Contrasts

Contrasts

Joy, like a flower
sits in a place
right beside my
heart and blooms,
to happiness, love
and Joy.

Pain, like a wound
cuts in a place
right beside my
heart and stabs
incessantly with hurt, lies
and Pain.

Flowers bloom then
fade around the edges;
a knowledge gained from endings
and pain.
The sadness of
the summer gone.

Summer brings new
growth, and flowers,
bold and beautiful;
returning to
the joy.
The smiles and happiness of
warmth and laughter.

Big Bold Flowers with Them

Orange is gone,
long live the cream,
long live the Big Bold Flowers.
Flowers,
gold, green and brown.
Long live the darkened
contrasting curtains
that hang so eloquently ....

Sitting in between them laughing -
dying inside.
Wanting to run,
wanting to hide
but longing for fun and laughter,
longing to belong again?

My heads fuzzy,
my arms heavy from Pernod.
Knowing I have to stay,
knowing I need to stay.
Stay with them,
Free to be me with them,
Free to be me at last,
free to listen and learn and feel again.
With them.


Dix

With special thanxs to JC and your Big Bold Flowers and Luna - you are special, special people. Hope I can soon learn to be here for you again. Love Ya

I'm not OK ... by Natasha Josefowitz

I'm Not OK, You're Not OK, but That's OK by Natasha Josefowitz

I have done bad things in my life
have had bad thoughts
I am not always kind
nor always generous
I have placed myself first
I have lied, cheated,
I have acted out of passion
which has hurt others.
I have been inconsiderate
punishing, even vengeful
and I have felt guilty
tried to make amends
tried to atone
made New Year's resolutions
about becoming better.

I know some very similar things about you.

So I'm not OK
and you're not OK:
but that's OK.

Something about this poem means so much to me. It's how I feel and I suspect how others feel to. We are not perfect although we try (I think lots of people try to be better and good - I am an eternal optimist and hopeful for mankind) but somehow we don't manage it and I guess this poem says 'that's OK'.

Dix

Pursuit - a poem by Stephen Dobyns

Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass –
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen, then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other ever closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.


Poem, from "Cemetery Nights"

I 'borrowed or found' this on one of the blogs I follow (thanks Roses). It resonated with me and had touch me, made me think about how I live my life. It reads aloud so beautifully. I don't know who this man is but I feel what he is saying.

Hope you enjoy.

Dix

Buster

Buster felt lackluster

So he thought he'd watch a blockbuster

about a man called Thruster

who had a knuckleduster.

The main character was a distruster

and a seriel mistruster.

Buster started to get into a fluster

trying to find a duster

or find the knob to adjust'er

the TV readjuster.

Buster couldn't see through the dusty darkness

of the badly filmed blockbuster

so with all the energy he could muster

he turned it off.

And threw it on the composter

(and went to sleep).

Dix

Boomerang Generation

Busty girl leaves home and moves to a

Dusty room in someone else's house. It smells so

Fusty and made her sneeze, the

Musty atmosphere catches her breath.

Gusty winds made the windows rattle,

Rusty radiators that are only ever warm.

Frosty breath follows her like a bloom,

Crusty carpets crackle under foot, so she uses her

Trusty mobile and cries to her mum.

Busty girl goes home.

Dix

This was an exercise to create something from a page of the rhyming dictionary. Fun and interesting - poetry - not sure.

Did you know?

Did you know -

it's the fashion for boys to wear pink underwear.

They have to have their trousers hanging down -

to show them off.

Dix

The Birthday Presents

I received this present from my friend Luna Lenny who is currently living in France - it is fab. It is her version of one of my Bob poems and I love it. It feels strange to have someone write a Bob poem but also amazing (if that makes sense).

Bob Went on Holiday (to Lenny's)

Bob twiddles his thumbs
"I'm bored," said Bob.
... "But you've only just got here"
"Yeah, and it ALREADY SHIT"
"Oh," ......... "Sorry, Bob."
.......................................
.................................
................................
"That's fiftenn minutes of my life
I'm NEVER Getting back."
......................BYE BYE, Bob

A Second hand poetry book

I may have mentioned this before but I like buying second hand poetry books - I will spend ages browsing and enjoying them before making cheap purchases. This book cost me a pound and has some wonderful work in it. I think some, or maybe all of it, is very female and so for me easy to empathise with but I still think others will enjoy this work. I am going to blog some of my favourites over the next few weeks. I hope you enjoy.

