also about a hurricane saying much the same things but in a very different style. As I have never included it this blog, I take this opportunity to address that now.

It was actually intended as a song - a folksy type of song - but after I had written the lyrics I found it difficult to actually sing them; or rather to put a tune to them. After some time trying I decided it should be a poem. The very first poem I had written - after years of writing song lyrics ! Hope you enjoy reading it


The Wind


The Wind sighed,
and the world turned.
The Wind whispered, 
But no one heard.

The Wind wondered, 
But no answer came.
The Wind cried, please
But few took heed.

The Wind shrieked, 
But the suffering had started.
The Wind warned us all,
But who had noticed.
And the world turned.

The Wind howled, 
But was it now too late
The Wind became man's enemy,
And they asked, each one,
Why didn?t we listen
Why didn' we care
Why didn't we do enough
We could have helped
And the world turned.

The Wind tore through
The remaining years.
Why didn't we listen
And the world turned,
In upon itself


If you should want to read more of mu early work, it is available to read or for free download on SCRIBD, Poems And Endings And Lost Loves 

Sunday, 4 February 2018

I'm on a roll

I hate to say it but with a second new poem so quickly since the last, could I be on a roll? This is another in response to a prompt on the same website by as the last post by my friend Monna Ellithorpe.

Not quite decided on a title yet and it is still in a rough, unedited form but I am recording it here because I am so happy to be creating again.

The Mystery Parcel

One damp and dismal morning last week
I answered a knock on the door
The postie was waiting with a parcel for me
Unexpected, exotically packaged but more ...

It did not have a full address, 
He'd done well to deliver this mail
The name was clear, it was for me alright
But this delivery could well have failed.

I gratefully took it from his hands
With heartfelt thanks and praise,
And carried it carefully to my den
Prepared to free my prize, to be amazed.

I really had no inkling, no idea at all
Of who may have sent this parcel
Addressed with such a tenebrous remit
It may never have reached me at all.

So I set about the task required, 
Not knowing what I would find.
Soon I held a simple box, devoid of any note,
I raised the lid and thereI found confined

A bundle of vintage photographs
Dog-eared and monochrome
Displaying almost familiar faces
Fondly remembered from back home

A treasure chest of memories
A prize I tightly grasped
But who and why and where
Amongst the questions yet to ask.


A few places where change is needed but it's a poem and I want to shout it out loud. Hope you read and enjoy.




Wednesday, 31 January 2018

New Poem, A Connection To The Past

Wow, they say not to apologise for long breaks in posting but this has to be a record. I had not been finding time for writing for a long time due to personal issues. However, A new weekly writing prompt on an old friends, new web site caught my eye. Monna has for a long time been working to bring new creative writers together and to offer encouragement. This new site has a regular writing prompt to help get you started and I decided to "have a go".

This was the result, of the prompt, (an inscription in an old book":-

A Connection to the Past


I am holding in my hands a battered, tattered book
I saw it on the bookshelf and just had to take a look.
The cover stained, page edges foxed

A history waiting to be unboxed,


For me, the pages of a volume such as this

Will always speak so loud and lead to an abyss

Where I become as one with the narrative within

And lose myself to some adventure waiting to begin.


And then I think of others who have held this work before

Having found its heroines and heros on some far, far, foreign shore

Did they read it to forget some dismal, dreary task

Or maybe, like me, it was simply to be enjoyed – why ask?


For reading is a pleasure, an indulgence to revere;

A diversion from whatever life brings, a new frontier.

But the greatest pleasure an old book can bring at last

Is to find a pale inscription, a connection to the past.



Basically I was at a loose end for an hour or so and wanted to try this. It is a first draft, almost straight from the pen (well the keyboard anyway) although I did google a couple of synonyms to help. Actually I quite like it and may find myself doing more in which case this blog could well be resurrected. I would like that.