It was a couple of years back when my man came down from the wold,
And the joyous light from heaven shone brightly in his eye;
For he had seen a choir of angels split the midnight sky;
Their song had lit the darkness, their dance had warmed the cold.
We wedded later on that year: his strong arms did enfold
My arcing back. His sweet lips gave silence to my cry
Of ecstasy that equalled that angel song on high,
And gently kissed our first born boy upon his head of gold.
That lad, he sleeps at last. And my man is out, so bold:
With pitchfork and with hedging knife, Herod’s soldiers to defy.
And I have sung the song those angels sang - a final lullaby;
Of love, of hope, of kingdom come, and a fitful sleep cajoled.
"Adonai, I beseech thee: cherish this childsoul: keep him as thine own
And understand the evil a man might do before his son is slain by Rome."
Y.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Monday, April 02, 2007
DM Rocks
As the sweat pools
At the bottom of my back
In the summer heat,
Oh how I wish this pitch
Wasn't so steep!
The earphones pump like
The twinges in my muscles,
As I feel lithe strips
Slip over one another
With intermittent pops
Of cartilage.
A bit of Candid and
Dave Matthews...
Yeah I know what that's
Like Dave to Smoke "Too Much".
God you rock my world.
I feel like you're
playing live next to me
As I reach.
The sun is so high
And the muscle ache is crazy,
But sitting with my warm
Sandwich and chatty partner
Helps the buzz settle
To the faded cheers of crowds.
At the bottom of my back
In the summer heat,
Oh how I wish this pitch
Wasn't so steep!
The earphones pump like
The twinges in my muscles,
As I feel lithe strips
Slip over one another
With intermittent pops
Of cartilage.
A bit of Candid and
Dave Matthews...
Yeah I know what that's
Like Dave to Smoke "Too Much".
God you rock my world.
I feel like you're
playing live next to me
As I reach.
The sun is so high
And the muscle ache is crazy,
But sitting with my warm
Sandwich and chatty partner
Helps the buzz settle
To the faded cheers of crowds.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Sheer Calm
The oblique sheers
Tear at palms
And looking down's
No time for qualms.
The obelisk citadel
Has many a charm
But all are retrospective
For now you must be calm.
Tear at palms
And looking down's
No time for qualms.
The obelisk citadel
Has many a charm
But all are retrospective
For now you must be calm.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Cassa's tale
We left the ships
At the place of the sacrifice
And treaded the trackless woods.
Two days we walked: Two days!
Until the ground fell away
A curved scarp, a broken bowl
Bounded by the line
Of the Giants' way.
A pleasant place!
Well drained soil: Hazel and Alder
Grew in the sun on the Southern slopes
And fresh water springs: fresh springs
Gushed forth from the hill foot
And good clay, for jars and bowls.
Traders walked the line
Of the Giants' way
And to the North
Pitta's folk lived, farmed their land
Ploughed with oxen, raised sheep and goats.
I met old Man Pitta - Old Man Pitta
And handfasted my daughter
To his grandson. My peaceweaver
Said her vows on the line
Of the Giants' way.
It has my name
This valley. My legacy.
And whenever elders gather to speak the law
They will call it Cassa's Hop. Cassa's Hop
Where Cassa's folk tend the earth
And travellers, traders, teachers from the Whitechrist
Will call my name from the line
Of the Giant's way.
At the place of the sacrifice
And treaded the trackless woods.
Two days we walked: Two days!
Until the ground fell away
A curved scarp, a broken bowl
Bounded by the line
Of the Giants' way.
A pleasant place!
Well drained soil: Hazel and Alder
Grew in the sun on the Southern slopes
And fresh water springs: fresh springs
Gushed forth from the hill foot
And good clay, for jars and bowls.
Traders walked the line
Of the Giants' way
And to the North
Pitta's folk lived, farmed their land
Ploughed with oxen, raised sheep and goats.
I met old Man Pitta - Old Man Pitta
And handfasted my daughter
To his grandson. My peaceweaver
Said her vows on the line
Of the Giants' way.
It has my name
This valley. My legacy.
And whenever elders gather to speak the law
They will call it Cassa's Hop. Cassa's Hop
Where Cassa's folk tend the earth
And travellers, traders, teachers from the Whitechrist
Will call my name from the line
Of the Giant's way.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Snow Blind
Never take these words for granted.
As snow, they will fall and freeze,
everything you know will turn white,
blank as the eye of an ice seal.
That is how Eskimos lose their way,
too much snow, it is why they bead
their moccasins and fur their hoods,
why their faces turn brown with wind
and sun, why they walk for miles and miles,
in search of the perfect nose rub,
by the light of a lamp, fueled by whale fat,
just to hear Nagligivaget
just to feel her eyelashes against a wrist
just to shed the skin of a thousand tribes
I have walked far to find you,
I am weary, let me rest;
Nagligivaget
I love you.
As snow, they will fall and freeze,
everything you know will turn white,
blank as the eye of an ice seal.
That is how Eskimos lose their way,
too much snow, it is why they bead
their moccasins and fur their hoods,
why their faces turn brown with wind
and sun, why they walk for miles and miles,
in search of the perfect nose rub,
by the light of a lamp, fueled by whale fat,
just to hear Nagligivaget
just to feel her eyelashes against a wrist
just to shed the skin of a thousand tribes
I have walked far to find you,
I am weary, let me rest;
Nagligivaget
I love you.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Another poem that sort of rhymes but doesn't scan
UKC -
You bore me
With poetry.
Mediocrity
Seems to be
Perfunctory,
Despite the
Nightly mockery
Of judiciary.
It strikes me
As self-congratulatory
And quite frankly
I don't have the time to read it all.
