MACHINATIONS

“Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead. Walk beside me, just be my friend” ― Albert Camus

The New What’s Going On blog has set this theme this week: “Let's challenge ourselves to write about "women" or "a woman" in a new way, a way we have not done before.”, which celebrates March as Women’s History Month. My poem is rather complex as it looks at stereotypes in relationships, a perspective that is still widespread, despite the feminist activism paradigms, the attempts at promoting equality of the sexes, and even legislation that attempts to correct inequalities and give the same rights and opportunities to both sexes.

Machinations

I try to find a way around your secret machinations
A road that will lead me to your hidden stations;
Disarm your ploys and ways you betray my trust,
Regain control and again master my fate — I must.

Your clever plans, your covert sly manipulations
Your false sweet words your fervent declarations;
I need to show up your lies, expose your treachery,
Reveal your useless pretence, and your lechery.

And yet I love you, mindlessly, with all my heart,
My reason lost and only pure emotion taking part;
I know you’re bad and want to leave you, go away,
But my heart dictates what I do, and so I stay…

How well you set your crafty traps and hunt me down,
I fall into your murky waters and each time I die, I drown;
I know that following you, I’ll cry and suffer pain
And yet I bind myself each time to your iron chain.

I try to open the door, walk out, and from you escape,
My strength I lose, when I see your image take shape;
I need to build defences, close my eyes, stop my ears,
But always your presence I abide, I smile through my tears.

I love you doggedly, with all the pieces of my broken heart,
Despite your cold indifference I cannot go, cannot depart.
I know you’re bad and want to leave you, go away,
But my heart dictates what I do and so I stay…

I stay and as my soul will one day wither and expire,
My love will turn to coldness and will burn you with a frigid fire.
I’ll leave you and will efface all bearing your semblance,
Forget you and destroy every trace of your remembrance.

The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” Instagram channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

Please note there is delay between uploading the song onto the digital music platforms, so persist in hunting it down if you wish to listen to it.

THE INK

“I have owed you this letter for a very long time-but my fingers have avoided the pencil as though it were an old and poisoned tool.” - John Steinbeck

The New What’s Going On blog has set as its theme the double whammy of “Unspoken -or-  Unwritten”. Here is my take on something that one would have preferred to have remained unwritten… A break-up letter is perhaps the worst thing one has to read and in many cases one would rather that it remained unwritten. My offering, is a blank verse translation of a Greek poem I’ve written, that has been set to music.

The Ink

Black ink, white paper,
A letter that has been written
Opened many wounds
And gave me great pain.

Words like knives that stab,
Words like sticks that beat me;
Paper spread white like a shroud
Stained black by the ink.

You left me and you took
The sounds with you,
Music will not play any more.
Surrounded by four walls
My heart is now broken.
You left and wrote me a letter
Your love was a false specter.

My life is now inky black
All your words were lies
Covering all like a white sheet
Leaving only my loneliness exposed.

The ink spills all over my future,
Blackening all, wounding me,
All my pages now black,
All my gifts to you given in vain.

You left one night like a thief,
And now I wander alone;
You made so many mistakes
You were in the wrong,
But I still smell your perfume.
You left and wrote me a letter
Your love was a false specter.

The Greek poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

LOVE

“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.” - Aristotle

Today, quite aptly for Valentine’s Day, Poets and Storytellers United has as its theme “Love, Glorious Love”. Here is my offering, which is a blank verse translation of a Greek poem I’ve written, that has been set to music.

Body with Body

This body which you touch,
This perfume that you smell,
Are now yours and only yours,
I’ve given them to you as gifts.

These lips which you kiss,
My eyes that you gaze into,
Are yours and only yours now,
Forever yours for all time.

This heart beating in my breast,
While my soul keeps silent,
Is full of love for you,
Walking on a secret, hidden path.

Body with body mingling
Is a harbour to shelter in;
Kiss upon kiss given
Is like drinking sweet wine.
Caress upon caress offered
Is like a tree in spring blossoming.

The words that you speak softly
Are sweet, joyous secrets
That caress the ears gently,
While I’m in your warm embrace.

All of my being is here with you,
I celebrate, I smile, I sing;
And time flies, and passes,
Gifting us only joys.

