POW PROMPT 13
Time to put your poem on. I wonder how classical music inspired your muse.
I was inspired by Alfred Brendel and Schubert.I tried to express the thoughts and feelings that I have when I listen to this beautiful piece . The German Title means 'Many Thanks'
I used German because both Schubert and Brendel are German.
Rallentanda
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
Alfred Brendel
The Last of the Greats
Ich bedanke mich herzlich
Swimming through clouds
backstroking breast stroking
darting ballet back and forth
a soloist in a school of fish
rhythmically changing directions
an urging towards light and peace
surging through joy
none of it mattered in the end
all the struggles pain and sacrifice
grooming prodigies grooming dynasties
all the slights and failures
measuring up
measuring up to rigid rules
discarding precious youth
dissolving disregarding time
what did all the cleverness achieve
climbing the pile to the top
Success?
in the end
none of it mattered
just a puff of dust
a floating memory
of a warm hand
an unexpected smile
an act of kindness
humility in greatness
a few soft words
That's what it was
Friday, July 23, 2010
Winter
Response to BTP prompt.
It is impossible for me to have a favourite anything but I owe it to Will to place him at the top of all poets. The more literature I study the more I realise how much the English language is in his debt. When I was about ten I was introduced to
'Winter' by Shakespeare and it struck a chord. I wrote my first poem that year .I had never seen snow but I knew of the bitter wind and the hacking coughs in the school chapel and saw the whole Shakespeare scene with a great clarity . The picture that the poem conjures up for me is the same in detail even to this day.
Winter
In Heidi plaits
And pink flannelettes
She danced
With her big orange cat
In her kitchen flat
To the strains of
Old time tunes
I'm going to be an artist
I'm going to be a writer
She sang by the light of the moon
But as she swayed and cavorted
The mood began to change
The soft white paws around her neck
Clawed deeply into her vein
Thud! Suddenly doubt's hand of gloom
Dropped her orange furred boy
And as she stood up
Boltright still
It mocked her song of joy
And cried plaintively into the night
Tu-whoo
Tu-whit Tu-whoo!
Is it true
Is it true?
Are you sure
That you are you?
Knowing that the game was up
Poor greasy Joan
Then lost the plot
Her day dreams buried and denied
Reality exchanged for her sin of pride
Grease and grime in rag torn frocks
Chillblained feet was for her lot
Back to fetching chamber pots
Back to bending bowing and scraping
Keel Joan Keel
Keel that pot
It is impossible for me to have a favourite anything but I owe it to Will to place him at the top of all poets. The more literature I study the more I realise how much the English language is in his debt. When I was about ten I was introduced to
'Winter' by Shakespeare and it struck a chord. I wrote my first poem that year .I had never seen snow but I knew of the bitter wind and the hacking coughs in the school chapel and saw the whole Shakespeare scene with a great clarity . The picture that the poem conjures up for me is the same in detail even to this day.
Winter
In Heidi plaits
And pink flannelettes
She danced
With her big orange cat
In her kitchen flat
To the strains of
Old time tunes
I'm going to be an artist
I'm going to be a writer
She sang by the light of the moon
But as she swayed and cavorted
The mood began to change
The soft white paws around her neck
Clawed deeply into her vein
Thud! Suddenly doubt's hand of gloom
Dropped her orange furred boy
And as she stood up
Boltright still
It mocked her song of joy
And cried plaintively into the night
Tu-whoo
Tu-whit Tu-whoo!
Is it true
Is it true?
Are you sure
That you are you?
Knowing that the game was up
Poor greasy Joan
Then lost the plot
Her day dreams buried and denied
Reality exchanged for her sin of pride
Grease and grime in rag torn frocks
Chillblained feet was for her lot
Back to fetching chamber pots
Back to bending bowing and scraping
Keel Joan Keel
Keel that pot
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Something For The Weekend
PROMPT 13 POW
Marta Argerich and Anoushka Shankar are two brilliant musicians who share similarities and striking differences in both culture and art media.
Let their magical performances inspire your next POW poem.
May the Musical Gods ring in your ears all weekend!
LOFT...Michael Dransfield (1948 - 1973 )
LOFT
( for Hilary)
Sometimes in the night i stir,rain
has been falling and darker than
evening is the sound of overspilling
water from the roof,two pairs of
jeans move slightly with a breeze
from the window.traffic.in the button
hole of my coat the yellow of a daisy.
thunder.lightning is a bruise of pale
havoc around my eye's coast,and my arm,or
hers, draws in under a blanket from
the first morning of winter
KISS OF DEATH..Bruce Dawe (1930-
What I fear from you
Elegant ladies who move
With stately steps and
Heads held high,eyes clear
Around and about your ordered
Drawing room world
Is not these delicate facts in themselves
( The tune you are moving to
Finished long ago).
Primp as you will your
Concept of yourselves
(Stand in a pose by the mantel,
Shoulders just so,
Toy with a wine glass,
A chivalrous opponent,words )
- But of your charity
Regard my feelings:
Promise me one thing only- that the next
Slim volume you take up with a rapturous cry
Shall never be mine
- I am too young to die...
Elegant ladies who move
With stately steps and
Heads held high,eyes clear
Around and about your ordered
Drawing room world
Is not these delicate facts in themselves
( The tune you are moving to
Finished long ago).
Primp as you will your
Concept of yourselves
(Stand in a pose by the mantel,
Shoulders just so,
Toy with a wine glass,
A chivalrous opponent,words )
- But of your charity
Regard my feelings:
Promise me one thing only- that the next
Slim volume you take up with a rapturous cry
Shall never be mine
- I am too young to die...
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