Zap away! ;-)
You bore me
With poetry.
Mediocrity
Seems to be
Perfunctory,
Despite the
Nightly mockery
Of judiciary.
It strikes me
As self-congratulatory
And quite frankly
I don't have the time to read it all.
Zap away! ;-)
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sunset at worms head
Who needs Lucy in the sky
when there for all to watch
an iridescent basket ball
bounces on the sea.
Shoals of carrots, aubergines and lettuces
swirl into fluorescent skies, across the worm
and on to distant Lundy.
A pod of dolphins form a choir
to sing 'Bohemian Rhapsody
as turtles fly around the sun
and seals slap sides in harmony.
The beach smiles - radiant, blushing.
I wonder if, tonight, she might at last
release the ghosts
of seamen buried in her sandy belly?
Chris Wyatt 2007
when there for all to watch
an iridescent basket ball
bounces on the sea.
Shoals of carrots, aubergines and lettuces
swirl into fluorescent skies, across the worm
and on to distant Lundy.
A pod of dolphins form a choir
to sing 'Bohemian Rhapsody
as turtles fly around the sun
and seals slap sides in harmony.
The beach smiles - radiant, blushing.
I wonder if, tonight, she might at last
release the ghosts
of seamen buried in her sandy belly?
Chris Wyatt 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Eclipse
(Note: this is based on a short extract from a book called "The Life of Willibrord", written by Alcuin of York in about 750. I am using C. H. Talbot's edition:
"Filled with fear, she awoke at once and went to recount the dream to a holy priest, who asked her whether during the night the vision came she had known her husband in the customary way. When she assented...." )
"Why do you ask me that?
You who have not known a woman!
But yes, I bestraddled him
And my breasts hung like twin moons
Eclipsed by his hands or mouth.
"Then later, as he slept
My mind's eye saw the crescent moon
Swell: grow to fullness
"So, what means this, friend priest."
Yrmenlaf
"Filled with fear, she awoke at once and went to recount the dream to a holy priest, who asked her whether during the night the vision came she had known her husband in the customary way. When she assented...." )
"Why do you ask me that?
You who have not known a woman!
But yes, I bestraddled him
And my breasts hung like twin moons
Eclipsed by his hands or mouth.
"Then later, as he slept
My mind's eye saw the crescent moon
Swell: grow to fullness
"So, what means this, friend priest."
Yrmenlaf
At first glance, he seems the younger man,
Bright gortex pulled tight against the wind
It is the rucksack -
Surely the load he carries -
That makes him so slow up the hill.
The other, sheltered by the wall from the squalls:
Waits, huddled by the gate, until the time
For the exchange of words
Wisdom or foolishness
For two men in this wildness must speak.
"There is nothing beyond" He keeps his face hid
Beneath the brim of his shepherd's hat
"Many have ventured this way
Across the fells
None have returned to green pasture"
The first man laughed: despite the storm and his load,
He laughed. "We played together, you and I
As children. You lied then
And you lie now.
See: I leave here my legacy: bread, wine and light."
Y.
Bright gortex pulled tight against the wind
It is the rucksack -
Surely the load he carries -
That makes him so slow up the hill.
The other, sheltered by the wall from the squalls:
Waits, huddled by the gate, until the time
For the exchange of words
Wisdom or foolishness
For two men in this wildness must speak.
"There is nothing beyond" He keeps his face hid
Beneath the brim of his shepherd's hat
"Many have ventured this way
Across the fells
None have returned to green pasture"
The first man laughed: despite the storm and his load,
He laughed. "We played together, you and I
As children. You lied then
And you lie now.
See: I leave here my legacy: bread, wine and light."
Y.
The Work of Reassembly
The man rakes through knapped flakes
of flint, like leaves or blades, slices
of a body. He pictures unknown molluscs boring
into chalk, breaking down, leaving holes
that fill slowly with black, going bad, going hard;
thinks of an edge slitting hide, a heart flapping
in its own cavity. He finds the next piece,
sticks it carefully to the last, Superglue and blood
on his fingers. He’s surrounded here by flint,
a thousand facets, more, spread out in shiny slices,
eyes staring up, frozen, each preserving an image
of a man swinging a stone blade, working flint,
moments captured in an immutable emulsion
of geology, fixed in leaching calcites and metamorphic
pressure - a record of clicking, grunting, industry
of rainfall or sunlight, smells of roasting
flesh, fur, cracking of fat and bone -
but he knows that these eyes look out only
from the impossible. These are not the flint roads
to a land of the dead, we shall not reach out
quivering hands to our mitochondria through this
avalanche of fossil. There are no sparks left
here, these fragments are cold as fish scales
to his fingers, this pool blind to both oceans
and the man refitting the scales, jigsawing through
codas of the Permian and Palaeolithic. He is precise,
determined; he assembles, he attempts, he rejects,
searches. He finds, growing in his hands, a nodule,
a flint - three dimensions, four, others perhaps
inert, coiled in a hole in the core in the shape
of an axe head. This is what he finds here
- holes - here in his hands, holes like words
transmitted from the Stone Age in its cataract
of sediment. He senses violence gestated, birthed
in these sockets, and his fingers sting
with the sensing. He knows the excitement,
the slight tremor as his fingers reach back,
adding more fragments, more of the hole, ignoring
the dreams that crowd upon him. He feels the void,
the discovery, absence, the discovery of absence.
The finding of holes. The shape of the absent -
he traces its periphery, its rim, feels the shape
of what has been taken. This is the beginning
of the work of reassembly: the finding of holes.