This heart fluttering, thrilling,
Looks at us with closed eyes;
Because love is all-seeing
Love is all-changing and renewing.

Body with body mingling
Is a harbour to shelter in;
Kiss upon kiss given
Is like drinking sweet wine.
Caress upon caress offered
Is like a spring tree blossoming.

The Greek poem is set to music, and you can find all my music referened in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

THE STARRY SKY

“Nothing prevents happiness like the memory of happiness.” - André Gide

This week, The New What’s Going Blog has set as its theme: “The Things I’ll Remember”. Memory is a powerful force in our life and is indispensable to our wellbeing and health - one only has to look at the dire effects of dementia… My poem looks at a perfect memory that will persist till the moment I’ll no longer be able to remember or think of anything anymore…

The Starry Sky

On a clear and dark night
We gaze up and see stars;
Cold and clear is their light,
Burning in the small hours.

Your hand’s in my hand,
Our breaths synchronised;
We sit still on the sand
Making memories prized.

High up all the planets align,
Our arms firmly entwine;
Hear the music of spheres,
That’s delight to our ears.
How the sky conspires
With its starry bonfires,
Our true love to inflame
Lighting our heart’s flame.

While we wait for the dawn,
We embrace and we kiss;
Wide-eyed we look on,
Not a moment to miss.

As a star falls from above,
We wish never to part,
And swear that our love
Will forever be in our heart.

High up all the planets align
While our arms firm entwine;
Hear the music of spheres
That’s delight to our ears.
How the sky conspires
With its starry bonfires,
Our true love to inflame
Lighting our heart’s flame.

The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my Instagram site “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

SWEET MEMORY

“The eternal quest of the individual human being is to shatter his loneliness.” - Norman Cousins

The New What’s Going on Blog has prompted us to write a poem about loneliness without using the words "lonely" or "alone." The poem below refers to a memory of a lonely time and of a long walk in the dead of night in a foreign country… The feeling of isolation, away from loved ones, away from the one person who mattered most and who failed to be with you, the sense of absence and loss, are all expressed in this poem.

Sweet Memory

The secret, subtle scent of yellow rose
That has no perfume - still pleases the nose…
Trembling reflections of yellow gas light
In the still waters of the canal at night;
A shiver of the whispering linden leaves
As they catch gasps of wind under the eaves,
Sweet memory, don’t ever leave me...

The darkened room, a creaking ceiling,
Long shadows, emptiness; no feeling.
Sounds of barely heard soft music far away,
Shimmering strings, pianissimo they play.
A lapping of tongues as water licks
The dark canal wall’s old red bricks,
Sweet memory, never desert me…

And you so far away from me tonight,
Only your memory fuels my heart’s plight;
I hold the pain, how I wished you to believe me,
Sweet memory, unlike her, don’t ever leave me...

Sputtering candle, the spent black wick
Burning unsurely, licking the base of candlestick;
Hours, days, years that pass, bluntly avow
That death approaches so very quickly, now;
A sound of childish laughter sounds hollow
On the wings of distant morning, I cannot follow.
Sweet memory, don’t ever abandon me...

The tears of long ago, re-wept tonight
As memory persists and gives me blight
Steel pincers of memory crushing my heart,
Relentless as their manoeuvres start;
Taste of bitter poisons in my mouth wallow
Clutch at my throat, burn me as I swallow
Sweet draughts of memory that will never go away…

And you so far away from me tonight,
Only your memory fuels my heart’s plight;
I hold the pain, how I wished you to believe me,
Sweet memory, unlike her,  don’t ever leave me…

The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” Instagram channel or listen to it on YouTube,  Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

Please note that there is delay between my uploading the music and your being able to access it. YouTube is generally the fastest to release the song.

BLACK

“Blackness remains the coat you can't take off.” - Clint Smith

The New What’s Going on Blog  this week advises: “Choose one color--black or white--and explore the depths of meaning the color has for you.  Write a poem that immerses itself in EITHER black or white, but not both.  Don't even mention the other color in your poem.”  I chose black. Black as a state of mind, as a feeling, as an essence of being - the black of despair, the black of the mood one cannot be rid of, the black of hopelessness and anguish…

Black

Black is my life, dark is my lot,
And happiness, all’s gone, forgot.
Black, black, my life is black,
All sadness, only cold and dark…

Black thoughts, dark night,
No hope, no joy, no sight;
Black is the heart that dies
As love so far away flies.

