RED GARLAND - Spring Will Be A Little Late This Year

mermaids are distressed
spring will be a little late this year
summer due tomorrow
spring has locked her in a cupboard
unlikely either will turn up

Heeding Haiku With Chevrefeuille - MLMM

Morning Poems

 Morning at The Window - T S Eliot



THEY ARE RATTLING PLATES IN THE BASEMENT KITCHENS

And along the trampled edges of the street

I AM AWARE OF THE DAMP SOULS OF HOUSEMAIDS  
Sprouting despondently at area gates. 
 
The brown waves of fog toss up to me          
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street, 
And tear FROM A PASSER-BY WITH MUDDY SKIRTS
AN AIMLESS SMILE that hovers in the air 
And vanishes along the level of the roofs.

A Description of the Morning   - Jonathan Swift

Now hardly here and there a hackney-coach

Appearing, show'd the RUDDY MORN'S approach.

Now BETTY FROM HER MASTER'S BED HAD FLOWN,

AND SOFTLY STOLE TO DISCOMPOSE HER OWN.

The SLIP-SHOD 'prentice from his master's door

Had par'd the dirt, and SPRINKLED round the floor.

Now Moll had WHIRL'D HER MOP WITH DEX'TROUS AIRS,

PREPAR'D TO SCRUB THE ENTRY AND THE STAIRS.

The YOUTH with broomy stumps began to trace

The kennel-edge, where wheels had worn the place.

The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep;

Till drown'd IN SHRILLER NOTES OF "chimney-sweep."

Duns at his LORDSHIP'S gate began to meet;

And BRICKDUST MOLL had SCREAM'D THROUGH HALF A STREET

The turnkey now his flock returning sees,

Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees.

The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands;

And SCHOOLBOYS lag with satchels in their hands.

Morning Song - Sylvia Plath


LOVE SET you GOING LIKE A FAT GOLD WATCH

The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry   

Took its place among the elements
Our VOICES echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.

In a drafty museum, your nakedness

Shadows our safety. We  STAND ROUND BLANKLY AS WALLS.

 I’m no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind’s hand

ALL NIGHT YOUR moth-BREATH

Flickers among the flat PINK ROSES. I wake to listen:

A far sea MOVES IN MY EAR.

One cry, and I STUMBLES FROM BED, COW-HEAVY AND FLORAL

IN MY VICTORIAN NIGHTGOWN.

Your MOUTH OPENS clean as a cat’s. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try

Your handful of notes;

THE CLEAR VOWELS RISE LIKE BALLOONS.

Morning by Billy Collins


WHY DO WE BOTHER with the rest of the day,

the swale of the afternoon,

the sudden dip into evening,

then night with his NOTORIOUS perfumes,

his many-pointed stars?

THIS IS THE BEST—

THROWING OFF THE LIGHT COVERS,

FEET ON THE COLD FLOOR,

and buzzing around the house on espresso—

maybe A SPLASH OF WATER ON THE FACE,

a palmful of vitamins—

but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso,

dictionary and atlas open on the rug,

the typewriter waiting for the key of the head,

a cello on the radio,

 and, if necessary, the windows—

trees fifty, a hundred years old

OUT THERE,

heavy clouds on the way

and the lawn steaming like a horse

IN THE EARLY MORNING.

Early Morning Cento

rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens
i am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
prepar'd to scrub the entry and the stairs






love set off like a fat gold watch
mouth open
all night long his lordship's notorious breath
moves in my ears

in the early morning
throwing off the light covers
feet on the  cold floor
betty stumbling from her master's bed has flown
softly stole to discompose her own
cow heavy and floral in a victorian nightgown
 




a splash of water on the face here and there
brickdust moll in muddy skirts
whirl'd her mop with dext'rous airs
in shriller notes scream'd  through half a street
the clear vowels rose like balloons




school boys slip-shod youth
stand round  blankly as walls
why do we bother




ruddy morn's voices buzzing
sprinkles of pink roses among an aimless smile
on the face  from a passer-by out there
this is the best


Mid Week Motif - Poets United



Poems: Provided complete on this blog. Click Rall.


Morning At the Window  - T S Eliot

Morning Song -  Sylvia Plath

Morning  - Billy Collins

A Description Of The Morning  - Jonathan Swift

Christmas Corner

a friend
has a family get together
every year




putting up his splendid christmas tree






inspired and not to be outdone
rall rushed out and bought
a tree as well
to celebrate the spirit of the season
in a small corner
of her cosy cluttered apartment


it's beginning
to look a lot like christmas
in miniature

Carpe Diem #1553 - Pampas Grass Waving

feathered mud flowers
enjoying the moonlit lake
waving not drowning

For The Weekend

Heeding Haiku with Chevrefeuille - MLMM

SYDNEY

gales of dust
wild windstorms
trees upturned

ferries cancelled
planes cancelled
trains cancelled

health warning
for asthmatics
stay indoors

two days now
have plenty of food water grog
christmas cake mince pies
candles movies music
could hold up here for a month
easily