Later will come measuring and recording, cataloguing,
later still the taking of casts. Much later,
the tentative matching of specimens. For now,
he feels them in his hands, flints with no hearts,
light as pumice, warm as fists, dark as deep history.
Steve Parker - 2006.
of flint, like leaves or blades, slices
of a body. He pictures unknown molluscs boring
into chalk, breaking down, leaving holes
that fill slowly with black, going bad, going hard;
thinks of an edge slitting hide, a heart flapping
in its own cavity. He finds the next piece,
sticks it carefully to the last, Superglue and blood
on his fingers. He’s surrounded here by flint,
a thousand facets, more, spread out in shiny slices,
eyes staring up, frozen, each preserving an image
of a man swinging a stone blade, working flint,
moments captured in an immutable emulsion
of geology, fixed in leaching calcites and metamorphic
pressure - a record of clicking, grunting, industry
of rainfall or sunlight, smells of roasting
flesh, fur, cracking of fat and bone -
but he knows that these eyes look out only
from the impossible. These are not the flint roads
to a land of the dead, we shall not reach out
quivering hands to our mitochondria through this
avalanche of fossil. There are no sparks left
here, these fragments are cold as fish scales
to his fingers, this pool blind to both oceans
and the man refitting the scales, jigsawing through
codas of the Permian and Palaeolithic. He is precise,
determined; he assembles, he attempts, he rejects,
searches. He finds, growing in his hands, a nodule,
a flint - three dimensions, four, others perhaps
inert, coiled in a hole in the core in the shape
of an axe head. This is what he finds here
- holes - here in his hands, holes like words
transmitted from the Stone Age in its cataract
of sediment. He senses violence gestated, birthed
in these sockets, and his fingers sting
with the sensing. He knows the excitement,
the slight tremor as his fingers reach back,
adding more fragments, more of the hole, ignoring
the dreams that crowd upon him. He feels the void,
the discovery, absence, the discovery of absence.
The finding of holes. The shape of the absent -
he traces its periphery, its rim, feels the shape
of what has been taken. This is the beginning
of the work of reassembly: the finding of holes.
Later will come measuring and recording, cataloguing,
later still the taking of casts. Much later,
the tentative matching of specimens. For now,
he feels them in his hands, flints with no hearts,
light as pumice, warm as fists, dark as deep history.
Steve Parker - 2006.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Rondelet
I never knew
you very well. But now the man
I never knew
is on my mind. Perhaps your few
well-chosen words, concealed a plan
To know me too but understand
I never knew
Upordown
you very well. But now the man
I never knew
is on my mind. Perhaps your few
well-chosen words, concealed a plan
To know me too but understand
I never knew
Upordown
And
the star shines brightest at the tip of the
whitecap as it leaps and turns, travels up,
licks at the night to find the silver point,
the direction in which to travel,
faux in the pas of the twinkle
single shine in the constellation
and having found it, only once
beats back down into surf
restless, boiling, rolled into undercurrent
silver reflection burns through the surface
reminds it to leap again, this time higher
faster, washing into the tear of a star
that burns alone and waits for that lost kiss.
Notelvis
whitecap as it leaps and turns, travels up,
licks at the night to find the silver point,
the direction in which to travel,
faux in the pas of the twinkle
single shine in the constellation
and having found it, only once
beats back down into surf
restless, boiling, rolled into undercurrent
silver reflection burns through the surface
reminds it to leap again, this time higher
faster, washing into the tear of a star
that burns alone and waits for that lost kiss.
Notelvis
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Watching ballet in mother carey's kitchen
As I descend
I trust my life
to this nylon thread.
Below the white foam hypnotises;
another world
where surface equals vertical,
green transforms to white and grey,
where gulls and jackdaws
wheel and screech
and tiny fish
weave their silver paths
through deep, purple pools
I run the ropes through fingers,
commit to tantric dance,
edges, cracks,
and rock protrusions.
feet smeared, body twisted,
my universe collapsed to
seven feet of overhang
casting shadow.
I stretch, clasp, swing in space.
My heel curves around my head.
I pull, slap, latch a pocket,
pull again and I can stand.
I breathe.
The last few feet go by with ease,
my sequenced movements dance
in perfect choreography
I take my perch,
a grin across my face,
and my ankles dangling,
languid in the void.
The ballerina enters;
her dance, on fingers of wind,
her backdrop, sea, sky welded;
Eyes lock, wings tuck
She stoops unseen.
A thud,
a flurry of feathers
and a pigeon for her table
My head is bowed
in admiration.
Chris Wyatt 11/01/07
I trust my life
to this nylon thread.
Below the white foam hypnotises;
another world
where surface equals vertical,
green transforms to white and grey,
where gulls and jackdaws
wheel and screech
and tiny fish
weave their silver paths
through deep, purple pools
I run the ropes through fingers,
commit to tantric dance,
edges, cracks,
and rock protrusions.
feet smeared, body twisted,
my universe collapsed to
seven feet of overhang
casting shadow.
I stretch, clasp, swing in space.
My heel curves around my head.
I pull, slap, latch a pocket,
pull again and I can stand.
I breathe.
The last few feet go by with ease,
my sequenced movements dance
in perfect choreography
I take my perch,
a grin across my face,
and my ankles dangling,
languid in the void.
The ballerina enters;
her dance, on fingers of wind,
her backdrop, sea, sky welded;
Eyes lock, wings tuck
She stoops unseen.
A thud,
a flurry of feathers
and a pigeon for her table
My head is bowed
in admiration.
Chris Wyatt 11/01/07
Monday, January 08, 2007
Rattle
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Don't play with the silverware, the reflections you've seen
Go outside with this rag, and polish it clean.