My soul with pitch is painted
My life with tar is tainted;
Ebony nightmares conquer
My uneasy sleep, somber.

And without you, blinded,
I fumble in a dark abyss,
Powerless and weak-minded,
As your sweet kiss I miss.
Black, as a coal with no fire,
I burn in a dark, flameless pyre.

I’m dressed in cloth of ink
And draughts of poison drink;
Dark shadows, cold despair,
Choke me, rob me of air.

Swimming in waters of the Styx,
An ice-cold numbness will affix;
A sunless death, deep in Tartarus
Your lack so grim, so barbarous…

And without you, blinded,
I fumble in a dark abyss,

Powerless and weak-minded,
As your sweet kiss I miss.
Black, as a coal with no fire,
I burn in a dark, flameless pyre.

The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

Please note that there is delay between my uploading the music and your being able to access it. YouTube is generally the fastest to release the song.

SPRING FUNERAL

“The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.” - Jean Paul

Poets and Storytellers this week is asking us to take inspiration from what we like about the dark. Darkness is a state of mind that can manifest itself in the full sunlight of Summer or in the flowery extravagances of Spring. It can be felt amidst a happy gathering at a party or the joyous shouts of children playing. If the dark is within us, it can be difficult to escape from it. I remember an interview that Reba Mcintire gave and she said something like: “For me, singing sad songs often has a way of healing a situation. It gets the hurt out in the open into the light, out of the darkness.” Here is my dark, sad song:

Spring Funeral

A funeral in Spring,
Much pain will bring;
Spring comes, nears,
Raining bitter tears…

Spring wakes deep in earth the sodden seeds
Making more acute my pressing needs;
The rain that gently falls will wash me clean
No more will I my painful memories glean.

I loved you such a long time ago
And yet I chose dreams to forego.

The greenwood leaves unfurl and open fresh
The breeze still cool, tempers my burning flesh;
Desires, passions, loves I bury deep in earth
Path chosen, heart dies, mind more is worth.

I loved you such a long time ago
But now allegro turns to largo.

As flowers fresh are laid by a new dug grave
Your thinly disguised betrayal I forgave;
The falling night will usher in the stars
Silence – except for mournful cries of nightjars.

I loved you such a long time ago
Now where to turn? To whom to go?

The poem is set to music, and you can find an index of all my music in my “Otidorchestre” Instagram channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

Please note that there is delay between my uploading the music and your being able to access it. YouTube is generally the fastest to release the song.

HALLOWEEN

“A grandmother pretends she doesn't know who you are on Halloween.” - Erma Bombeck

The Poets and Storytellers blog has chosen the apt theme of “Halloween” this week. Here is my contribution:

Halloween

It’s a dark, scary night
Halloween is tonight –
All the ghoulies are out
All the ghosties about…

With a crick and a crack
And a tap on my back
I’m trembling and shaking, 
A-fearing and quaking.

It’s a night of the fey
Take care not to stray,
All the witches do sport 
All the fiends do cavort.

With a quick step I tread
With a bat on my head:
It’s shrieking and squeaking
And victims it’s seeking.

It’s the dark, stormy night
Of the hag and the sprite –
All the zombies parade,
All the children afraid.

With a shudder and shake
Until dawn wide awake,
I’m quietly abiding
In the dark hiding.

It’s the night full of screams
And of horrible dreams – 
All the spectres take flight
All the banshees delight.

With a sob and a sigh
With a throb and a cry,
I’m shuddering, shivering
Queasily quivering
It’s Halloween!

The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

PRAYER

“Prayer does not change God, but it changes him who prays.” - Soren Kierkegaard

The New What’s Going on Blog has set as its theme this week “Eternal/Unchanging”, a reflection on those things that last forever, those constant and reliable values, the dependable and unchanging ideas and feelings that we can turn to, especially so in times of strife. For many people, religion is such an eternal and unchanging cornerstone of life and prayer is the way we can approach all things spiritual and strive to become better people. Here is my poem:

Prayer

I greet You, fragrant damask rose,
With perfume that delights the nose;
I greet You basking in the morning sun
Your splendour is second to none.

