FOR THE WEEKEND

K D LANG for Last Weekend as well.
3WW
nothing helpless about K D Lang
a persuasive voice,not too loud
laden with melodic riches
sans shoes performing diva
knows how to wow an audience
I like her spirit
I wish she lived next door to me
you could leave your shoes outside
and know they would not be nicked

POW PROMPT 26

POW has made the 6 month mark, so now time for a short break. Back soon.

Big Girls Don't Cry

when the chips are down
the big girl
dusts herself off
drags a tutu out
from the bottom of the wardrobe
and sur les pointes she
dances with her chubby arms
outstretched
to this little tune

" ballet dan-cer
never pran-cer
cool collag-ist
bright en-hancer
cute and cudd-ly
warm and snugg-ly
flitting everywhere
to flee and spurn
the ug- ly"

tutu is a bit tight now
arthritic waddles pass
for pirouettes
a couple of roly poly chums
join in gliding gently through
troubled air slow balleting
her blues away till delicious tiredness
crashes like a tsunami crushing
finely turned legs on the chaise longue
with only the elephants left
standing in the room

For The Weekend

Who said Poms can't dance?

KENNETH SLESSOR

Sydney Opera House mural" Salute to Five Bells " by John Olsen inspired by Slessor's " Five Bells"



" Kenneth Slessor" A biography by Geoffrey Dutton.

Kenneth Slessor (1901 - 1971 ) another well known Australian poet was a successful journalist and Australia's official war correspondent in WW2. His poem ' Five Bells' was voted Austalia's favourite poem.It's the story of his friend Joe Lynch who fell off a Sydney ferry and drowned in 1927 on his way to a party on the north shore. A mural ' Salute to Five Bells' by John Olsen at the Opera House is inspired by Slessor's poem.

I have always found the reading of poetry (particularly by the authors cringe making) Slessor explains why much better than I could.

" Whether or not poets should be encouraged to read their own works aloud is a question on which I have always been sceptical. For one thing many good writers are bad readers - and many 'professional' readers ( not to mention the abominal elocutionists) have tricks and mannerisms which almost totally destroy the poetry.

For another thing, I sometimes wonder whether - in spite of the sentimentalists who talk so much about the bards and jongleurs - poetry of a tenuous or a certain haunting kind can be read aloud at all, no matter how proficient the reading, without depriving the listener of some of those marginal pleasures which are part of the act of reading of the printed page.

For example,in eye reading a line of verse the reader usually has two other lines
( the line before and the line after )on the periphery of his consciousness and this casts an aura of context over the words he is in the act of reading. The ear cannot apprehend what has gone before or is to come but the mind's ear can hear the sounds of spoken words,just as the deaf Beethoven could hear the music he composed."

RONDEL

ABba abAB abbaA

Rondel for Elizabeth Taylor (1932 - 2011)

A corn flow'r blue hue of your eyes
with cheeks tinged pink,an English rose
a sad loss passing icon goes
the fans shed tears and say goodbye

The child wakes early cold sunrise
An actor's life is hard work code
A corn flow'r blue hue of your eyes
with cheeks tinged pink, an English rose

And fame caused spite and jealous jibes
from media self righteous Joes
her stunning beauty I suppose
brought heartbreak force divorce unwise
I'll miss your corn flow'r lovely eyes

Three On A Bike

3WW

Two young boys
Identical twins
A country's future
( Rest easy )
Waiting to collect
dear old Granny
from the volley ball match
where she takes bets

One will hold her handbag
The other will stick her
in the side car for
the drive home
Considerate boys with
Dual intent

Gran's smart
She's wearing most of her
winnings stuffed
in her stockings

Les Murray

Les Murray,our most famous living Australian poet was the subject of intense bullying when he was a student at Taree High School NSW. Bullying has reached epidemic proportions in schools and in the work place. Les has written an insightful poem about this. So if you fall into the category of one of Les' sad flies buzzing round a pool of treacle perhaps you could check out something more uplifting like the lemongrass in the vegetable patch.

Where humans can't leave and mustn't complain
A Poem by Les Murray

Where humans can't leave and mustn't complain,
There some will emerge who enjoy giving pain.
A dreary intense groove leads to each one
they pick to torment, and the rest will then shun.
Some who might have been picked, and natural police,
do routine hurt, the catcalling, the giving-no-peace,
but dull brilliance evolves the betrayal and names
that sear life dignity and life like interior flames.
Whole circles get enlisted, and blood loyalties reversed
by self- avengers and failures-getting-in first
but this is the eye of fashion. Its sniggering stare
breeds silenced accomplices. Courage proves rare.
This powers revolution; this draws flies to sad pools;
this is the true curriculum of schools.