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Put down your linen, your silks and your jewels
Go fetch the benches, the seats and the stools
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Stop stealing titbits from under my eye
Or you'll be bloated, too full to eat by and by
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Put down that sackbutt, that crumhorn, that shawm
I need this floor sweeping clean before dawn
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Stop practicing dance steps; slow, quick-quick, slow
There's bread to be made: hey you, knead this dough
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Y.
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Don't play with the silverware, the reflections you've seen
Go outside with this rag, and polish it clean.
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Put down your linen, your silks and your jewels
Go fetch the benches, the seats and the stools
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Stop stealing titbits from under my eye
Or you'll be bloated, too full to eat by and by
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Put down that sackbutt, that crumhorn, that shawm
I need this floor sweeping clean before dawn
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Stop practicing dance steps; slow, quick-quick, slow
There's bread to be made: hey you, knead this dough
Hey! No time for that, No time for fun
No time for playing, there's work to be done
Y.
Forbear
The three bears
Each presented their gifts
To the golden-headed Christ child:
Porridge with too much salt
A throne, too soft for judgement
And a comfortable bed -
So that the Christ might sleep
And make no noise.
And the fourth bear, the Magdalene,
Petrified in her lascivious debauchery
Faces the rain, the storms
Dances the heather swell
Of the moor edge
Scarred for all to see.
Y.
http://www.brimhamrocks.co.uk/gallery.cfm?pic=dancing_bear&p=1
Each presented their gifts
To the golden-headed Christ child:
Porridge with too much salt
A throne, too soft for judgement
And a comfortable bed -
So that the Christ might sleep
And make no noise.
And the fourth bear, the Magdalene,
Petrified in her lascivious debauchery
Faces the rain, the storms
Dances the heather swell
Of the moor edge
Scarred for all to see.
Y.
http://www.brimhamrocks.co.uk/gallery.cfm?pic=dancing_bear&p=1
Sunday, December 17, 2006
If
The shop bell rings.
He enters - the clerk flirts against
the periphery of his interest and giggles.
Whe he leaves, she forgets him
but feels more alive and so does he.
Weeks later, the blue sky
reminds her of his eyes
and she smiles.
The man at the party touches her leg
apologizes somewhat unprofusely
hands her his card and says
call me
She laughs and says sure
as he turns away, she crumples
his card into a tiny ball
and throws it under the table.
Her eyes bore a hole in his back
and he knows that she won't.
The woman he works for
suddenly appreciates his worth.
She knows now that he is strong
but has no idea what it took to cope.
He still has the fortitude and enough
affection to forgive. At times
he flusters her with his forward nature.
Someone she once knew
reads a poem thrown through space
like a message sucked through a
clear vacuum tube. He rubs his
eyes and pushes away a memory.
Forgets how hard his cosmic
dust hit the windshield, shattering
her into a million pieces.
The woman he lives with sees the
passion in his eyes and turns away
before it grips her. The man she lives
with ignores the fatigue in her eyes
and continues working. Somewhere,
children want to grow as tall as trees.
The woman on the train shifts
uncomfortably as he stares at her
stockings. The man who sells coffee
wonders why she inspects the shape
of his eyebrows. It is all about the
missing bits. The things that remind us
of one another. We turn, in different
spheres, and wonder;
If.
n.e.
He enters - the clerk flirts against
the periphery of his interest and giggles.
Whe he leaves, she forgets him
but feels more alive and so does he.
Weeks later, the blue sky
reminds her of his eyes
and she smiles.
The man at the party touches her leg
apologizes somewhat unprofusely
hands her his card and says
call me
She laughs and says sure
as he turns away, she crumples
his card into a tiny ball
and throws it under the table.
Her eyes bore a hole in his back
and he knows that she won't.
The woman he works for
suddenly appreciates his worth.
She knows now that he is strong
but has no idea what it took to cope.
He still has the fortitude and enough
affection to forgive. At times
he flusters her with his forward nature.
Someone she once knew
reads a poem thrown through space
like a message sucked through a
clear vacuum tube. He rubs his
eyes and pushes away a memory.
Forgets how hard his cosmic
dust hit the windshield, shattering
her into a million pieces.
The woman he lives with sees the
passion in his eyes and turns away
before it grips her. The man she lives
with ignores the fatigue in her eyes
and continues working. Somewhere,
children want to grow as tall as trees.
The woman on the train shifts
uncomfortably as he stares at her
stockings. The man who sells coffee
wonders why she inspects the shape
of his eyebrows. It is all about the
missing bits. The things that remind us
of one another. We turn, in different
spheres, and wonder;
If.
n.e.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Less Than Perfect
Is it too much to ask
To be beautiful
In your eyes?
Look upon me
And tell me what you see
Am I just that familiar image?
Am I just another girl?
Or am I something special?
Do I have to improve?
Do I have to change?
Perfect, less a smile you say –
Perfect, less something
Always –
Less than perfect
But do you see me
As imperfection
Perfectly?
Am I beautiful in your eyes?
Tell me –
mm548
To be beautiful
In your eyes?
Look upon me
And tell me what you see
Am I just that familiar image?
Am I just another girl?
Or am I something special?
Do I have to improve?
Do I have to change?
Perfect, less a smile you say –
Perfect, less something
Always –
Less than perfect
But do you see me
As imperfection
Perfectly?
Am I beautiful in your eyes?