Your softness, tenderness and grace
Matched by the beauty of Your face;
Your touch is to the wounded, balm,
Bringing to the afflicted calm…

O shining star in heaven bright,
You bring to desperate souls delight!
You ease the greatest pain and sorrow,
Bringing us hope and love each morrow.

You sing with sweet and quiet voice
Making every sad wretch rejoice;
You speak and every word you say
Holds each beating heart in sway.

You are our tender, giving Mother
With love and care like none other;
You give our spirit food and drink,
And to our mind much to bethink.

O Queen of heaven, Mary bright,
You bring to us your fulgent light!
You ease the greatest pain and sorrow,
Bringing us hope and love each morrow.

The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

Please note that there is delay between my uploading the music and your being able to access it. YouTube is generally the fastest to release the song.

THIS, TOO, SHALL PASS...

“It is right to endure with resignation what the gods send, and to face one's enemies with courage.” - Pericles

The New What’s Going on Blog has sent as its theme this week “The Days we Stayed Apart”, a reflection on how the COVID pandemic affected us. For me personally this was a difficult time as death due to COVID claimed a victim within my own family. However, I had to find the strength to hold on and deal with life and all its vicissitudes. Resignation, tolerance, moderation, self-control, assisting others, coping with numerous restrictions and delving into what is the purpose of life, are all topics that I think of when I remember that dark time. Here is my poem:

This, Too, Shall Pass…

This fleeting moment
Of our time in the sun,
This, too, shall pass –
Remember; for the happy man shall be made sad,
And the sad man made happy.

This mortal coil,
All of our suffering,
This, too, shall pass –
Remember; for the pain shall be made joy,
And the joyful made melancholy.

This grand love,
Our all-consuming passion,
This, too, shall pass –
Remember; for the flame shall be made ash,
And the dust made into fire.

This glorious fame,
The greatness, this prestige,
This, too, shall pass –
Remember; for the renowned shall be made unknown,
And the obscure will be celebrated.

All is fleeting, all is vain;
Life, youth, love, beauty,
Riches, luxury, your bed of roses;
These, too, shall all pass –
Remember; for the last will be first,
And the first will be last…

The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

Please note that there is delay between my uploading the music and your being able to access it. YouTube is generally the fastest to release the song.

APRIL

“A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.” -  e. e. cummings

Poets and Storytellers this week has as its theme “October”. That is all very well in the Northern Hemisphere, where it is Autumn, but here in the Southern Hemisphere October is a Spring month and our equivalent autumnal month is April. Hence, with poetic licence, here is my autumnal April poem.

April

Ahhh, April,
Welcome, friend…

Come, April, my old friend, again
Let’s talk, let us exchange pleasantries.
You bring me gifts - more white hairs,
More experience, my wrinkling face the evidence,
And yet I am none the wiser...

Come friend, let’s drink, and in our cups
Let’s reminisce of days gone by,
Of nights long past, when autumn moons
Shone bright and clear, and we,
We used to walk beneath the frosty starlight...

You watch me, smile and speak not;
April, you always were a good listener,
Hearing out my softly whispered confessions,
The patter of your rain, your grey skies our cover,
Our camouflage, your smile my absolution.

Year after year, my friend you come
Bringing chrysanthemums, rain-clouds
Crisp, frosty nights, woollen days, capricious sunlight.
As Autumn ripens, you herald Winter’s arrival,
And I with each of your visits understand your silences more…

Come friend, let’s drink, and in our cups
Let’s reminisce of days gone by,
Of nights long past, when autumn moons
Shone bright and clear, and we,
We used to walk beneath the frosty starlight…

Ahhh, April,
Welcome, friend,
Ahhh, April!

The poem is set to music again, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

VALE, JANE GOODALL

“We have enslaved the rest of the animal creation, and have treated our distant cousins in fur and feathers so badly that beyond doubt, if they were able to formulate a religion, they would depict the Devil in human form.” - William Inge

This week, the New What’s Up blog commemorates the life and death of Jane Goodall, a primatologist and anthropologist who dedicated her life to studying primates and advocating conservation and climate action. Here is my offering.

Talk to the Animals

To treat each living thing
As if your life depends on it
Is a hard task, and few of us
Try to live by such a rule
And hope to succeed.