Casey Heynes Cops No More

three tankas and I'll drink to this!

freedom is coming
arab tyrants best watch out
your subjects rise up
Casey is doing it for kids
tortured daily by bullies

worry beads wont help
neither will masochism
brave victims unite
and fight back the oppressors
schools,bastions of sorrow

for some poor children
unprotected by teachers
some bullies themselves
turning a blind eye to pain
prejudiced and neglectful

Flamingo Fiasco

BTP

playing yoyo
being frivolous and madcap
can be inflammatory to a
conventional group of flamingos
whose rehearsed choreography is
meticulous smug and can land one
yoyo tied and stuck up in a tree

mother always said never play
your yo yo in front of a crowd
no good will come of it and you
will find yourself at the
end of a reed with a brass bell
stuck in the back of your head

For The Weekend

APP

Soave il Vento from Mozart's opera " Cosi Fan Tutte "

" Mozart's music is so pure and beautiful that I see it as a reflection of the inner
beauty of the universe...If I were not a physicist, I would probably be a musician.I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music. I get most joy in life out of music."
Albert Einstein

WILL THIS DO ? by Auberon Waugh

Auberon Waugh's autobiography, "Will This Do?" is a wonderful read full of wit and sage advice.
He was once characterised as "without intellectual, aesthetic or spiritual interest" at the age of seven by his father, Evelyn Waugh. He has since proved his father wrong. Here are a couple of tidbits to whet the appetite:

"It was many years before I could break the habit of viewing every event with a
half eye to the bulletin I would send my father. Even now I find when I hear a funny story...I mentally store it away to repeat to him. There always follows a pang of bereavement when he is no longer around to hear it. But the strain of living two lives,one on my own and the one through his eyes, was greatly relieved by his sudden death."

"My grand philosophical conclusion at the end of the day, is that humanity does not divide into the rich and the poor, privileged and the unprivileged, the clever and the stupid, the lucky and the unlucky or even into the happy or the unhappy. It divides into the nasty and the nice. Nasty people are humourless, bitter self-pitying, resentful and mean. They are also, of course invariably miserable. Saints may worry about them and even try to turn their sour natures, but those who do not aspire to saintliness are best advised to avoid them wherever possible, and give their aggression a good run for its money whenever it becomes unavoidable."

Mellow Yellow

 

 3WW

 I'm just wild about saffron

 "well,tickle me pink" saffron's mad about me 

"no way" they call me mellow yellow 

I talk to the trees but they don't listen to me

 check out lucy in the sky with diamonds

 "how long is she staying ?" 

until the 12th of never 

she's got a ticket to ride 

on a cool breeze but she don't care

POW PROMPT 24

In Defence of Authenticity or How to Spot A Phoney

Kindness is a dim memory of the past now
All the old lovelies in the family
with the kindness gene in spades have gone
A James Joyce daisy chain of umbilical cords
running through generations of selfless generous
minnows in the shark pond protecting their own
with fierce love

Refusing to dance to clashing cymbals
they fired arrows of clarity unaccompanied by
the drippy waftiness of mixed messages
No-one could ever feel more secure or loved
than under the strong wings of those beauties
so unlike the deceptive demeanour of dangerously
unctuous frail frauleins,hiding behind a rehearsed facade
of wallowing self obsession, advocating martyrdom,deluding
themselves that they are gentle caring types

They sing fervently of kindness and mouth that debased
corrupted and misused word; love...love...love...
hollow mantra of hypocrites preying on and damaging
the vulnerable,donning spiritual cloaks to conceal
blades poised to rip anyone who
threatens to speak out and expose the ruse

Genuine glimmers of kindness pop up from time to time
always unexpected and received with joy
usually a well timed gift of a few kind words
that get stashed away in the treasure box
for precious things
When I realise all that I have been given
a few is generous and more than enough

" Surely goodness will follow me always all the days of my life"

It's a nice thought...as long as it's not coagulated in treacle pretending to be Mother Teresa.

I'm still holding my breath.

POW PROMPT 24

" When a child at school tells me of the kindness of the nurses when she had her appendix out, I pray for a long time for that to happen to me, and a daydream about the loving words and caresses that might come my way if I were ever lucky enough to have what was spoken of then, with gravity, as an operation."

"Roundabout at Bangalow" an intimate memoir by Shirley Walker.