Tell me –
mm548
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Architecture of Flirtation
My natural beautiful tendency
is to kiss you
and make it hurt
poison your throat with the
taste of my tongue
drown you like an olive
in a glass of gin
cross my legs endlessly
bat you with my eyelashes
weaken your architecture
shatter your windows
strip you of fear
until I crawl inside, naked
haunt you like a vacant building
shake my chains against the what is
grind candy hearts into your
thighs, a sweet tattoo
flirt endlessly with the night
furiously brand my heat into you
bleach you of everything but this:
the shape of me
forever tangled in your sheets
notelvis
is to kiss you
and make it hurt
poison your throat with the
taste of my tongue
drown you like an olive
in a glass of gin
cross my legs endlessly
bat you with my eyelashes
weaken your architecture
shatter your windows
strip you of fear
until I crawl inside, naked
haunt you like a vacant building
shake my chains against the what is
grind candy hearts into your
thighs, a sweet tattoo
flirt endlessly with the night
furiously brand my heat into you
bleach you of everything but this:
the shape of me
forever tangled in your sheets
notelvis
Friday, December 08, 2006
Changeling
You are so close to me
I could reach out and touch you
Sitting in my orbit
I could reach out and kiss you
I notice you
the curl of your lip as you smile obligingly
indulging me
We dance around each other
not close enough
(I remember the surprising softness of your lips)
You fill my thoughts,
my idle moments,
slipping in and out of daydreams.
I don't remember letting you in.
I want you yet I don't (want you to want me)
You are with me in the joy, the swiftness,
the cold and the brightness,
darkening the sadness of loss like a shadow tracing mine.
We could shine brightly
(and yet I hold back)
I could reach out and touch you
Sitting in my orbit
I could reach out and kiss you
I notice you
the curl of your lip as you smile obligingly
indulging me
We dance around each other
not close enough
(I remember the surprising softness of your lips)
You fill my thoughts,
my idle moments,
slipping in and out of daydreams.
I don't remember letting you in.
I want you yet I don't (want you to want me)
You are with me in the joy, the swiftness,
the cold and the brightness,
darkening the sadness of loss like a shadow tracing mine.
We could shine brightly
(and yet I hold back)
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Dragon
He polishes his
gorgeous scarlet scales.
Coils, stretching, sinuous
on his polished limestone bed.
Curls his lip to let
a breath of flame
curl tongue-like
between gleaming teeth.
Sparks light his eyes
as ancient memories
clank through his serpentine brain
waving their ineffectual lances.
Clink of metal
on metal
break through yesteryear,
call him to
put his sculpted head
out of his lair
into today.
The crag below
bears not knights,
but climbers.
No sport there
- he draws himself back
into fantasy.
by Kamala
gorgeous scarlet scales.
Coils, stretching, sinuous
on his polished limestone bed.
Curls his lip to let
a breath of flame
curl tongue-like
between gleaming teeth.
Sparks light his eyes
as ancient memories
clank through his serpentine brain
waving their ineffectual lances.
Clink of metal
on metal
break through yesteryear,
call him to
put his sculpted head
out of his lair
into today.
The crag below
bears not knights,
but climbers.
No sport there
- he draws himself back
into fantasy.
by Kamala
Monday, November 27, 2006
Lunar dreams
A frosty night,
The moon shines silken, veiled in mist,
a whirling dream storm,
swallows up my mind.
I am an eagle high
above her silver mountains
Our earth a gem of rarest beauty
radiant in the sky
Chris Wy 27/11/06
The moon shines silken, veiled in mist,
a whirling dream storm,
swallows up my mind.
I am an eagle high
above her silver mountains
Our earth a gem of rarest beauty
radiant in the sky
Chris Wy 27/11/06
Saturday, November 25, 2006
note to posters
I've upgraded the blog to a new format, as it's much faster and more efficient. You now have a button for signing in at the top right of the page. The signing in now takes place via Google, and required me to set up a new email address, which is ukcpoetrythread@hotmail.com (same password as this blog - go on, send us an email!) . To sign in do the same as before after clicking on Sign in, and enter the username and password. The new email address appears as the username at one point, and you just type the password below and enter it. You have to click through a few secure connection boxes - just keep clicking Yes until you get to the Dashboard, where you can make a new post. Once you're signed in, there is a New post button at the top of the main page. Sounds a bit complcated, but once you're used to it it's all much slicker and easier. I might add a hit-counter when I get time, if that's not a little optimistic!
Steve.
Steve.
Poems line my pockets
unpolished stones
slipping through holes,
fine fabric worn through -
my fingers try to grasp
the weight of a word,
grope the shape of a phrase,
I long to feel the edge cut
sharply against my palm,
for my lips to taste
the iron salt
drink the lifeblood
be filled with desire -
until it spills red to the page
the gift, the story
the passion revealed.
Until I am the stone
slipping, worn,
rough and unpolished.
Until the poem
imperfect -
is I.
Notelvis, aka Deb
unpolished stones
slipping through holes,
fine fabric worn through -
my fingers try to grasp
the weight of a word,
grope the shape of a phrase,
I long to feel the edge cut
sharply against my palm,
for my lips to taste
the iron salt
drink the lifeblood
be filled with desire -
until it spills red to the page
the gift, the story
the passion revealed.
Until I am the stone
slipping, worn,
rough and unpolished.
Until the poem
imperfect -
is I.
Notelvis, aka Deb
Friday, November 24, 2006
If I could give you
The sun –
Then it would not
Remain undone –
If I could give you
The moon –
I’d give anything to see
You soon –
If I could give you
The stars –
That fill the dark night
Sky –
I’d do it in a heartbeat
And when you ask me
Why –
There is only one possible
Reply –
I love you now
And always will
And you are worth
The sun, the moon
And the stars in the sky
I’d give you them in a heartbeat
‘Cause you are my reason why.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
mm548 :o)
The sun –
Then it would not
Remain undone –
If I could give you
The moon –
I’d give anything to see
You soon –
If I could give you
The stars –
That fill the dark night
Sky –
I’d do it in a heartbeat
And when you ask me
Why –
There is only one possible
Reply –
I love you now
And always will
And you are worth
The sun, the moon
And the stars in the sky
I’d give you them in a heartbeat
‘Cause you are my reason why.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
mm548 :o)
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
As I lay next to you
The words came into my head
I longed to tell you
I longed to share
Tell you I always want you there
‘Cause I think I know
Why you have this hold over me
Now
I think I know.
