In keeping with...

Sonnet 1#

A spill, of late - in a dream we abide
some heart, a dredged lone wreck - ringing
in gloomed grey water - a near singing
resonance, a long haul hymn to the tide.

In each churn kept some neat reason to hide
broad tone songs with such lust, such low blessing -
murmured prayer, a principle changing,
tailored need to find brief things to confide.

What murmur, it is a tongue soon stilled,
set and so saved, repenting all but a name -
conversion made in brash storm-churned sea.

Forgive an angered word, the throat trilled
a note of love, a long hush all the same,
forgive a spill of late, a desire to be free.


Sonnet 2

Setting off so, I feel a crisp absence -
a wish to see you again manifests.
Frost plundered boots wet with long tread.
Chilled press of damp flesh confirms it,
our day together spent in a shiver.

In passing I took it to heart, this part
of a walk, an embrace given to mute
satisfaction, no pondering drive, a reason
to embrace. I guess you have to forgive
me, I broke the silence with this faint thought

In the end you will not want me, I guess
I am certain of that. I am breaking
a silence to save the chatter of teeth.
I am not given to frantic displays.

Sonnet 3

Of the/two of/ us you/are immor/tal
and free/ una/fraid to/ break the/ line or/
even/ fall ov/er it/I am/ghastly with/
envy/a green/hue a fat/trick of/your speech/
I had /a dream/ where you/came back/ and told/
me that/ we were fun/dament/ally free/ of one/
anoth/er I/ guess you/ owed me/that too/
though in/ fact I/ don’t feel/ that way/
you did/nt owe/me any/thing you/ are the/
one who/is im/mortal/and free/and I/
am aw/are you/ are the/ reason/ I find/ it so
easy/ to fall/ in love/ or at/least you/
had some/part in/it I/ wish on/ly the/
best for/you I/am learn/ing to/be free.


I set myself the task of writing a few sonnets recently - just as a technical exercise to get myself back into writing in a more structured manner. As you can see I've not had a tremendous success with retaining the sonnet's rigidity of form - but the process was fun and I've got some new poems out so it. I think also that there is something more personal in these pieces, perhaps because my brain wasn't engaged with finding overly-complex metaphors for everything.

A reminder to yo'self

Cheerfully filling in a personal statement for an MA application at the moment, it's dawned on me that I've done an awful lot recently. This is no bad thing at all, and long may it continue. Sometimes it's easy to get sidetracked and forget that the direction things are going is largely a good one. Okay - it's not an epiphany as such as a slight realisation, but here's a poem to cheer you along for the time being:

Exchange

your coy shivered erection
breaks the surface of
the frozen water

your shy shameful shaft
flourishes in the frigid
tundra

a sub-zero lady of the lake
lay-man’s hand grasping


clumsy and repulsive
floundering for breath
a pervert caught in the

process of the plunge

course when it comes to it
there will be talk of
symbolic exchange

what such a dip
meant
why the focus

on your throbbing distended
(seemingly detached) member?
why the feminine and frozen

aligned in close monstrous function?
Why do you give a damn?
you didn’t even

see it happen.

Festive Season

Interesting blogs from both Luke Wright and Tim Clare about the 'practitioner as business manager' debate.

The Sale of

usual grounding pathologies
shrunk aesthetic – another time aped
the pounding of sheet metal to rough
unpolished tokens to line rooftops a
landscape gloomed by the spitting rain – unstable reflections
on the darkened window as the gargoyle garbles rain water
    onto those below – boxed tower – a summit that fails to taper
it has no floodlights to pick  clarify identify detail least
grey stone imposing dull sonorous impressions
even in photographs
the push of the blanch blocks is firm near unmoving
not the sort for the holiday snap it takes its absence
the stern defiant lips of a speaker “See brother the light, and the light”
    the skull-cap an activist pauses proud
    pouts in excelsis his traipse affirmed
true there are no floodlights to pick out the hollowing shadows
that gloom then fresh depths announced only at twilight – a dawn light
is too sharp a sweep even in summer all must take place in twilight the         sudden calling of spaces    

The Sale of

usual grounding pathologies
shrunk aesthetic – another time aped
the pounding of sheet metal to rough
unpolished tokens to line rooftops a
landscape gloomed by the spitting rain – unstable reflections
on the darkened window as the gargoyle garbles rain water
    onto those below – boxed tower – a summit that fails to taper
it has no floodlights to pick  clarify identify detail least
grey stone imposing dull sonorous impressions
even in photographs
the push of the blanch blocks is firm near unmoving
not the sort for the holiday snap it takes its absence
the stern defiant lips of a speaker “See brother the light, and the light”
    the skull-cap an activist pauses proud
    pouts in excelsis his traipse affirmed
true there are no floodlights to pick out the hollowing shadows
that gloom then fresh depths announced only at twilight – a dawn light
is too sharp a sweep even in summer all must take place in twilight the         sudden calling of spaces    

Spill

The young furred tongue
unravels with languor by the oily water,
lapping three cautious times –

a crimson sock blanches dark,
a rich scent, a sense of things,
not knowing the better

uncouth and ill-equipped to discern,
the palette shrinks.
“Let them believe they are fit for the work,

and that the work is fit for them.”
In line, each of them in line, let them love their roles;
hungered, sick,

swilling fresh coatings, churn, a gastric impulse –
gracious nodding, stifled belch and back to the
spot by the rainbow water that puddles

on the factory floor.

11:01

a gruff rusted bell
 thick pages
a cheek with
    impressed our
last weakened blow to the chin
        a bell
clapper a cheek with
a clapped hand
    the cheek with
the bell chimed the hour
late
it is time to turn in