Why I struggle with Poetry

I have been reading lots of poetry recently. For two reasons I think - firstly because I have little time and poetry is easy to read when time is limited and secondly because I keep thinking about how I wish I had been able to understand and grasp poetry at Uni. I often think in a kind of poetry, although I just call it words but in class I often sat there with a complete lack of understanding of what was being said and even worse why? And then I was told that my words weren't poetry and that stuck. I went to Uni with no background in poetry and no understanding just a little fear and anticipation. I left Uni with no understanding of poetry and lots of fear.

But at least I now read poetry regularly, buy lots of second hand poetry books from charity shops and enjoy what I enjoy. So maybe it did some good.

I found this quote by Spike Milligan in his book 'Hidden Words' and thought it summed up how I feel about poetry -

'I don't understand poetry. I read quite a bit of it and I enjoy it, sometimes; some of it goes down easily, some is totally baffling. I am not an intellectual, I have struggled with Ezra Pound'.

Not sure I have read any Exra Pound but I struggle with George S and Andrea, and Tim C and many others from Uni. But some poetry is just wonderful, it says so much in such a small space.

I like this poem by Spike Milligan - I understand it too well.

MANIC DEPRESSION

The pain is too much
A thousand grim winters
grow in my head.
In my ears
the sound of the
coming dead.
All seasons
All sane
All living
All pain.
No opiate to lock still
my senses
Only left,
the body locked tenses.

By Spike Milligan
St Luke's Hospital
Psychiatric Wing
1953/4

I don't think I am manic depressive, and I have never been in a psychiatric hospital but this feeling of absolute pain still fits and as for opiates locking away senses - medication locks away so much, the sense, the imagination, the core of me. Anyway back to poetry, just these few words fill me with emotion and also a thankfulness that I am not alone. Guess it is all a bit cliche but it makes me glad as well as sad.

D

And this is me today (3)

I started the day really angry and frustrated. I am not sure why, maybe tiredness and the knowledge that I have no time to relax - just going from one thing to the other until falling into bed to non sleep from over tiredness. Never mind I have got Saturday off so maybe a sleep in or a long luxurious walk on the beach with the dog in the sunshine.



Anyway I was angry and upset, prone to tears and then the day went really well and now I feel, even though I still have loads to do that it has been a good day and I haven't wanted to eat rubbish and I haven't wanted to change my life etc. Anyway it is strange how what starts off bad turns out good. It's like going to a spouses work do - I really dread it and think I won't know anyone and I will feel fat and ugly and then I go with utter dread, thinking of excuses to call off and have a really good time and don't feel fat or stupid in fact often the opposite.



Not much time to write today - I am just about to take an hour for my fix of Neighbours and Home and Away (although both are slightly silly at the moment) before I am off to Weight Watchers to hopefully not be too downhearted if I have put on or not lost.



Oh well - will write again soon.



D

And this is me today (2) - Dreaming

DREAMPOEM



in a corner of my bedroom

grew a tree

a happytree

my own tree

its leaves were soft

like flesh

and its birds sang poems for me

then

with warning

two men

with understanding smiles

and axes

made out of forged excuses

came and chopped it down

either yesterday

of the day before

i think it was the day before

By Roger McGough

I found this poem today. I read poetry whilst sitting on the toilet. The thought repulses my friend, she is probably right, but poetry is right for this occasion, when you don't have long and but like to read and take your mind off what you are doing. Poetry on the toilet gives me little insights into wonderful language bytes that would otherwise be 'wasted' (sorry terrible pun). Anyway it got me thinking about dreaming and how I love to dream. I love to dream when I am asleep and am lucky enough to remember most of my dreams and I love to day dream even though I feel guilty about wasting time.

Sometimes my dreams are so real that I can not distinguish them from reality. I have dreamed someone is dead and then been really surprised to see them alive and breathing. Or dreamed I have done things and been generally surprised that I haven't - even accusing people around me of undoing them.

