Rhymes or Reason

Always brilliant BJ xxxx

 

Today's poem is about poetry, and playwrights in equal measure.

.............................

Iambic Pentameter

----------------------------------------------

The great Iamb is the founding form
of poetry or so I've heard
the five pronged fork of rhyming tongue
that turns plain prose into a poem

Shakespeare used it, so did Marlowe
as the basis for their speeches
it is the basic form from which
we've all learned how to beat and pitch

our chosen words elucidated
help our audience to know
the meaning of our declamations
when we first tell our intentions

such as on the open stage
or when the actors call with rage
to all the fates to spare a life
or even help them gain a wife

the possibilities are endless
when we use this basic tool
it raises us from ignorance to
such as Falstaff's succinct fool

who scorns and praises in full measure
all above him and below
and as the watching crowd we join
in his deceits, we're in the know

because we do we are complicit
in the action there portrayed
upon the boards when first we visit
playwrights who display their trade

so raise a glass or two to those
whose words we read with baited breath
who entertain us with their wit
from when we're born until the death

the end of all the scenes that flowed
when final curtains slowly fell
and all the stage lights lost their spark
there's nothing left to show or tell

----------------------------------------------

Whatever will tomorrow bring I wonder?

 

Wonderful as always. X

 

A bit of a short one today. Have a read anyway.

------------------------------------------------

Words are time
and time is your currency
spend it well my friend

you never know
when words will not flow
you never know when they'll end

till that time
keep writing in rhyme
and hope people's ears they will lend

keep on thinking
from the well keep on drinking
there soon may be no words to send

when that happens
don't lie down with sadness
or into plain madness descend

carry on till the bell
rings out the death knell
and your soul to its fate will ascend

there will be no more time
marked by meter and rhyme
to explore the latest in trends

you'll have no more money
it's not sad, it's not funny
it's just naturally come to an end

------------------------------------------------

Tuesday tomorrow, and almost halfway into the week. Gosh, doesn't time fly?

 

Thanks BJ
Twoosday tomorrow. lol

 

Twoooooosday today, and I completely forgot that yesterday was the first day of Spring! Well, there's a thing.

.........

A wall

-------------------------------------------------

I stared at the wall
the wall stared back
I wondered what it's thinking
giving me a blank look like that

perhaps it's deep in thought
I thought
or perhaps it's just asleep
on the other hand it could be
just staring at me
and trying to pretend it's deep

I haven't seen it blink yet
it must have done it sometime
when I looked away I wonder?
won't speculate, I don't have time

ah hah, I know what it's doing now
it's cunningly trying to stare me out
a black cat at night on the prowl
purrs a soft and silent shout

I'll just pretend that I'm not listening
I'll turn away the better to ignore it
with luck it will get really angry
start ranting like a lunatic
stomp around like an all in wrestler
whipping the crowd up to a frenzy

and when at last it's lost control
that's when I'll show the wall who's boss
I'll act all cool and then extol
it's virtues, just to make it cross

I'd love to see it apoplectic
purple veins all standing out
I've never seen a wall with veins
only ever seen bricks and grout

and plaster and paint and flocked wall paper
furry walls now there's a thing
makes a change from plain magnolia
not sure it's really me though, hmmm?

well I'm not sitting here any longer
the bloody wall is sat quite still
not even a twitch to show it's alive
I think I've killed it
that'll teach it
don't mess with me coz I'll survive

I can beat you any time wall
so don't just sit there blankly staring
time you recognised who's boss
or next time it won't be a warning

I'll get physical if you keep on
refusing to acknowledge me
I'll beat and kick you till you're gone
then at last I will be free

-------------------------------------------------

Wodin's Day tomorrow I think. I must remember the coffee lady. Forgot her last week. Doh! Missed me caramel latte I did. Won't do that again. Up with the lark and ready to be out as soon as I hear her blow the horn.

 

BJ I am such a fan of yours. xxxx

 

Caught the coffee lady today. She was late, but better latte than never, eh? So now I'm sat here I'd better write summat I s'pose.

...............................

