poetry diary

Poetry is just the evidence of your life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. (Leonard Cohen)

Month: June, 2011

Continental

Why does it feel so different here?
Is it the equilibrium of cafés;
watching and welcoming, like your longed-for arms?
Or the cobbled streets under my feet,
shared with purposed, pretty people?
Or the language of love and romance,
calling from every wall and lip?
Or the sense that we’ve been here before,
and nothing matters in the end,
except good food, good company and you;
who could be with me but aren’t,
and let me pretend –
I am no longer English,
and suddenly everyone is friends.

————————

In Brussels for a two day meeting at the EU. Submitted to poetry potluck week 43.

A perfect evening

Your-eye-blue contemplative sky;
soft focus on the lazy way
once-brushed day-end clouds flow
effortlessly, like your hair
around the warm, welcome home
of another perfect evening.

Your face is in this moment
looking into me, and smiling;
looking out from me, and redefining
every plant and stone.

Time flowing like the clouds,
reflected in the river
passing slowly, this evening;
fading gently, this evening;
speaking softly, this evening;
uniquely, this evening;
as always, this evening.

I am floating, this evening,
on the eddies;
on the whispers;
on the ripples;
on the darkness,
and the mystery
of your love.

—————————

I should have grown out of romanticism a long time ago, I sometimes think. But I didn’t. A friend of mine told me this week that love matures through romance (and maybe vice versa too?). This poem is for her.

Astronomy

Moments of emotion spinning
like planets in an empty sky.
Space and time pass, and mean nothing;
universes defined and made
as orbits chase and intersect.

So how can I love you,
creator of my worlds?

Come in, and be my astrolabe
and starship all in one; my earth
and meteor storm; my asteroid;
my airlock and my telescope.

It’s lonely out with dark matter,
And satellites are few.
So hard to change direction now;
without your gravitation’s pull.

———————–

A first go at playing with this metaphor.

Triathalon

Breathless;
wet, bubbles and mud.
Bodies;
slipping and kicking.
Dark;
no one to help.
Breathless.

Breathe –
not enough, more, dark
wet;
breathless,
lost,
breathless,
alone;
breathe –
I’ll never make this.
Breathless.

Too far.

Breathe,
tiredness,
heavy,
sinking,
lift;
breathe and look:
Almost – next time.
Look, yes:
the bank,
breathless,
BREATHE!
Hope
the bank
breathless
breathe
the bank
wet
hope
breathe
a hint of rhythm
the bank
breathe
wet
breathe
wet
breathe
bank
tired
breathless
breathe
hope
breathe
wet
breathe
bank
a hand!
surprise
(so nice)
walk
jog
hill
hard
so much air
run
hard
legs
tired
“Come on Dad!”
(joy – I’m loved)
faster
down
careful
slippy
turn
run
oh this is good
stop.

———-

Yesterday I swam 750m across Blenheim Palace Lake as part of the Blenheim Triathalon. We did the relay event (so I had two colleagues doing the cycling and running bits) but it was still quite challenging for three complete novices….. Our total time was 1 hr 36 minutes and we came 116 out of 300 teams. My swim bit took me 15 mins 1 sec (!) and I came 92nd on my leg (and 85th for running up the hill to the relay changeover at the end!). It was hard and didn’t feel as much fun as it would have been swimming across the lake without racing. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have swum at all without the race being organised. Now I want to do it again…..

(This is also a great use for a palace lake, I think.)

Piku – Desire

wanting you
I
water flowers

flowers, wet,
bow,
embrace sunlight

sun lightening
skies,
casts new shadows

shadows touch
men
quietly wanting

wanting you
I
water flowers.

————–
This is a ‘piku’ for Tilly Bud’s wewritepoems prompt. The form must be 3,1,4 syllable lines, using the digits from the mathematical constant pi (3.14159…). There may be more in that idea, I suspect.

Being vaguely mathematical (but only 9-5 Mon-Fri) I have made my piku go round in a circle, after a little prompting (see comments).