Back to dreaming per say. I realise what I liked about the poem is that someone is sums up how I feel about my dreams. But for me it is not two men who take away my dreams but my illness. When I am in the 'darkness' and sit and sit and sit for hours and days to think- the dreams are taken. When I long to escape into 'the corner of my bedroom' into 'a happytree' it is gone. It escapes me and makes me even sadder. And dreaming feels like a tree, somewhere strong and grown with age and experience, somewhere to be whoever you want to be, to be whatever you want to be. And when dreams are gone it is impossible to pin down th day when I stopped dreaming - 'i think it was the day before'.

I love the idea of a happytree - I might make a happytree to hang in my study, I will put pictures and ideas and nice things on it and pin my dreams on it.

That will be nice.

D

Christmas days in Winter ways

Christmas days of Winter ways,
That lead to
Green Daffodil buds
wrapped in elastic bands.

Tubs fulls of posies,
purple and red,
hanging from windows
that soon shrivel
and fade in the sun.

Yellowing grass, watering fun,
Beach holidays of pink skin
and fish smelling lotion.
Harvest time comes,
evenings pull in,
red skies a welcoming sight.

Cold nights of frost,
Days of viewed breath,
Garlands on view,
as expenses to plan
of Christmas days
in Winter Ways.

And this is me today (1)

It has been a frustrating day. I really want to continue to make a difference in my work but find myself continually frustrated by appointments, transport breakdowns and problems, other staffs lack of understanding etc etc. But I should be more patient, I am sure it will continue to improve and that I will be able to help organise my work, and hence improve the SU daily life accordingly. I guess it is just my impatience with others that frustrates me the most.

I have loved writing this blog - I know that it appears nobody has read it yet but me and that nobody has made a comment but somehow that doesn't matter. I can write a little everyday and more importantly I managed to start and finish a short story - however simple it was. Around 2000 words created in one sitting at at my computer.

I am really tired tonight and also very cold. It has appeared a nice sunny day for April but in reality the cold was biting. I have just moved from a comfy position in front of the fire to a much cooler study to write this. I feel the cold.

Nothing very exciting has happened to me today as nothing really exciting happens to me most days. But hey, that is my life and most of the time it is ok. I went shopping in Tesco for just a few bits and ended up still spending nearly £40 and can't quite understand how it was so much, how it was too much again.

I did notice that the local church was having its roof mended. There was a fairly big hole in the roof from the recent bad winds and storms. It was round, where the tiles had slipped and looked almost like a hurricane had hit. The vicar said it was going to cost loads to get fixed but they must have only been up there one day and it looked good as new. I was surprised to see that the roofers were just using a ladder and no scaffolding but hey, perhaps God was their Health and Safety officer!! I notice, as did my colleague, that the church had a kinda of walkway (there is probably a better word but can't think of it) all the way around the roof and the men were walking on it. I thought how great it would be to get up there and see the view or even better get to the top of the tower and look over the village and beyond. Maybe I could even see my house from there.

The vicar is very nice, much more like the kinda of vicar I was used to as a child. Yet again I find myself thinking about faith and God but something seems to hold me back. This continual battle between what is right and good and what the church seems to represent and present to the world. I find this whole issue of sinners etc really hard to take because I believe that people are basically good and just do bad things and make mistakes. I believe that given the chance we could all care about and maybe even love each other. Maybe this is why I am so quickly disappointed with people, with life in general. This hippy attitude probably doesn't help me cope with life.

Anyway enough of the hippy claptrap. Time to go and sort out some email etc.

Will write again soon - possible.

Dream Face

I reach up and touch
his face, just a gentle
brush of my fingertips.
His cheek is soft, warm
and young,
a rough stubble around
the mask of his shaven face.

He smiles, a warm hello,
eyes alive and deep
deep brown.
Forbidden.
He cuddles me,
because he wants
because I want.
A cuddle is good?
A cuddle is bad?

Conversation limited
by age, by time,
by thoughts
by dreams.

My dreams are
so sensory,
so alive,
so real.

My dreams are
of loneliness
of desire,
of comfort
of hope.

Whatever Words

So many words to fill our pages
So little time to do it.
Don't be afraid - just Write.
Whatever comes into you mind,
Whatever comes into your brain.
Whatever.

The appearance of Geraldine Palmer

It was just a typical monday morning. The staff stumbled back into the gleaming kitchen that they rushed to escape Saturday tea time. The room is cold. It only feels cold after the weekend or public holidays as the rest of the week it keeps the raging warmth of the cooking inside over night.