Living, respecting nature,
Trying to leave this world
A better place than what you found,
Is a life-long commitment
And one peppered with failures.

To live your life in harmony
With what’s around you:
Trees, animals, lakes, streams,
Sea, fish, air and earth,
Is a momentous undertaking.

Yet, so many amongst us
Venture forth and dedicate
Their life to doing good,
Saving the bounty given us
With utmost care and stewardship.

Thank those angels on earth,
Who came and tried to save us:
Jane, David, Jacques, Ralph,
Chief Seattle, Theodore, Wangari,
Rachel, Chico, Margaret…

Talk to the animals and learn,
To do what comes naturally,
No waste, no undue harm,
No ravaging of earth’s resources,
A web of life, perpetuating life...

BLESSED ARE THEY...

“Power is no blessing in itself, except when it is used to protect the innocent.” - Jonathan Swift

The New What’s Going On Blog has set as its theme the topic of “weariness”. A feeling familiar to all of us who have trouble dealing with modern days and the worldwide status quo… All of us who feel desperate, despondent, frustrated, downhearted, miserable, and yes downright exhausted and weary. Fatigued in spite of all of our attempts to right the wrongs, and make the crooked straight. My poem gives perhaps a little rest, respite and blessings to all of the dog-tired humanity who still try to make the injured world a better place, despite all odds…

Blessed Are They…

Who in adversity find hope,
And who in hardship cope
With endless woe and ill –
Who out of blackness, light distill.

Who even in injury forgive,
Finding courage to live and let live.
In meekness, their strength’s untold
They stand tall, resolute and bold.

Who have the energy to love
Even all those unworthy of
A sentiment so noble, tender;
Their own heart ready to surrender.

Who trust and still believe
All those who seek reprieve;
Who credit all of base humanity
With virtues that preserve sanity.

Who strive for peace and calm
And who on injuries pour balm;
Giving repose to all who are tired,
The sweetest respite they’ve desired.

Who make the crooked run straight
And the trivial things be great;
Who have humility, patience, charity
Giving their all with grace and verity.

THE LONG RIBBON OF THE ROAD

It's like driving a car at night. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. E. L. Doctorow

This week, the New What’s Going On blog has given the theme of “Through the Windshield” - something to do with cars, obviously! Here is my offering:

The Long Ribbon of the Road

I count the minutes as they pass
The road stretches ahead,
An endless ribbon unfurling.
I count the seconds as they linger on
The dark, long road heartless,
The miles to you unending.

My burning love for you fuels my drive
Although it seems I’ll never arrive…
My teary eyes, mirror the rain falling,
Its sound it seems my name is calling.
Your face remembered, pulls me to you,
Even if I sink and drown in your black bayou.

The long ribbon of the road
Unwinds and mocks my speed,
As I attempt to catch the ribbon’s end.
The endless road stretches forever,
And like its dark ribbon up ahead,
My love for you is inexhaustible,

My beating heart, for you will falter
Although the love it hides won’t alter.
My raspy breath, my fevered brow,
The shaking trees, the branches sough. 
Your touch remembered, pulls me to you,
Even if I sink and drown in your black bayou.

Time drags as the road forever runs
And in the night I speed faster and faster;
I weather storms, battle with windmills,
Cheat hours, lie to myself, lose my reason;
Swallow my pride, pretend I’m in control,
Just to be in your embrace for a single stolen night.

My burning love for you fuels my drive
Although it seems I’ll never arrive…
My teary eyes, mirror the rain falling,
Its sound it seems my name is calling.
Your face remembered, pulls me to you,
Even if I sink and drown in your black bayou.

The poem is set to music again, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

PARTING'S SWEET SORROW

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” - Laozi

This week, the Poets and Storytellers  has given the theme of 14 Words for Love. I have used the 14 words from Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet”: “Parting is such sweet sorrow, so I shall say goodnight till it be morrow…” as the springboard for my poem.

Parting’s Sweet Sorrow

“Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.”

The moon alarmed has hid behind a cloud,
The wind is whistling and the rain will fall.
And in my room my restless breath heard loud;
My solitude a gnawing pain, a soft grey pall,
A deadening fog, an empty echoing hall.

You write to me as you roam and sail the seas,
The words of love a hollow echo of your voice.
And in my empty room my heartbeats freeze
As your insistent absence will not let me rejoice;
I have to cope, there is no other choice.

