Poem 13 of 30 So Not Hollywood

For the first time in a long time, we went to the cinema yesterday. Watching the trailers and adverts on a huge scale, amplified the so perfect appearance of the actors and got me to thinking. This poem is the result.

So Not Hollywood

 
Escape from reality, go to the movies.
That’s the theory.
I find it grinds my face into the dirt of true life
with all the grace and finesse of
Arnold Schwarzenegger's acting.
 
It’s the “so-unlike-me-ness” of people on screen.
The languid elegance of romantic leads,
the sassy smart snappiness of their dialogue,
apart from the ripped torsos and
teeth that cause snow blindness.
 
How could I ever fit into their world?
But I settle in, letting those questions
float away on the sea of suspended disbelief,
punctuated by the holding of hands and
changes of position as we find new ways to snuggle.
 
Later, the counter argument knocks on my door.
Anyone can be on their game for a hundred minutes
that took three months to film,
a writer five years to draft, sculpt and
re-write and re-write and re-write.
 
We devise our scenes daily
making tragic and comic gold
and the story is still worth telling.  
Our love is so not Hollywood
but it should be. 

 

Poem for Day 12, Slightly late Song of the Land-Locked Lover

Apologies for the late post. I will be back on track by tonight. This poem is in a much older style with a strict rhyming scheme. Sometimes the urge overtakes me to write in the style of a romantic poet from 200 years ago and NaPoWriMo is the perfect excuse.

 

 

Song of the Land-Locked Lover

Sing to me of the gentle sea,
of waves that breathe at night,
of ancient ships that deftly slip,
sails set towards the light.
 
For I long for a mermaid’s song
borne on the wind like lace,
that reaches ears and soothes the fears
etched deep on moonlit face.
 
Let wind and rain cleanse me again
to start a life anew.
Cross an ocean, set in motion
sketches of bolder hue.
 
Scrub my mind, until memory blind
Of love the heart regrets
Of risking all, only to fall
Pray to a foolish bet.
 
So, sing to me of the gentle sea,
of waves that breathe at night,
of ancient ships that deftly slip,
As I whisper “Goodnight”.

Love in the time of Coalition poem. Day 11 of 30

Oh dear! A "Got out of the wrong side of the bed" poem. Apologies for the grumpiness but sometimes only a moan will do!

 
Love in the time of Coalition
 
Another pale grey sky
as if Hollywood will green screen it in later
in time for the big premiere.
 
Underneath, life goes on in unsubtle hues;
people green with envy, feeling blue or
painting the town red.
 
Cut to a Waitrose car park
where a perkily attractive young mother
dressed in the smuggest of pinks,
 
tight enough to show she’s got her figure back
after months of Pilates with Miguel
decants her offspring from a white steed of a 4x4.
 
You somehow just know sun-dried tomatoes
will be a key component of her shopping list
alongside feta cheese and organic alfalfa sprouts.
 
I am annoyed with myself for being annoyed.
I was never bothered before but four years
of coalition government now showing their true colours,
 
polarising rich and poor,
penalising the helpless,
padding the pockets of party political contributors
 
has eroded my neutrality.
The enamel is worn and the root is exposed.
Government by the people for the people
 
rings hollow as the millionaire cabinet,
insulated from high street reality
claims to share the hurt. Bollocks!
 
Sulken 32 second apologies,
triumphs of arrogance over responsibility,
the feeling they have a right to rule,
 

screams ancient feudal rights

as poverty (and that is its proper name)
creeps and stalks and encroaches.

Meanwhile, champagne consumption at Westminster
has increased by 72% over three years ago.
Draw your own conclusion!

Day 10. Two for one special!

Two poems, though one is a four-liner that I wrote today for a reading at Wenlock (ahead of the lovely Wenlock Poetry Festival at the end of the month).

Etching
 
Between the river and the mountains
Between the earth and sky
Between sleep and wakefulness
Between the how and why
 
Between the roar and thunder
Between the wind and rain
Between dusk and dawn
Between peace and pain
 
Between beach and breaking wave
Between sense and shame
Between thought and reason
My soul always bears your name
 
 
Tartan Twin
 
Should Scotland win independence
On more twin towns, they’re rather keen.
If Wenlock changed to Wedlock,
Much Wedlock could twin with Gretna Green.

Day 9 of 30 After All These Years.

I make no apologies for the sloppiness of this poem. When my wife and I go out to eat in a pub, we sometimes see other couples who sit in silence apart from talking about the drinks they want to order. It may be of course that this is their "comfortable silence" and they are perfectly content but to independent observers it looks like they have run out of things to say. I am grateful we still have things in our heart to say to each other.

I hope you like the poem

Mark x

 

After All These Years

 
We still slow dance in the kitchen
When a smoochy tune comes on
We still dissolve in giggles
If we do something wrong
 
We still go on adventures
Not just on holiday
Each other is our waking thought
If ever we’re away

She tells me she still loves me
And wouldn’t want to change
After all it’s taken twenty-eight years
To get me properly trained.
 
Our company is still enough
If we dine alone
We surreptitiously kiss in lifts
When left on our own
 
We still hold hands in the High Street
A practice I won’t be stopping
That last decision is economical
If I let so, she goes shopping

Day 8 of 30 Poem: Template (a template for poems)

Template
 
Imagine an opening line,
underpinned but not undermined
by the following two.
 
Next a slap in the face
of a metaphor,
with tons and tons of hyperbole.
 
Then a simile,
lightly drizzled like honey
to sweeten and glaze.
 
Add a terribly good oxymoron,
wonder if you should ask
a rhetorical question?
 
Follow up
with a contradiction
that agrees with itself.
 
Reference Shakespeare
because a quote by any other name
is not a cheat.

Return to previous imagery
as unexpected as a
second slap in the face
 
Finally, end with a repeated line.
Finally, end with a repeated line.
(in smaller font, without apparent reason).

 

Day 7 of 30 NaPoWriMo. A free bonus poem!!

Today, you get a bonus poem to thank you for reading. The groan from the bonus poem is free too!

Best, Mark  

 
Tasting Menu
 
Taste the day.
Start with a brisk walk or a seat with a view,
a palette cleanser to let hurt or regrets,
sharp as lemon vinaigrette
seep from the soul of you.
 
Choose three things to savour.
A trinity of full courses   
rather than snatched mouthfuls.
Ignore the tumbled rush of the day,
luxuriate in their texture, aroma and flavour.
 
Ignore sound bites and dig for the real story.
Give thoughts their head,
follow imagination down
seldom seen tracks,  
rest in the satisfying glory
 
of tasting wine not just drinking it,
think about the grape, the journey
from vine to glass
have a better class of day.
Make this a habit instead of just thinking it.
 


The Value of Art
 
The school had a student’s artistic display
Abstract expressionism as deep as Zen
The sign said “Mark Rothko”
So I gave him eight out of ten.