Marcha, the kitchen assistant spots Geraldine first. Momentarily she can't believe her eyes. Surely not. Geraldine Palmer in their kitchen. This is going to be trouble. Marcha screams and begins to jump and almost stamp on the spot. She bends and quickly tucks her over large blue check trousers into her men's black socks. Not an easy thing to do whilst screaming, pointing indiscriminately and stamping her feet.

Jean, her boss sighs. It's monday morning and things should be quiet and organised and Marcha is prone to hysterics.

'What Marcha, calm down and explain the problem. And be quiet'.

Marcha continues to scream and jump and stamp but now begins to point down towards the shiny stainless steel oven.
'It's Geraldine, she's back. She's not dead .'

They both stare on to the spot and there she is sitting upright, her bottom firmly placed on the non slip blue vinyl floor. She looks straight at them, unblinking and appears to almost smile.

'Look, look she is laughing at us.'

'Don't be silly, although I admit it does look like she is smiling. I will call Jim back and get it sorted but for now can't we throw something over her and just get on with preparing the vegetables.'

'Throw what over her and are you going to do it?'

'How about that big flour tub it should be big enough and easy enough to get it over her. I'll have a go'.

Jean got the white transparant bucket from the store cupboard on the otherside of the kitchen and slowly crept towards Geraldine. When she was three feet away she stopped and bent down to tuck her beautifully ironed catering trousers into her bright white socks. Somehow it looked worse for its neatness. She crept closer.

Geraldine looked up at her. Straight at her and waited. Jean manovered the tub in her hands so that it was perfectly vertical and upside down and then in one quick movement popped it neatly over Geraldine.

And there the tub containing Geraldine sat all day. All day of jacket potatoes and salad; of ham and cheese toasted sandwiches; of fish and chips; of shepards pie and peas and cream cakes, coffee and scones. Never moving, never lifted, never even jogging in the rush of the kitchen.

Jim arrived at 4.30 just as the kitchen was in clear up time and a few customers were having their coffee and whatever is left on the counter cakes before catching the last bus home. He sat and drank strong tea from an extra large mug and a mishapped scone smothered in butter in Jean's office before begining his task.

'It can't be Geraldine - she's dead. I took her body away myself. Definately. I disposed of her body in the incinerator myself.'

'Well it looks just like her, same colour, same size, same attitude.'

'Can she really have an attitude?'

Jean looked at Jim stuffing his face and slurping his tea simultanously and wondered if he ever did his job or just liked to visit kitchens for free food and company.

'Anyway' spat Jim as he stuffed the last mouthful of cheese scone in his mouth and gulped his last mouthful of tea, staring into the mug to make sure of its emptiness 'I better go and do the business.'

'It would have been better if you had been here earlier but just deal with it quickly. She's under that tub by the cooker.'

Jim grabbed his trap, a large brown box that rattled as he moved and moved towards the tub. He placed the box next to the tub and almost unseen, so quickly it was like a slight of hand swapped one for the other.

Geraldine was trapped and gone forever.

'Hurry and take her away please,' Marcha begged him. 'I don't want no more scares on a Monday morning.'

'No probs. I just check her and then we will both be gone.' He slid a panel from the side of the box that exposed a clear purspex wall. The inside of the box was empty.

Jim quickly slide the panel back into place before the others noticed. He stood quietly for a moment.

'Geraldine may have lots of relatives you know. Maybe I should bait some traps just in case. I'll be back in the morning to sort it out. Any left overs you are throwing out?'

'No Jim, no left overs today. We'll see you in the morning Geraldine free, I hope' Jean nodded her head towards the box.


'Yeah Geraldine Palmer is gone. Why do you call her Geraldine anyway?'

'Oh she reminded us Gerald our boss, silently visiting and watching, stealing the food and leaving a mess so we christened her Gerald but then you told us she was a female so Geraldine Palmer she became.'

Jim stared at the women silently. He hesitated before speaking.

'You don't know do you?'

'Know what?' Marcha spoke as she walked to the store room to put away the half used box of disposable gloves.

'Gerald died last night - massive heart attack I think. It's a tragedy.'

