“This Isn’t Love, “She Said …

” This isn’t love,” she said,

It’s a poem.

And she handed him some words

That whorled and skittered,

Blazing like a sun in the era

Between them.

“This isn’t “Au revoir,”

He replied,

Giving her his farewell.

 

I expect that startled you, didn’t it?

You weren’t expecting a break-up.

Poets usually deliver THOSE

With fireworks and floods.

 

Sometimes endings are

Because they just have to

Be.

And that’s OK.

 

Ah, but wait!

If you linger here, you’ll

See him slip inside

To warm himself.

 

He will look nonchalant, understanding that

She will pretend she doesn’t

Know he’s here.

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That God: He’s Quite Something

Yes, I know, God’s a problem for you.

And What ABOUT suffering?

Like HE carries a Kalashnikov and

Murders babies.

I suppose she could stop it,

If we really wanted her too.

Ssooo I said to God

What’s it all for then?

Admittedly, I didn’t really want to hear.

Somehow, the mystery holds

No mystery for me:

I am that I am

And

That suffices.

Anyhow, here’s what God said:

” It’s for you. ”

Just

thought

you’d

like

to

know.

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Take Something

Take something quite riduculous

And fashion a poem with it.

I have an idea!

Conjure from the fume

An Oracle: dreamy-eyed and high

She speaks in riddles,

To hold you in a net suspended over a

Couldron of wish-fulfilment.

“A great Empire will fall”

Assume your enemies end-

For who would imagine, drunk on power,

The demise of his own?

 

Now, I will bring you back, laughing,

From this grave imagining, though perhars

We should repent and weep. For,

Have you not heard, the

Doomsday clock is set at 2357?

THAT’S three minutes before apocalypse, to you.

 

Don’t be alarmed, this is a nonsense poem.

Isn’t it?

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See How Spring Comes

See how Spring comes!

Not gentle but with welly

Overturning Winter’s deadening hand

Riotously.

The lilac that winterwise

Served only to hold the bird feeders

Is putting on the green

And swelling fit to burst!

I LOVE it, don’t you

When it’s a joy to walk in

The woods again, and even the most ancient of the beeches

Is putting out? And beneath, anenomes

Bluebells and violets spread a carpet

That I marvel at, and scarcely dare to tread

So beautiful, all of this, and

Ah! Yes! I am thrown back

Into the dream of youth when

Spring was my only season.

 

 

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When Was The Last Time …?

You

Walked barefoot

paddled in the sea

Smiled at a stranger

Gazed into your lover’s eyes and

Touched him, lightly on the cheek?

 

When was the last time

You

Planted a seed

Baked bread

Treated yourself

Wrote a letter, longhand,

Mailed it to a friend?

 

Tomorrow, return here,

And for One

Or Two

Answer:

“Yesterday.”

 

 

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Rebooting Mondays

Flat-As-A-Pancake Day, bereft

Of froth and babble full of dread

Mundane work-a-day –

 

SOMETHING must be done!

 

Let’s do it!

 

Smile. At everyone, some will stick …

And come flashing back.

Run up the stairs

Make the coffee and

Hand round a crisp, white paper bag

Full of very sticky toffees.

 

Tip a  beggar

Listen to a concerto

Or a rock band and

At the beginning of every email

Say something …

Different. Kind, perhaps.

 

Remember, when you

Actually finish something,

How it felt when you were in the

Juniors and your teacher

Pressed a gold star on your

Careful scrawl.  Good eh?

 

Pick a moment when everything

Would otherwise be too tedious to bear –

Take yourself off to the Caribbean

Lie on on a beach with your lover

Let the  surf nibble your toes …

 

Or, if this is too much,

Be ten again and play

Hide and seek in a bright Spring  wood

With your sister …

 

See! It’s working isn’t it?

 

Already you’re looking forward to Monday,

And have change jingling in your pocket

To buy toffees

And tip a beggar.

 

 

The Fourteener

The Elopement (For Fans of Downton Abbey)

 

What a kuffufle: Hear the tirade!

The chef’s run off with the scullery-maid!

 

Her Ladyship’s fainted, and when she comes to

No-one’ll escape the hullabaloo!

 

“How could those ingrates do this to me?

They KNEW Lady Westmorland’s coming to tea!”

 

The chauffeur, who loved her, won’t leave his bed

And Pardoner, the gardener’s, locked in his shed.

 

(He had a crush on Monsieur, though nobody guessed

He stayed in the closet, at his lover’s behest.)

 

His lordship has wisely left for his club –

Constitutionally unable to withstand the hubbub.

 

(He was wounded in the whatsits during The War

And leads a much quieter life than before … )

 

Bounty, the mastiff’s, rolled over, plays dead,

And King Henry’s armour now stands on it’s head

 

The Tweeny, when quizzed, swore not to know

That Nancy (the hussy) was planning to go.

 

And what, you might wonder became of the pair?

Decamped, with no character,  they might have despaired!

 

But no! Holed up in Brighton, renowned for it’s looks –

They’re living off the  proceeds from cooking the books!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The King Sleeps: A Poem For God’s Friday

 The King Sleeps

I will mine the agony of my God with a pick and a lamp.

I will hew the stones and teach them to cry ‘Hosanna!’

I will fashion a tomb to bloom in a garden

I will fracture the face of Israel with a blow

That will become an earthquake

To  awaken the dead.

I will set my lamp beneath a splintered tree

I will close my ears against the forsaken cries of the Holy One

I will seal my mouth against the acrid taste of blood

I will shut my eyes to hide the corpse that hangs above me.

His eyes, not -closed.  His body, not-clothed.

‘IT IS FINISHED!’

It’s over.   God –

Adored, outpoured –  passes over.

Numbed, beyond fear, I whisper a lullaby into the dark:

‘Be still.        Be still.

Night dawns.

Death dies –

The King sleeps.’

#NaPoWriMo:Day One Prompt

Or, in this case, it being Day Two, 'Not So Prompt!'

THESE THINGS I AM NOT:

Avuncular

Boring

Condescending

Duplicious (usually!)

Enigmatic (mostly)

Fearful (ever …)

Gregarious

Hip (never …)

Indifferent

Jaded

Kittenish (unless … )

Lewd

Maudlin' (until … )

Niggardly

Obnoxious

Pretentious (Moi??? )

Quiescent

Rampant (as if … )

Stupid (Ha!)

Territorial

Unwelcoming

Vapid (whatever THAT means … )

Workaday

eXpired

Young (except in heart.)

Zulpurtinate

( OK, OK. I made that up! )

 

My husband says I'm unique. We both pretend it's a compliment!

 

🙂

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Poets Don’t Mince Their Words

 Poets Don’t Mince Their Words

No …?

 

GO!

Slice Chop Grate Saute Crop

Deck the Hall

Scrawl on the Wall

Peel off the Ceiling

Scrape off the Floor

Tap on the Tablet

Pen in a book

Pull in the Punters

Let off the Hook

 

Tastefully

Wastefully

Sadly

Badly.

Understate

Berate

Create:

Illusion Delusion Confusion?

Infusion ..

Time for

Tea Me We 

Captive 

FREE! 

Slither Come Hither

Flourish and Wither

Saunter

Banter

Haunt

Jaunt

Fiddle

Waddle

Paddle Piddle

Straddle

Embrace Disgrace

Falter 
And

STOP!

Hear it here:

https://soundcloud.com/arabiandancer/sounds-from-monday-evening-2