And I open my mouth to speak
But the words escape my breath
So I remain silent
And I’ll save my secret
For another day
You are the inspiration
That fills my page with words
You are the motivation
That drives me through this darkness
You are the shadow
That has attached itself to my body
When we are apart
You are here
In my thoughts
In my words
As I lay next to you
The words came into my head
I longed to tell you
I longed to share
Tell you I always want you there
‘Cause I think I know
Why you have this hold over me
Now
I think I know…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
mm548 :o)
The words came into my head
I longed to tell you
I longed to share
Tell you I always want you there
‘Cause I think I know
Why you have this hold over me
Now
I think I know.
And I open my mouth to speak
But the words escape my breath
So I remain silent
And I’ll save my secret
For another day
You are the inspiration
That fills my page with words
You are the motivation
That drives me through this darkness
You are the shadow
That has attached itself to my body
When we are apart
You are here
In my thoughts
In my words
As I lay next to you
The words came into my head
I longed to tell you
I longed to share
Tell you I always want you there
‘Cause I think I know
Why you have this hold over me
Now
I think I know…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
mm548 :o)
Monday, November 20, 2006
There was a darkness
(Such darkness)
And a silence
(Such silence)
Until the white light,
Sharp as a pinprick
And the singing.
The light, it grew
(One light)
The song, it swelled
(One song)
Until the brightness
And the harmonies
Held my heart.
She danced past me,
The first singer.
Her high, clear voice,
Sang the girl's song.
She shook her blue tambourine
As she danced. The sky-tears
Wet her face.
He gave me not a glance,
The second singer
A boy in a yellow shirt
And slender belt.
He twisted and writhed
In the dance: the sky-breath
wailed with him.
A woman, whose rich voice
Sang of the fields
Walked stately
Past my standing
Her red dress whispered
Secret sin. Yet she bore herself
With dignity.
Snow white was the beard
Of the last man
And His voice vibrated amongst
The footings of the earth.
He alone turned
To sing to me
"Christus natus est"
They faded then
(The four voices)
They merged then
(The four lights)
Until only the one light
Only the one song
Remained
Yrmenlaf
(Such darkness)
And a silence
(Such silence)
Until the white light,
Sharp as a pinprick
And the singing.
The light, it grew
(One light)
The song, it swelled
(One song)
Until the brightness
And the harmonies
Held my heart.
She danced past me,
The first singer.
Her high, clear voice,
Sang the girl's song.
She shook her blue tambourine
As she danced. The sky-tears
Wet her face.
He gave me not a glance,
The second singer
A boy in a yellow shirt
And slender belt.
He twisted and writhed
In the dance: the sky-breath
wailed with him.
A woman, whose rich voice
Sang of the fields
Walked stately
Past my standing
Her red dress whispered
Secret sin. Yet she bore herself
With dignity.
Snow white was the beard
Of the last man
And His voice vibrated amongst
The footings of the earth.
He alone turned
To sing to me
"Christus natus est"
They faded then
(The four voices)
They merged then
(The four lights)
Until only the one light
Only the one song
Remained
Yrmenlaf
Brotherly Love?
Let their children dig for jewels
where rainbows touch the earth!
Our riches are found right here.
Bring square and compass!
We'll raise a white washed sepulchre for Solomon
and wrap our silken threads around this land of farms and factories.
We'll build a wall of secrets
and stand behind their cross,
adorned in ivy, rubies, gold.
Lay the feast! Savour
cinnamon and clove!
Eat your fill of meats and drink the finest wines,
as they tramp, heads bowed, shivering
outside.
Chris Wy
where rainbows touch the earth!
Our riches are found right here.
Bring square and compass!
We'll raise a white washed sepulchre for Solomon
and wrap our silken threads around this land of farms and factories.
We'll build a wall of secrets
and stand behind their cross,
adorned in ivy, rubies, gold.
Lay the feast! Savour
cinnamon and clove!
Eat your fill of meats and drink the finest wines,
as they tramp, heads bowed, shivering
outside.
Chris Wy
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Decline - Chris W
anticlyne
decline
erosion
Refraction
Children Playing
Evaporation
Vegitation
Stone walls
slate roofs
glacial lakes
drumlins
Stir in a pot
Cook a while
Savour.
decline
erosion
Refraction
Children Playing
Evaporation
Vegitation
Stone walls
slate roofs
glacial lakes
drumlins
Stir in a pot
Cook a while
Savour.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Party Crasher
Knees knock.
I walk across a cobblestone square and
enter the side gate. There is false confidence
in the tilt of my chin. My fingers play
with the latch a fraction too long.
Only the fringe below the knee
shivers to betray.
A distance, an eternity, a second?
Another square of stone and ivy –
voices, laughter, mimicking fountains
a violinist at the table next, proffering a rose.
And here I am – uninvited – in your mind’s eye
the dapple of sunlight through a canopy of trees,
or the soft moss between a cobble,
a marigold nestled on your side plate.
Unsteady, I walk like a newborn colt that has
just found its legs, the world tilts you toward me.
I have arrived like the girl in a Bogart movie,
my fingers twist cloth at the table edge
and I wish to God I could take your order, but I’m
no waitress - my tongue tied into a knot of
cherry stems.