'Well that's one word for it' Jean felt sorry she said it as soon as the words left her mouth. 'I guess we will have a new boss. Perhaps that nice Miss Allen or Mr Brown.'

'Whoever, there will be lots of changes. Never a good thing, never a good thing at all.' He clasped the empty box closer to his chest and turns to leave.

'See you in the morning to sort out some traps.'

'Ok Jim, no problems and say goodbye to Geraldine for us.'

Jim mumbled something incomprehenible as he leaves the kitchen.

'You go as well Marcha, I'll finish up and lock up. See you bright and early tomorrow.

'Really boss, great I can get home in time to see Neighbours. See you tomorrow.'

Jean smiles, before scanning the kitchen quickly before turning off the lights and locking the door. All nicely clean, neat and tidy ready for tomorrow and definately Geraldine free.

*************************************************************************************

Marcha, the kitchen assistant spots her first. She can't believe her eyes. No, no, no. There is going to be so much trouble. Marcha screams and begins to jump and almost stamp on the spot. She bends and quickly tucks her over large blue check trousers into her large grey socks. Not an easy thing to do whilst screaming, pointing indiscriminately and stamping her feet.

Jean sighs. It's tuesday morning and she would like a quiet day. Marcha is so prone to hysterics.

'What Marcha, please not again. Calm down and be quiet'.

Marcha continues to scream and jump and stamp and points towards the shiny oven.

'It's Geraldine, she's back. She's not dead .'

The Ballad of Rona Ross

On thursdays Rona met a man with
tissues in a small green and yellow
packet. They smell of eucalyptus.
He wears he cycle helmet
backwards and his clips too tight.
She thinks him odd.

Rona is a girl with dreadlocks
interwoven with purple beads ,
a tie died shirt from a charity shop
and a long dragging skirt
where the dirt line is already
half way up. She read that washing
chemicals pollute the earth.

Rona has pupils large, dark and engaging
and on fridays she tells no lies
but sleeps in bed alone
and dreams of kings and stars,
of intellectual people. Rona lies
with celebrities on a friday night.

The First Day

Sirens at Bullies End

1

I am so excited so much more money and so much more responsibility. It will be good, I am sure. The women in the office seemed really busy so they didn't have time to look up and talk and stuff but time goes so much quicker when you are busy.

Got to go through the normal checks and paperwork - you know check that I am not a criminal and that I don't owe people lots of money and that I am a trust worthy and reliable person.

The man who interviewed me, he said he was in charge of the whole office, HPO or something like that - he didn't explain what that meant but I am sure I will understand the management structure once I get started. I can't hand my notice in or anything where I am working until all the paperwork is sorted but it won't be long. He said, Mike his name was, Mike Shannon-Bate. He looked like Jerry Springer with incredibly flopply hair and a posh english accent. Anyway he said they would need me to start asap. He actually said 'asap' which I thought was odd but posh people talk like that sometimes don't they?

He showed me around the office, management team, he called them 'the management team' were all on the second floor. The admin staff were based on the bottom floor and in the middle are the officers. He didn't introduce anyone specifically to me, he said I probably wouldn't remember their names anyway. (I'm quite good with names and faces but didn't like to contradict him - I can show him how good my memory is as soon as I start, well I can show him asap.

I filled in all the paperwork in the small office near the switchboard. I took all my qualifications as well but nobody seemed to interested in that. When I asked Mike he said that 'human resources sorts all that stuff as long as you can type and talk nicely etc etc'. He said 'etc etc'. Typical boss no understanding of how important paperwork is but maybe I can work up to help sort him out. It would be nice to be the bosses PA - to have that sort of power and know what is going on before anyone else. But that is just a pipe dream, or maybe healthy ambition at this stage. Just need to get started and learn the ropes as quickly as possible and maybe get on ok with the others.

It's gonna be so good.

The Beginning

Hi - or should I say hello. It is time to tell the world or it is just time to rant. I can't believe I missed the opportunity to know a fellow students thoughts and get inside her head. Oh damn, damn, damn. Oh well never mind plenty of opportunities to come.

So because I am being nagged to hurry up and stop writing - the story of my life I think!! Oh and I will stop using unnecessary punctuation I will go to continue soon.

D