Love the central image of this poem – and how he uses what each of the features of language are to create this poem.
The Poetry Grand National
The horses line up
They’re under starter’s orders
Adverb leaps gracefully over the first fence
Followed by adjective
A sleek grey
Simile is overtaking on the outside
Like a pebble skimming the water
Halfway round the course
And Hyperbole is gaining on the leaders
Travelling at a million miles an hour
Adverb strides smoothly into first place.
Haiku had good odds
But is far behind – and falls
At the last sylla-
And as they flash past the winning post
The crowd is cheering
The winner is
Who quietly takes a bow
Thought this was the perfect Valentine’s poem – suitable for those in love and for those who are not!
Not a red rose or a satin heart.
I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.
I am trying to be truthful.
Not a cute card or a kissogram.
I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring,
if you like.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.
One of those poems that looks simple on first reading but reveals more the deeper you read.
I love the imagery of the poem – the sense of beauty and expectation that can happen just from the dresses in your wardrobe!
An aviary of dresses
alive with silk
the rail of your wardrobe.
Each day you disturb
shake out a flight
It’s your own rainforest,
your several selves,
crimson, macaw, blue-foot
looping the world
I am a major dress-aholic and I love the idea of wearing a colourful dress is like wearing a plumage of a bird and how it would change you and your personality
Poetry often makes you look at the world in a new way or perspective and this one takes a fresh looks at the rubbish found in skips.
In The Skip
Half a dozen bricks
are clinging to their brickness
and to the idea of being
Drawers lean on drawers as if
their crazy staircase could recall
the time it was a kitchen cabinet.
A mattress, doubled-up, yearns
to yawn, stretch, turn over
and scratch itself where it’s ripped.
Dust, yes there is dust.
And sometimes I think
my history is there in the skip:
a gap that was once for sitting on;
a piece, missing its jigsaw;
a smatter of glass, convinced
it was always meant to be a window.
I peer into the rubble, to see
There is something very poignant about all these items discarded in the skip dreaming of being the thing they used to be.
A very suitable poem considering the weather Scotland has been having!
Overnight, a giant spilt icing sugar on the ground,
He spilt it in the hedgerows, and the trees without a sound,
He made a wedding-cake of the haystack in the field,
He dredged the countryside and the grass was all concealed,
He sprinkled sugar on the roofs, in patches not too neat,
And in the morning when we woke, the world around was sweet.
This is just a gorgeous image and I love the idea of the giant spilling icing sugar everywhere — did he do it deliberately or by accident? (I like to think he did it deliberately, can picture him smiling as he surveyed his work)
I cannot tell a lie…I am a total Tea-aholic and think if I am reincarinated I would like to come back as a tea bag like the character in this poem!
I’d like to be a Teabag
l’d like to be a teabag,
And stay at home all day –
And talk to other teabags
In a teabag sort of way . . .
l’d love to be a teabag;
And lie in a little box –
And never have to wash my face
Or change my dirty socks . . .
l’d like to be a teabag,
An Earl Grey one perhaps,
And doze all day and lie around
With Earl Grey kind of chaps.
l wouldn’t have to do a thing,
No homework, jobs or chores –
Comfy in my caddy
Of teabags and their snores.
l wouldn’t have to do exams
l needn’t tidy rooms,
Or sweep the floor or feed the cat
Or wash up all the spoons.
I wouldn’t have to do a thing,
A life of bliss – you see . . .
Except that once in all my life
I`d make a cup of tea!
I think it is the lack of stress in a tea bag’s life that I like – would love not to have to tidy any more rooms and just lie in a tea caddy listening to other tea bags snore! I wonder what kind of tea bag I would be – probably not an Earl Grey as that is too refined for me, in fact I would probably be one of those tea bags that burst and would spill out into the tea caddy!