thanks nana for the advice
no matter what
always have provisions
water and  cash
never talk to strangers
never open an umbrella indoors
never read coffee grains ( only tea leaves )
never look up at the sky on valentines day
(if you see a robin flying overhead you'll end up marrying a sailor)
if you break a mirror bury the shards in the moonlight
(otherwise seven years bad luck )
never attempt to make mayonnaise if you are menstruating
never leave the house without wearing clean underwear
(in case you get hit by a bus)
and always have cab fare

grandmas are treasures
sensible and strange advice
passed down through  the ages

Poetry Pantry - Poets United

Iceland’s Banned TV Christmas Advert... Say hello to Rang-tan. #NoPalmOi...

there was a little monkey
who did not like shampoo
and when you watch this video
you'll understand why too

Midweek Motif - Poets United

I am an Amearican too Robert
I have orange hair and a big fan club
No one calls me God over here
Although I do have it written on my t shirt
to remind everyone

Haiku Horizons

discarded toy truck
good sleeping arrangements for
a couple of snails

A Cento

The poems massacred are:

Supermarket in California - Alan Ginsberg

Pied Beauty - Gerard Manly Hopkins

This poem was written when I first started my blog. I was much more adventurous nine years ago I think.

With a headache I dream
wandering in and out of
the brilliant stacks of cans
following you-

Where are we going?
the doors close in an hour
Charon quit poling the ferry

I saw you Walt Whitman
Praise him
lonely old grubber
eyeing the grocery boys
Glory be to God for dappled things
what peaches and what penumbras!

every frozen delicacy
chestnut falls finches'wings
rose -moles all in stipple upon trout
sweet sour
whatever is fickle or freckled
bananas
at what price?

i heard you asking questions
lonely old courage teacher
self conscious looking at the full moon
dreaming of your enumerations
on the black waters of Lethe

Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America?
You got out on a smoking bank
I stood watching the boat disappear

We'll both be lonely
poking among the meats in the refrigerator

Who killed the pork chops?

And you,Garcia Lorca
Are you my Angel?
What were you doing down by the watermelons?

Poetry Pantry - Poets United

Stevie Wonder - Don't you worry bout a thing For The Weekend

Don't you worry bout a thing
Enjoy the weekend

Erasure Poem - Neruda

If You Forget Me 

I want you to know
one thing



Portrait by Katherine Jeanne Wood

if you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you 

do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you decide
to leave me at the shore
I will set off
to seek another land.

But (after a time)
if you feel that you are destined for me
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire  is extinguished
your love will be without  mine.





Imaginary Garden with Real Toads


From the Latin word for “patchwork," the cento (or collage poem) is a poetic form made up of lines from poems by other poets. Though poets often borrow lines from other writers and mix them in with their own, a true cento is composed entirely of lines from other sources. Early examples can be found in the work of Homer and Virgil.

Found poetry is a type of poetry created by taking words, phrases, and sometimes whole passages from other sources and reframing them as poetry (a literary equivalent of a collage) by making changes in spacing and lines, or by adding or deleting text, thus imparting new meaning.

The Penny Droppeth Or The Enlightenment of An Ageing Poet

 and you would never have managed any of it without
the support of the women in your life...dear sir



the wife




the mistress


i have done a few things
in my  strange little life
without mr. dicken's
impressive virtues
but then
cleaning the pantry
writing poems
sorting my jewellery box
writing more poems
making meatballs
reading poems
doing piles of laundry
making lists
day dreaming
may not be perceived as significant
or quite in the same league

when a poet gets older
removing her rose tinted specs
making touch down to earth
after a life time spent in the clouds
she realises that a
lot of these affirmations
by famous men



are nothing but furtive ways
of keeping a woman
chained to a subservient position
as carer and nurturer
(dogsbody)



(service with a smile)
so that  a man can fulfill his potential and dreams

 

  And So Say All Of Us....Geoffrey !

Mid Week Motif - Poets United

Aussie big-wave legend Ross Clarke-Jones nearly drowns in Portugal

heart stopping moment
at fifty one not so smart
fortune smiled that day

Haiku Horizons

Cherita For Toby

it broke my heart to give you away

after years you found your way back
you had walked for miles to find us

unimaginable grief and sorrow followed
which has never left me
i had to send you back again


imaginary garden with read toads
 Marian's Fussy Little Forms

Fleetwood Mac - Everywhere- For The Weekend

Becky Sharp

becky sharp
a fictional character?

i went to school with becky
i was surrounded by beckies as a student
beckies inhabited my social life for most of my adult years

thackeray  knew becky like a second skin
she has survived for centuries darting in and out of our lives
becky and i parted company long ago
for a fictional character she was hyper real and ever present
besides living a novel was just too exhausting






Midweek Motif - Poets United

For The Weekend

they're in to win
dancing irish jigs
greek style

Haiku Horizons - 'game'