This is a favourite book of mine no doubt influenced by the fact that I use to live half time ..( I don't live full time anywhere by choice ) near the Channon Northern NSW, where Shirley Walker grew up, for almost 20 years.

I recommend this as a good read. I can feel a huge dose of wander lust coming on .If
I don't appear on these pages for a few weeks I have taken off (without phone or computor with me ole china) to contemplate my navel, commune with nature,taking a serendipitous journey to the unknown. After which I shall return ,hopefully refreshed, fighting fit, ready to rejoin the blogosphere fray.

Pretty In Pink

BTP

pink as a rosebud
like a sea anenome
beauty on a wave
one in eleven suffer
some survive some sadly don't

FOR THE WEEKEND

" LA GAZZA LADRA " by Rossini seems a very apt choice of music for this week.

POW PROMPT 23

Never let Me Go


It was different then
Grey cold days were softened
with furs,people were fewer and
wearing berets, piano accordians
were on every street corner

It was better then
before the sanitised steam clean
of the city
before the Davy Crockett invasion
of McDonalds Disneyworld and Le Drugstore
before the destruction of Les Halles
when Le Marais was just a slum
studded with iron pewter pissoirs
and turkish lavatories

Life was harder but lovelier in
all its deprivations
even with bullet holed walls
reminder of the Boche

Baguettes came with fresh mayonnaise
and pomme frites were cooked in butter
heart attack heaven
washed down with cheap beaujolais
Wafts of nougat and roasted chestnuts
permeated frosty winter days in a haze of gauloise

Women wore violets pinned to jackets with hair
adorned with tortoiseshell combs and smelt of
loose powder perspiration and perfume

Children were innocent
loved the magic of the guignol
Paris was their playground
running in the street to
the pied piper's whistle
disappearing in alley ways
with the promise of stinging
ears from the PE teacher the next day

Rosie loved it here
with a heart burst of smiles
that exploded into stars
and it loved her in return
Perhaps it was youth combined
with the times but whatever it was

she wanted to stay forever
until beau geste
plucked the brightest flower in the posey
put her in his button hole
and that was that

Rosie still trys to hang on
but the tyranny of time
is cutting her adrift
The feeling of then is fading fast
It was too long ago
It's slipping through her fingers

LATIN LESSON 1...3WW

Decoupage by Rallentanda

Amor meus amplior quam verba est
My love is more than words

Haiku Heights and 3WW

Sir Prise arrives home
earlier than usual
"Good God,boots 'n all!"

Shocked by the sight
of this tantalizing display
of his wife with the footman
which would haunt him for years to come
Sir Prise suddenly realised
that he had never noticed
his wife's dainty feet

Exercise 1.
For homework translate the above verse into Latin.
All correspondence including letters of complaint should be addressed to:
Rallentanda
C/- Don Corleone
Poste Restante
Salina Sicily





Certe,Toto, sentio nos in Kansate non iam adesse.
You know, Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.

Life and Love in the Cabbage Patch

"Popularity is the crown of laurel which the world puts on bad art. Whatever is popular is wrong." Oscar Wilde

"Oh, what would he know!"
squeaks Ms.Creeping Pillow
He couldn't cook
He didn't have Cherokee roots
(of any kind:)
He never wore woolly socks
Didn't live in the mid west
And was a poofta

FOR THE WEEKEND

Jose Feliciano..Aint No Sunshine When She's Gone

POW PROMPT 23

I find this charming clip from " Les Quatre Cents Coups " ( one of my favourite movies )to be very nostalgic. It will be interesting to see what you come up with.

Any time either of you feel the need to offer a prompt..please leave it in my comment box and I will put it on for the following week.It is interesting to discover the different responses to one's own prompt and I would like to give you the experience if you are interested ( and no, I haven't run out of ideas..writer's block is unknown to me.)

It would be appreciated if you would acknowledge the POW prompt if you present your POW prompt poem on other poetry sites.

Due to an unfortunate past POW experience(and I do apologize in advance for having to state this to intelligent folk ), suggestions that are unacceptable to my particular sensibilities will not be printed e.g. poetry on possible positions in a group sex orgy etc.OR anything boringly surburban e.g. blood smeared napery or infected fruit (you know what I mean!)

Trendy Conservationists

3WW

Did I mention
my affinity with the Divine
and concern for the environment, Pats?
I've taken to writing on my skirt to save paper.
Gaspers are no cure for the fidgets, sweety darling
Here have another drink!

Haiku Heights

Desperate Housewives

blood smears on lemons
this is a mirage I fear
if not,lock the doors