Category: poem

In Commemoration of the WordPress Daily Prompt – While Struggling with the Sudden Realisation that From Now On any Boot up the Backside will have to be Mine!

R eached the
E nd of
T he
R oad with nowhere to look but
O ver my
S houlder at all those
P oems I wrote under the influence –
E very day a new word, prompting me to draw heady notions from the
C ellar of my mind and pour
T hem
I nto leaky
V essels just like this one. And around about now I’d usually think about
E nding.

Ah well, onwards and upwards! There’s always the dictionary, opened at random. Close your eyes, stick a finger on the page … presidency. Er … perhaps resist easy salvoes in Donald’s extremely nervous company, yeah?

Hmm, not bad, though I say so myself as shouldn’t. Random has always been my preference over Predictable. I love starting sentences with no idea how I’m going to finish them … said the new prisoner to her uneasy jailer. What I’d really like is to come up with something absolutely original that would make everyone else kick themselves for never having thought it. In other words something so blindingly obvious, it would be hiding in plain sight.

A pipe dream, of course, because how could so many billions of people miss such an evident truth?

Surely the only way that could happen would be if they weren’t talking to each other properly … if they were subject to leaders (or leaders of opinion) who told them what to believe and who to associate with … if they were working all the hours available just to make ends meet … if their brief acquaintance with leisure pursuits was dominated by an overwhelming desire to escape … if their circle of friends and thereby access to different viewpoints was – for a whole variety of reasons that were largely beyond their immediate control – narrowing … if their default response to other points of view was not to debate them but to demonise them … if – but hang it all, why am I wasting time wondering about all these hypotheticals when the plain reality is that there’s nothing new under the sun, you can’t teach your grandma to suck eggs and everything you buy does exactly what it says on the tin?

Why worry? Be happy. And yet …

To wrestle with my disquiet about things, I used to keep a journal. And then another. When the word-count exceeded The Encyclopaedia BritannicaI called it a day. Now I just write on a single sheet of A4 whenever I feel like it – chance observations, stuff I copy down, things I overhear – the usual sort of thing, only nowadays I try to make connections because I know that when I come to the end of the second side I have to flip back over and write a title which encapsulates the whole kit and caboodle.

One of the greatest double acts ever to grace the variety stage, incidentally. Like most  comic pairings, their humour derived from an uneven relationship. Although the same gender, age, ethnic origin and profession, they were drastically different in terms of personality and behaviour. Where Kit – the straight man, feed, dead wood, or stooge – was reasonable and serious, Caboodle – the funny man, banana man or comic – was amusing, less pretentious, silly and relentlessly zany.

These stage personae were, of course, entirely fictitious. In private life Kit was the life and soul of the party and would do anything for you, while Caboodle was a poisonous killjoy whose only pleasures were malicious gossip and petty humiliation. Their greatness, for those who style themselves connoisseurs of the comic arts, lies in a transcendence of mere humour in favour of a kind of existential embarrassment. Kit and Caboodle were never afraid to die onstage and often did.

Coming Soon:  Plan B

Image result for stage curtains

Image: Marketing Solutions

Stimulus: WordPress Daily Prompt Retrospective

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doncha know the feeling

know the feeling
              doncha
      slumping in your chair like a 
      dumpling when 
breezes in the chimneybreast
begin to whisper of
somewhere                        anywhere
              doncha
                when you have
no wish to turn on your television
                        radio
                        computer
                        phone 
as the world they bring 
is not your             own 
& now you are suddenly 
    nowhere                     everywhere
hearing on the wind      in the flue 
             a world that draws you 
                                cooing doves &
                                cries of children &
                                cars swishing by
               doncha 
   wish to open the jailhouse door
   walk free with
   no particular place
        to go but out                                     & away

know the feeling  
               doncha
                      from way back when those
                      grumpy grownups growled
                      get lost &
               doncha come back before dusk

     haha 
     never the same road twice 
                 when you & your best friends
                 walked & walked until you reached 
                           those unknown hedges
                                         houses
                                         highways
                                         hidden byways to a
                           world you had never been
                             tree trunks never climbed
                                   faces never seen
                         streams you had never dammed
                         streetnames you never heard
     haha
     whole estates of footballers
                      poets
                      scientists
                      explorers & 
               doncha
           recall how full it felt to
           return at dusk with treasure trove
                               a strip cartoon of images
                               drawn from a Brilliant day
                 when you'd wandered in a novelty
                            wonderland 
        
      fresh pastures glimpsed but once though
            present   still & steady yet for
            future days as souvenirs of
                   days gone by &
                      still to be that
                               boy or girl you were &
                      still to see whatever's new &
                      still to     walk free with                                            
                                              no particular place to
                                              go 
                 
               doncha still                   go out          & away
                         

Image result for walk to get lostOlive Branch & Co

(Image)

Substitute

Z eitgeist Monitors stationed
O n the third planet report a disturbing displacement
O f natural realities by seductive virtual facsimiles.

 

 

An acrostic poem suggested by the WordPress Daily Prompt Zoo and in response to an uneasy feeling that we may be lost in a collective trance of our own devising. At first I thought it was just me but The Who also appear to have noticed something strange …