Your eyes full of quiet surprise,
the motion of your wrist mimics a maestro
taken aback by a sudden change in tempo,
motions me to sit. Symphonic composition
dissolves into the chaos of jazz,
chill of wrought iron against thigh,
dry reed against moist lips.
And even though I don’t, I do. I know every
language for a single word although
neither one will say it. Our knees touch.
Only a shiver at the table hem betrays.
notelvis aka Deb
I walk across a cobblestone square and
enter the side gate. There is false confidence
in the tilt of my chin. My fingers play
with the latch a fraction too long.
Only the fringe below the knee
shivers to betray.
A distance, an eternity, a second?
Another square of stone and ivy –
voices, laughter, mimicking fountains
a violinist at the table next, proffering a rose.
And here I am – uninvited – in your mind’s eye
the dapple of sunlight through a canopy of trees,
or the soft moss between a cobble,
a marigold nestled on your side plate.
Unsteady, I walk like a newborn colt that has
just found its legs, the world tilts you toward me.
I have arrived like the girl in a Bogart movie,
my fingers twist cloth at the table edge
and I wish to God I could take your order, but I’m
no waitress - my tongue tied into a knot of
cherry stems.
Your eyes full of quiet surprise,
the motion of your wrist mimics a maestro
taken aback by a sudden change in tempo,
motions me to sit. Symphonic composition
dissolves into the chaos of jazz,
chill of wrought iron against thigh,
dry reed against moist lips.
And even though I don’t, I do. I know every
language for a single word although
neither one will say it. Our knees touch.
Only a shiver at the table hem betrays.
notelvis aka Deb
Pots clang and lids clatter;
steam powered alchemy
flavours the air.
tomato, cilantro onion
and pepper Notelvis
conducting the choir of scents,
measures, with careful abandon,
ingredients for the spell.
garlic, rosemary, lemon and thyme
Trump of doom rattles
from the egg-timer:
the oven inferno disgorges heaven
onto a plate.
Kamala.
steam powered alchemy
flavours the air.
tomato, cilantro onion
and pepper Notelvis
conducting the choir of scents,
measures, with careful abandon,
ingredients for the spell.
garlic, rosemary, lemon and thyme
Trump of doom rattles
from the egg-timer:
the oven inferno disgorges heaven
onto a plate.
Kamala.
The sun rising
In the early morning
I know somewhere
You see it too
You
The man of my dreams
And beyond
And I envy the sun
As it is close to you
It touches your skin
The skin I long to touch
You breathe it in
As I long to breathe you in
I sit still
And shut my eyes
Feeling the warm heat
Knowing you feel it too
Maybe this is our only connection
But only for now
One day we will wake
And we will face the sun
Together.
mm548.
In the early morning
I know somewhere
You see it too
You
The man of my dreams
And beyond
And I envy the sun
As it is close to you
It touches your skin
The skin I long to touch
You breathe it in
As I long to breathe you in
I sit still
And shut my eyes
Feeling the warm heat
Knowing you feel it too
Maybe this is our only connection
But only for now
One day we will wake
And we will face the sun
Together.
mm548.
seagull
Scraggy bogbrush chicks
Peck parent beaks
Until they vomit
Half eaten chips
Into the nest
Yrmenlaf.
Peck parent beaks
Until they vomit
Half eaten chips
Into the nest
Yrmenlaf.
Blast
Here is an artistry:
Weeks of precision holes,
A month of calculating charges,
Then a moment of prayer,
To whatever gods they have
Then press the button
The building folds
In a flag of white dust
Yrmenlaf.
Weeks of precision holes,
A month of calculating charges,
Then a moment of prayer,
To whatever gods they have
Then press the button
The building folds
In a flag of white dust
Yrmenlaf.
seagull land
The screams of the gulls
into the Atlantic blast
carry the sound of the sea
through the town,
and echo off the crags.
Those uncanny fixed eyes
paired with cruel beaks
and buffeting claws
seem less sinister
as the gale tosses scraps of feather
through the raging air.
Almost, we can pity those lost souls,
those inhuman minds
in their frail cages of bone and muscle.
Until with eldritch shriek
the bastards nick your ice-cream.
Kamala.
into the Atlantic blast
carry the sound of the sea
through the town,
and echo off the crags.
Those uncanny fixed eyes
paired with cruel beaks
and buffeting claws
seem less sinister
as the gale tosses scraps of feather
through the raging air.
Almost, we can pity those lost souls,
those inhuman minds
in their frail cages of bone and muscle.
Until with eldritch shriek
the bastards nick your ice-cream.
Kamala.
Conditional
On these conditions:
That the mist drenches the Pennine hills
That the water collects in chattering rills
That the streams merge, gather together
To mighty rivers that flow for ever
Towards the great North Sea
I will love you
Yrmenlaf.
That the mist drenches the Pennine hills
That the water collects in chattering rills
That the streams merge, gather together
To mighty rivers that flow for ever
Towards the great North Sea
I will love you
Yrmenlaf.
I remember that night, when the stormcloud that concealed
The promising stars was rent: was torn by thundering fire;
Was split by angels singing, by the jubilant heavenly choir.
Dancing heaven on earth, proclaiming God revealed.
We raised our faces from the earth, and left the rain-soaked field,
And danced, lamb happy to Bethlehem, to seek the reeking byre,
I brought a lamb from the sacrifice, redeemed from purpose higher,
To play, soft, by the baby's feet as by the manger throne I kneeled
And I read that day of Abraham, when his promise stood unsealed;
Lost in the blade of a cold steel knife, lost in consuming fire;
When his raining tears of grief hid the stars that he would sire;
And how he worshipped with heartfelt praise at that sacrifice repealed.