The yellow autumn leaves swirl in the blowing wind
The rain now falls in sheets, the street deserted, void.
Sleep will not come to me, my mind to you is pinned,
Thoughts of your face, your touch, your voice I can’t avoid;
I wish that your departure I could rescind.

Time flows unctuously through the sleepless night
The curtain pulled back allows the street light entry.
The rain, the hidden moon, the sickly yellow light:
My only companions, my loneliness the faithful sentry.
When you are absent all my nights are white.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.”

The poem is set to music again, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

AN ACADEMIC DISCOURSE

“Common sense and a sense of humour are the same thing, moving at different speeds. A sense of humour is just common sense, dancing.” - Clive James

This week, Poets and Storytellers United asked us to write “Something Good”, something uplifting, something hopeful or amusing. I have put my tongue firmly in my cheek and I am giving you a little humorous poem — some nonsense verse that takes a little swipe at my fellow academics, who sometimes are too serious for their own good!

An Academic Discourse

Two rabbits, some hares,
Were splitting their hairs:
Their intent to argue creation,
Rain, and such condensation.
Plink plonk!

A rat, a gnat and two moles
Were digging four holes,
Deep in which to inter:
Bread, butter, liqueur.
Oh, yes! 

A frog from a bog and a hen
Constructed a large pen
To herd mewling cats,
All wearing elegant hats.
Meeeeeow….

A badger, a toad, carrying a load
Conversed in Morse code,
While giving great pain
To everyone’s brain.
Oh no!

And there were you, you and I,
And a blue-bottle fly,
Singing in tune under full moon,
Sometime in late June,
While pigs flew overhead
And our theories misled.
Mmmmm, Miss Lead!

Five bandits , two bears,
Were riding on mares.
Wanting to argue cognation
And establish their relation…
Cousins, I think!

A dog in a box, a robin, a fox
Looked at their clocks,
As teatime drew nigh
The tea in short supply!
How beastly!

A stoat and a goat, quick to emote,
Cried long in their boat,
Their tears enough, no surprise,
To make it capsize.
Blur gurgle!

And there were you, you and I,
And a blue-bottle fly,
Singing in tune under full moon,
Sometime in late June,
Eating butter and bread
Content and brain-dead!
Quite so!

The poem is set to music again, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube,  Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

Please note that the song has been submitted to music sharing sites, but there is a variable period of delay until the song is publicly released. YouTube is generally the most prompt.

SMOKE AND MIRRORS

“I believe in low lights and trick mirrors.” - Andy Warhol

This week, the New What’s Going On blog  has given the theme of “Mirrors” as its inspiration for our literary offerings. A mirror was an early invention of civilisation, and right from the start, its purpose was manifold: From the stark truth of the objective reflection, and the subjective self-reflection for wisdom, to the perils of vanity and deception. It can also symbolise an alternate reality, the subconscious mind, and spiritual insight, or serve as a tool for divination and communication with other realms. A fractured mirror symbolises a broken identity, while a broken reality. Here is my offering!

Smoke and Mirrors

I drink, alone,
And smoke endless cigarettes;
A chain of smoke binding me
To your image,
On the mirror of my memory.

I smoke, solitary,
And drink hard liquor,
Swimming to you
As you recede, fast sinking
To the bottom of my glass.

And as the butts accumulate,

In the ashtray of your remembrance,
I resolve to leave you be;
Forget your face,
Burn your impression…

And the bottle empties,
As I try to drown your recollection
In my glass; but as quickly as I fill it
I empty it, encountering you
Ever present, at its bottom.

I formed you out of smoke,
A virtual image of perfection
In the depths of a magic mirror,

Manufactured by my need to love;
And all I’ve ever had was an illusion

Made of smoke and tricks of light, reflected…

This poem is set to music, and you can find all references to my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel, or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

Please note that the song has been submitted to music sharing sites, but there is a variable period of delay until the song is publicly released. YouTube is generally the most prompt.

LOVE MISBEGOTTEN

“People do incredible things for love, particularly for unrequited love.” - Daniel Radcliffe

This week, the New What’s Going On blog has given the theme of “Rift” as its inspiration for our literary offerings. Lost love is of course a universal theme and much ink has been used writing of thwarted, unrequited, misplaced, duplicitous and otherwise frustrated love. Here is my offering (just reminding you, that April in the Southern Hemisphere is the middle month of Autumn, corresponding to October in the Northern Hemisphere).