Is This Where I Was Going? by Natasha Josefowitz

Today's Women

We are

Today's women

Born Yesterday

Dealing with tomorrow.

Good Management Potential

If I'm assertive,

I'm seen as aggressive.

If I'm aggressive

I'm a bitch.

I won't be promoted.

Let's try it again.

If I'm nonassertive,

I'm seen as a patsy.

If I'm a patsy

I won't be promoted.

Let's try it once more.

If I'm very careful,

I can go unnoticed.

If I'm unnoticed,

no one will know

I want to be promoted.

Any suggestions?

Stereotypes

She said to him

"The academic life must be pleasant

You're a professor, how nice!"

He said to her,

"Well, maybe someday

you'll marry one"

She said to him,

"Why should I marry one

when I can be one?"

Promotion

If she wants to move up

but he wants to move in,

one of them will move out

and it won't be him.

Can't Do It All!

If I do this

I won't get that done

If I do that

this will slip by

If I do both

neither will be perfect.

Not everything worth doing

is worth doing well.

All poems by Natasha Josefowitz - blogged with admiration.

A poem by Miriam Dorothy Tripp

A bird now rests as high can be
On topmost twig of nearest tree
And watches, waits til red is grey
But still is loathe to go away
Both hardly sway uplifted twig
For birdies feet are not so big
And weight in grams so very low
‘tis hardly that the tree could know
Thy presence there; although dost bear
Thee, high up in the winter’s air,

Adjacent tree now bears a friend,
Cheep cheep and does she comprehend?
Appearing now that nearby tree
And birdie friend come sit with me
Uplifted wings – she’s come to thee
Together cheep contentedly
Then, off and up and swoop away
Perhaps they’ll come another day,

By Miriam Dorothy Tripp

I never met the lady who wrote this poem. In fact I never knew she existed until after she had died (she died in March this year). She was not directly related to me but was Boy's aunt. He (and I) were sad that we were never told about her, that he was never able to send her a card or meet her. We just found out she died and her brother sent a little money for Boy. She was in her late 70's so had a longish life. I know little else, or really nothing about her. Just a story that sounded like she had a sad life. Maybe her life wasn't sad, maybe really it was ok. I don't know.

This poem is strangely old fashioned yet I like it. It makes me think of the author and wish I had met her. I visualised a little robin or robin in a tree cheeping away contentedly. Apparently this poem was published in our local daily paper (I don't know when) and somehow I thought I must give it another chance of an audience, however small.

Hope you enjoy it; hope it gives you a little picture of nature; hope you remember the lady who wrote it if even in you minds eye.

Mog

BR - One Day by David Nichols

I have looked at this book many times over the last couple of years and thought it would be something I would like but not got it. Then I saw it recommended on My Life in Books (can't remember who by but loved the sound of it) so was in a proper bookshop so got it.

It is wonderful - one of those books that you can't put down, one of those books that has moved me in so many ways - at times I felt depressed by the female character because I could understand her life and the male character reminds me of someone I once knew well.

I loved the dialogue between them, their thoughts and feelings hit home so much. The words carried me along with them.

This is a wonderful book, modern, alive and just well, wonderful. I kept reading and reading desperate to get to the end but never wanting it to stop. These were real people to me, real people in my life who I was watching live their lives, making mistakes and doing the right thing, having a great and awful time.

And then, as per normal the problem arose. The ending. I often have a problem with endings and I knew 100 - 150 pages towards the end that things weren't going the way I hope, expected or wanted. Then it happened, someone died and I didn't want that. I didn't want it to end this way. This isn't how life should be (and these people were alive to me).

Where is the happy ending that I so long for; or even the satisfactory ending.

Now I have a dilemma - I loved the book, it is definitely a keeper but it is the whole 'killing off Dobby' thing all over again - as a wanna be writer this ending doesn't feel right - it isn't what I wanted but is it what I would have done. I finished the book Tuesday and have had a day to think about it - how else could it have ended - happy ever after - them getting everything they wanted - dull but satisfying. Not happy ever after because certain wishes aren't fulfilled. Yeah that would have been OK. Not being together - making new lives apart remembering the good time - this might have been what I would have done. But death, hmm not at all sure.

I know I will read this book again someday - I will see different aspects of the characters, perhaps it won't be so relevant to where I am today - who knows. Will I feel different about the ending - not sure - maybe, maybe I do a little already.