This God, he sent a spotless lamb to save the son of Abraham
What promising stars does He foresee to send His son to save my lamb?
Yrmenlaf.
The promising stars was rent: was torn by thundering fire;
Was split by angels singing, by the jubilant heavenly choir.
Dancing heaven on earth, proclaiming God revealed.
We raised our faces from the earth, and left the rain-soaked field,
And danced, lamb happy to Bethlehem, to seek the reeking byre,
I brought a lamb from the sacrifice, redeemed from purpose higher,
To play, soft, by the baby's feet as by the manger throne I kneeled
And I read that day of Abraham, when his promise stood unsealed;
Lost in the blade of a cold steel knife, lost in consuming fire;
When his raining tears of grief hid the stars that he would sire;
And how he worshipped with heartfelt praise at that sacrifice repealed.
This God, he sent a spotless lamb to save the son of Abraham
What promising stars does He foresee to send His son to save my lamb?
Yrmenlaf.
An agitation of heels:
She steps from the pool
Of the streetlight
To the black.
Glancing behind,
She does not see
He has quickened his pace.
__________________
Child-small she seems to him,
Despite her elegance.
She steps out
From the safety
To the darkness.
He glimpses her fear
And quickens his pace.
__________________
They converge
The black-clad lady
And the man.
From streetlight
To moonlight
Her face beckons
He quickens his pace.
Yrmenlaf.
She steps from the pool
Of the streetlight
To the black.
Glancing behind,
She does not see
He has quickened his pace.
__________________
Child-small she seems to him,
Despite her elegance.
She steps out
From the safety
To the darkness.
He glimpses her fear
And quickens his pace.
__________________
They converge
The black-clad lady
And the man.
From streetlight
To moonlight
Her face beckons
He quickens his pace.
Yrmenlaf.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Poet chris - a bouldering
Preposterous Tales
Slime sprayed walls in ghostly grey
A lonely skylight signals distant day
Ocean waves, irrepressible
Rush into this dismal hole
A millennium crowd of stallions
Cheering for Wales
I cross the chasm, friction’s edge
And spy an even darker cleft ,
dripping all my nightmare fears.
With every move, my task to bridle melting mind
trust the un-trustable , doubt the un-doubtable
Inch by inch, step by step
Testing, resting, testing, moving
An hour? An age? I cannot say
I find relief in belay’s warmest welcome
With pounding heart and sweating brow, I call
My patient friend below to climb
You cross the self-same chasm, teeter, slip
Arachnoid suspended, a fragile thread
Silhouetted ,
The whirling maelstrom , stallion no longer,
but viper striking at your heel
Up the thread, your prussiks take! Go!
Inch by inch, step by step
To waiting friend, relief at night’s dawn
Subsiding tension, pint at hand
Now just another epic to be told
Just another gripping story for the road
Hopefully the last!
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
Theme: fire, by Mm548
If food is love,
Then eat,
If music is love,
Then play,
If laughter and tears are love,
Then laugh and cry together,
If fire is the passion of love,
Then let it burn,
And don’t let the flame die out.
Then eat,
If music is love,
Then play,
If laughter and tears are love,
Then laugh and cry together,
If fire is the passion of love,
Then let it burn,
And don’t let the flame die out.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
3 petals
That's the one I shall choose first.
Three Petals
He would recreate her endlessly
Once, as he spoke
he slowly covered her naked body
with the petals of wild orchids
Petals on her eyelids
a delicate sleep
plucked from their
moonlit stems
blossoms parted
parted and closed
until there was
nothing
nothing but her shape
her scent
a crush of wild orchids
tangled where she lay
notelvis
aka
Deb
Three Petals
He would recreate her endlessly
Once, as he spoke
he slowly covered her naked body
with the petals of wild orchids
Petals on her eyelids
a delicate sleep
plucked from their
moonlit stems
blossoms parted
parted and closed
until there was
nothing
nothing but her shape
her scent
a crush of wild orchids
tangled where she lay
notelvis
aka
Deb
Lost in mist on Pen Y Fan
Can you hear the Roman Legions marching,
drumming shields and shouting latin curses
at writhing hoards of Ancient Britons,
their white robed priests screaming furies?
Trembling heather? Shadow’s flicker ?
Through the mist a craggy fissure forms.
Druidic runes, carved on moss capped stones.
This place where history’s march is broken,
the secret gateway through the mist of time.
"Imbibe a mistletoe and mushroom brew.
Break an amber amulet lay pieces in the dew.
Catch a shaft of silver moonlight, cast it on the shards!
Smear woad – pure blue .
Dance, naked till you’re spent and wait! "
The mist begins to clear.
Clashing swords and shining shields.
Death’s harvest yell is heard
as a Roman javelin
pierces your heart!
Chris Wyatt Oct 2006
Can you hear the Roman Legions marching,
drumming shields and shouting latin curses
at writhing hoards of Ancient Britons,
their white robed priests screaming furies?
Trembling heather? Shadow’s flicker ?
Through the mist a craggy fissure forms.
Druidic runes, carved on moss capped stones.
This place where history’s march is broken,
the secret gateway through the mist of time.
"Imbibe a mistletoe and mushroom brew.
Break an amber amulet lay pieces in the dew.
Catch a shaft of silver moonlight, cast it on the shards!
Smear woad – pure blue .
Dance, naked till you’re spent and wait! "
The mist begins to clear.
Clashing swords and shining shields.
Death’s harvest yell is heard
as a Roman javelin
pierces your heart!
Chris Wyatt Oct 2006
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
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