Love,  Misbegotten…

I loved you, lost you, forgave you,
Love lost I gave you…

The end of April soon to come
And Autumn ripens like a juicy plum,
While moon fills, calm and silver,
The night cold, bright quicksilver.

I loved you, lost you, now all but forgotten
A love aborted, dead, misbegotten.

The end of April is so sweet
As memories, of foot so fleet,
That run by and disappear too quick –
Candle all burnt out with black wick.

I gave my heart, and lost it; as an apple rotten.
A love aborted, dead, misbegotten.

The end of April, and once again
Entices, binds with golden chain.
The moon gazes on, dispassionate
While dark of night, once passionate –
Now makes me feel the weight of many years.

I loved you, lost you, now all but forgotten
A love aborted, dead, misbegotten.

The end of April covers, seals,
And ultimately time passing, heals.
From apple seed, from rotting fruit
A new tree sprouts, takes root.

My heart regenerates, and love again dries tears.
No more heartache, no sadness, fears.

This poem is set to music, and you can find all references to my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel, or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

THAT LITTLE SOMETHING...

“Only do what your heart tells you.” - Princess Diana

This week, Poets and Storytellers United asked us to write on something small but beautiful. What smaller than the dawning of first love? Something that we’ve never felt before and which starts as an insignificant little nothing that becomes something? That little spark that becomes a flame, and then an all-consuming fire?

That Little Something

What a feeling... Almost nothing,
In my mind and in my heart.
It is nothing or it’s something;
But it makes me jump and start...

What could I be lacking now?
What I need, and what I want,
Would my sweetest fate allow?
Or its lack my dreams to haunt?

Is it hunger, is it thirst?
No, my stomach wildly turns;
What to wish for, should I, first?

Ease of mind, for which it yearns?
Or peace of heart, about to burst?
What a feeling... How it burns!

What a feeling... Almost nothing,
In my mind and in my heart.
It is nothing or it’s something;
But it makes me jump and start...

This poem is set to music, and you can find all references to my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel, or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify,  Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.

THE FRENCH HAT

“The difference between style and fashion is quality.” - Giorgio Armani

The New What’s Going On Blog has set a theme of “The Stories We Wear” this week; the theme relates to headwear - hats and such-like that we choose to place on our head for one or another reason…  Here is the story of Fashion Queen Imogen and her long-suffering husband…

The French Hat

“Imogen, dear, that hat you wear will never do
We’re going to the cinema you know!”
“Oh, yes, of course it will and don't you stew,
It’s French, so elegant, so ‘comme-il-faut’…”

“Imogen, those behind us shall grumble and complain,
We’ll never hear the end of it, I feel…”
“Oh, shush! A chic and wee chapeau, makes me feel urbane,
Besides, it’s such a delicate shade of teal!”

“Imogen, dear, I am sure you know what is best,
But I fret that we shall spoil our outing…”
“Tut-tut, Henry you are such a bore, desist and rest;

All’s well there will be no loutish shouting!”

So off they went, he short and fat, she lean and tall,
The hat balanced precariously on coiffed beehive.
They sat right up the front and in the centre of the hall,
She high, while Henry shrank and hoped all to survive.

“Down with your blasted hat, up front I cannot see!
Take off the darned contraption and let us enjoy the flick!”
“Oh, Henry an appalling place! Oh, goodness, me!
I feel as though I could get up and give that man a kick…”

“Oh Imogen, dearest love I knew it all along, that hat
Will cause much trouble, strife and discontent!”

“Henry get up and be a man! Don’t let fools treat you like a mat!
Use violence if you must, that lout’s no gent!”

“Down, down! Off with that tatty blue thing up front!”
“Henry, stop hiding, up you get we shall leave!
This is no place for people of quality; Oh, such affront!”
“Imogen, dear, indeed! The ones who leave won't grieve!

So off they went, he glum and fat, she proud and tall,
The hat still held precariously on coiffed beehive.
She killed with dagger eyes the youth, whose catcall

Forced their exit; but hat was held high, joyously alive.