What has it really made me think; wish I could write like this; wish I could make a reader connect the way I feel I have. Maybe then I will understand about endings, how difficult it is to satisfy the reader at the end - who knows.

Whatever though - read this book, enjoy it; hate it; love it but read it. I really really recommend it.

Dix

Passionate TV

Firstly, excuse the photo of Anne Robinson - I am not a fan of her style and never will be - but I am a huge fan of this program My Life in Books. It is a half hour program shown on BBC2 at 6.30pm where famous people (I am careful here not to use the word celebrity because I feel they are not celebrities but people who have become famous for lots of reasons, not just TV but politics and writers etc. They come on the show and chose books that they love and talk about them; introduce them to the audience and in away introduce themselves to the audience.

There has been a wide variety of people on the show who have all been interesting and have all had something to say. I would be a liar if I said I wanted to read all the books that they recommended but certainly there are many that I would like to read; many that I have already read and many that I wish I could read (different from wanting to read because some of them seem like books I would struggle to get through but wish I had the stamina).

I have found the writers particularly passionate (well I would, wouldn't I) - they talk about books in language that I use, with the passion that I feel. They hold and smell and caress books in the way that I do, and remember the characters and plot like they are old friends. They talk about the memories evoked by reading this book and how they changed their lives or how their lives where changing when they read it. They talk about memories of family, of lovers, of children, even of world events and politics. They talk about love.

I record this program and watch it at least twice - just to feel the joy of the reader - the joy of their language - their joy for books. I feel that this is my program, this is something that I can totally connect to and love (not so much on the TV for me like this anymore).

I hope the BBC keep this program (maybe once a week). Its OK if it is on at a later, even obscure time, those of us who love it will find away.

The program is part of World Book Year (Week?) and has made me think about which books I would talk about on the program - so here is my list of My Life in Books (in no particular order).

The Colour Purple by Alice Walker - I studied this book and though to some it may be obvious this is the first time anyone told me that Jesus may not have been white, he was not the white man with beard and long hair that I had seen on the cross all my childhood. It made me think about what faith was really about - how we all fit in the world of God. It made me think about status and position and pain and suffering and survival and love. It made me think and for that I will always be truly thankful.

The Sea by John Banville - I love this book because of the way it is written, the pure beauty of the writing - I read it with just pure jealously and wishing I could write words this beautifully. I have to say I never really loved the main character, not sure he is really that nice a person, not sure I totally thought the plot and storyline were brilliant but all that is forgiven for such beautiful words. Just to read with pure envy and admiration is an amazing experience.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig - I read this book when I was a teenager and loved it, I guess maybe I wasn't totally sure what it was saying, that I didn't have the knowledge or experience to truly understand his words, but I read it again whilst I was at Uni and really understood why it had impacted on my so much. A basic story weaved around a philosophy for life, a philosophy of loss and love. I tried to explain this book to my college classmates and failed dismally - something I will always regret.

Rebecca by Daphine Du Maurier - I am not really a huge classics fan, really not into the angst and annoying women of many of the Austen, Bronte clans but I love the second Mrs De Winter. (Think that is right???). I love her outsideness, how she lives in the world she feels she doesn't understand and doesn't fit with. Her gentle soul that is so easily hurt and bruised but yet in the end is strong. The wonderful picture of the awful first wife, written so well she appears in the readers mind like some awful beautiful witch, the weak husband, the wonderful scenery and house. I revisit this book often to remind myself of its beauty.

The Essential Spike Milligan - I love Spike Milligan, I particularly love his poetry. I wish I had got to know his work when he was alive, had been able to watch him on TV and explore his older work. I didn't. I read his poetry as much as possible, I buy anything of his I see second hand and am trying to get a full catalogue of his work (particularly his poetry). It makes me laugh, it makes me cry, it makes me think about so much. To me he was so underrated, possibly so misunderstood by his peers and certainly be later generations. I think readers will return to his work in the future and see something new, something wonderful. That it what I see.

Amy Johnson Queen of the Air by Midge Gillies - this is a very personal book and one which I will never forget. Amy Johnson flew with my grand father - we have family photographs of them together and family stories of their relationship! I never really knew who she was, and still might not (this is a biography) but read this book to see if I could understand how my grandfather got to fly planes, what got him there. It was so interesting and I searched the pages for what might have been a clue to him, a mention of him, a feel of him. (There is a piece that might be about him but I can't tell and the author was unable to identify this man either - that I believe is a story for the future). This book is well written and interesting and helped me try to understand a man I never knew, who died in his plane crash in 1936 but has always seemed so exciting to me.

At the end of the show they are asked which book is their guilty pleasure, which of these would they take on holiday if they could only take one. Of course I would take them all but I suspect my guilty please is the Spike Milligan because he can evoke some many emotions and I can see something different each time I read them.

There are many more books I could list here (the obvious omission being Harry Potter) but these are the ones I have chosen here and now.

I would love to know what your life in books is, what is your little list of books and why? Care to share?

Dix

Blogging and Poetry

I feel bad. I really want to keep up my blogging this year and yet it has been over 2 weeks since I last blogged. My excuse - I have been unwell - full of cold and tiredness. At the moment I feel like a 'sicknote' like I am always unwell, always tired and wanting to sleep huge amounts and full of aches and pains. Hopefully this is about to pass and I can look forward to spring time full of energy and renewed optimism.

I haven't been doing much creative, not even reading much but I have managed to un earth a good poet. I have an addiction, and yes it is an addiction, for buy books but especially little poetry books - self published and pamphlets, anything really. Some are good; some are absolutely brilliant; others no so - but all worth exploring and enjoying.

I purchased a little book of poetry by Keith Chandler called A different kind of smoke. It was in my local Oxfam shop and it is signed by the author (another thing I like to collect). So I took it home and have been doing some exploring inside its pages. I like it, I like it very much, some of the poetry has amazing imagery, some really makes me feel (all things I love about poetry). I know nothing about the author - he may be local, he may have written much more. I just checked the book was published in 2001 in Yorkshire (that is probably a big clue). Anyway I just want to show you two of his works here:

The "chicken girl"

they called you, those who tutted, clucked

but wouldn't "interfere" or help

the mother who, moustached retard.

couldn't cope, left you at home all day,

all night, with feathered foster aunts.

Among the dust, the dried sick smell

of chicken mash, the one square yard

of sky, fluff, yuk, hexagonal eyes

of wire, square yard of sluttish sand .........

Aged 10, tiny skull, hands bent back

at the wrist, "unable to communicate

except through head-jerking shrieks"

and, rarely, that self-crooning, sound

hat dustbath, or contentment makes .........

Perched on the social worker's lap

I see your, bright disc-membraned eye

(the other side blurred over, scarred

from unhealed fights) staring back

at the camera as at a bottle cap.

Bottom of the pecking order, you stab

and stab at the dry crust of my heart.

Keith Chandler

How amazing is this, it reminds me of Timothy Winters (Peter Porter) a kind of sad humour of child abuse.

Our Father

a shy stiff serious man. I think

of you as somehow on the brink

of being about to say more

than "good night", one hand on the door -

those warm soft things I try to say

to my son as, finally

tousling hair of kissing cheek,

I tuck him in against the dark.

When (packed off to boarding school)

your letters came, they were full

of news, money sometimes. No fuss

about how we felt. Or missing us.

We must talk more openly... What

made you uncomfortable like that?

Was it your father, hand on door,

dressed in the camouflage of war

not knowing what, or how, to say?

What are you afraid of? Why

can I never thing of you as "Dad"

but just "our Father"? It makes me sad

to stand here, to see you curled

drip-fed, cot-sided like a child,

to leave you in this nursery

of fear, as if with nothing to say.

Keith Chandler

This second piece has such a feel of my own father - who loved me but couldn't show it - as an adult I understood as a child it felt cold and unloved. That was the man he was. Not the same ending (my father died suddenly at 73) but the feeling is there.

Dix

Haiku Again

This picture made me laugh - and I think explains why Haiku's can be hard.

Debt

Irresponsible

spending by plastic; crash is

inevitable.

Regression
iv>

Galaxy counters,

Spangles, Marathon, Opal

Fruits. All gone too soon.

I know, I know back to food again and I also know that both Marathon and Opal Fruits are still about but have just been renamed but they are not the same and they don't hold the same memories (if you know what I mean).

Dix

More Haiku

The first one is a re write (well I added a little cos I got my syllables wrong) - Thanks JC although I suspect there will be more.


Ice cream

Great glorious
mouthfuls of creamy luscious
Cold. Lick, lick, lick. Hmmm.....


Chocolate

Sensual oblong
cool, unsatisfying
object of desire.


Deprivation

It's so weird -
visualising bed; craving
sleep and dreams.



Bob's Philosophy

Bob said "Born to
be slapped and scream; die
screaming silently."



I don't know - are they better - maybe better meanings. Hope you enjoy and JC I don't mind if you check syllables and let me know.

dix

Attempts at Haiku

Writing Haiku for me, is really just about trying to be creative - trying to get something happening with my writing, however small - much like blogging really - I am writing of a sorts and something may just come out of it.

I brought my friend JC a present for Christmas called Haikubes, little cubes of words and themes to inspire Haiku. My daughter brought me the same set so that we could play together over the long distance that divides us at the moment.

This week I sent her 20 random words chosen taken from the shaken up cubes and we both produced some work. But for me, not without issues. I thought it would be fairly easy to follow the 5,7,5 rule but sometimes syllables are quite hard to work out even though I repeat the words over and over and still couldn't be sure that I had got it right. I really enjoyed the process and am really glad to be creating something however poor.

At the moment I am trying to persuade JC to post hers as well, not only on her blog but on our creative blog Cherry Picker as well. We'll see but I will keep on trying. Anyway here is my attempts.

Smelly Dog

The anal glands
on my dog’s bottom squeezed
of smelly pus. Ouch!

Sleep Wars

Hmmm .., alternative
places swim right by me:

as sleep evades.

Giant Visions

Lots of glorious
glancing giants just because
I consume blue gin.

Ice cream

Great glorious
mouthfuls of creamy
Cold. Lick, lick, lick. Hmmm.....

I have changed the punctuation a bit, not sure it if is right but worth messing about with. I have enjoyed the process and will try more.

Might see if I can make my Bob words in Haiku - that could be interesting.

Dix

Examples of Haiku

Kojo

Night, and the moon!
My neighbor, playing on his flute -
out of tune!

Chris Spruck

Faceless, just numbered.
Lone pixel in the bitmap-
I, anonymous.

The first more traditional, the second modern.
I am starting to understand.

Dix

More from Study in Grey

Parts of Having It Out With Melancholy by Jane Kenyan




4 OFTEN

Often I go to bed as soon after dinner
as seems adult
(I mean I try to wait for dark)
in order to push away
from the massive pain in sleep's
frail wicker coracle.

6 IN AND OUT

The dog searches until he finds me
upstairs, lies down with a clatter
of elbows, puts his head on my foot.

Sometimes, the sound of his breathing
saves my life - in and out, in
and out: a pause, a long sigh....

and

Depressed Mode by Heidi Greco

i am wearing
the same
tired clothes
for three long days now
around the clock
i know
it is not
a good sign


Perhaps I underestimated this little book - there are some extracts/writings that I don't get but why would I understand it all. Others just give me little rays of understanding and comfort.

Maybe I will keep this book after all.

Dix

Waiting Day

For the sun to come up
For the alarm to ring
For the daylight to come
For the kettle to boil
For my coffee to cool
For the toaster to pop
In the queue for the bus
For the bus to arrive
For the people to move
For the lift come down
For my boss to command
For my computer to load
For my emails to open
For the phone to start ringing
For the phone to stop ringing
For the time to be noon
In the queue at the sandwich bar
For the pm to start
For the photocopier to copy
For the emails to delete
For my letters to print
For my computer to shut down
In the queue for the bus
For the people to move
For the front door to open
For the news to come on
For the microwave to ping
For my dinner to cool
For the documentary to start
For the documentary to finish
For the sun to go down
For the darkness to fall
For the day to end
For sleep to come

By Dix

Just not sure how to punctuate this so didn't - can anyone help, don't want to just put loads of commas and not sure about full stops. Help.

Toilet Book

Am I the only person who has a toilet book? I understand that this may be a masculine trait but I just find it a nice quiet time to sit and read from a book that naturally leads to little snippets. Poetry is the best. I like finding little poetry books in second hand shops and reading them whilst taking a little time in the bathroom (if you know what I mean). I understand that some people find this, well disgusting, especially my friend JC but for me it is just a way to find a little quiet space and do what I most enjoy - that is reading. Poetry works really well because it is easily read in small moments but allows me to gain understanding and enjoyment.

I guess in my generally busy life anything that allows me a quiet time to read is just such a bonus. Although I am never alone! The dog and sometimes both cats have to come and see what I am up to.