Lamb(ic) not Iambic

-----------------------------------------------------

Oh what to write for today's ode
if I don't write soon I'll explode
the words are hiding in there somewhere
waiting to come out to play

I'd better write them down today
or I'll be worried like a sheep
that's got a private bale of hay
the collie's on his way and seeking
her out like a cast off stray

who wandered off when no-one's looking
over fences into meadows
where the other sheep don't go
it's out of bounds or so they say

well someone should have told her so
she leapt the fence top in one go
she bounded up and sailed over
now she's munching on fresh clover
teeth now blunting on the green
her memory's not what it's been

when first she gamboled in the snow
up there on Kentish highest weald
close to the house where first I lived
when I moved to Kent's own sweet garden

when the snow lay three feet deep
and January was so cold
I heard her stamping tiny feet
heard her mother softly calling

her to come to mother's breast
and drink her fill and then to rest
all snuggled up next to her mum
and sleeping till the weather warms

and then to graze with ardent pleasure
in among the buttercups
she ate her fill of golden treasure
then back to mum whose milk she supped

standing in the lawned back garden
I heard their hooves stamping the ground
in the fields across the road
the little lambs that pranced around

and bumped into the other ewes as
they leapt all four feet off the ground
an awkward sight t'was to behold
their four foot gallop across the grass

but I digress it's not the way to
find a subject for my letters
I just need to concentrate and
try to write an ode much better
than the one I've written here

I hope I've made that very clear
the play's the thing on words and phrases
Shakespeare knew this in his day
he's the Bard and we all know it

who gave our language such a lift
that we still quote him even now as
we put words next to each other and
hope to find the magic mix

to pass the subtle meaning on
and spread the pleasure nice and thick
just like a well churned tub of butter
moistening the bread we eat
and with the roast lamb spilling out
this tasty sandwich is a treat

-----------------------------------------------------

Couldn't think of anything better, so that's today's offering. A hot and tender roast lamb sandwich. Really nice on brown bread, with thick and tasty English butter, and perhaps a dash of salt? Hmmm! I could go one of those right now! See you tomorrow.

 

Yep for Frixday. Xxx

 

I was going to write about March 25th being the old New Year's Day, but after trying two different approaches to it I gave up. Instead here's a tale about a burglar.

................................

Creature of the night

------------------------------------------------

Shadows fill the evening view
the sun has sunk, it's out of sight
the moon is still too low to show
who moves so silent in the night

he shades his eyes to get accustomed
to the dark before he moves
he's on a mission, although unwelcome
soon his presence will be felt

the owner of the house sits snug
television in the corner
throwing out both sound and light
in perfect harmony and order

feeling all around the frame
the air vent of the bathroom suite
right above the garage roof
the size is right for what he needs

he finds a way to breach the vent
and silently he reaches through
then opening the larger window
climbs in silence then continues

through the room he quickly creeps
onto the landing, floorboards creaking
into bedrooms there to search for
valuables the owners keep

hidden in the drawers and cupboards
sometimes under beds in bags
he gropes the darkness in his search
for anything that he can blag

his pickings for the night are few
a string of pearls or maybe two
and who's to know if they're just cultured
not worth much if such is true

and so he creeps back to the bathroom
there to climb into the void
leaving all his marks confused
their goods are gone and they're annoyed

now to the next house he's cased
with an easy lock to pick
then steal and fence what can't be traced
the goods he's worked so hard to nick

it's really not much of a living
stealing what he can from others
no fat pension no promotions
he's well advised to pack it in

still he waits night after night
the cold and dark begin to tell
he's getting too old for the fight
burglar's heaven's becoming hell

------------------------------------------------

Sorry it's so late this evening, but the cat's just come in spattered with blood from a fight with another cat. We've just spent some time cleaning him up and calming him down, and I'm pleased to say he'll live to fight another day. What it must be to be a cat, eh? Goodnight.

 

There was a ten word sentence posted up on a writer's forum I frequent. It was translated from a book by a Russian author Isaac Babel, and was posted up in five different versions.

1. In verdure-hidden walks, wicker chairs gleamed whitely.

2. Wicker chairs, gleaming white, lined paths overhung with foliage.

3. White wicker chairs glittered in walks covered with foliage.

4. Wicker armchairs dazzled white along green-shrouded promenades.

5. In leafy avenues white wicker chairs gleamed.​

They wanted us to rephrase the sentence to improve it (if possible) and try to stay within ten words. So I wrote the following;

"White wicker chairs fought with dappled sunlight along overhung paths".

However, I wasn't pleased with the word "fought" so I've now changed it to "shaded", as in "White wicker chairs shaded with dappled sunlight along overhung paths".

Anyway, I decided to write today's poem based on that sentence.

.................................................................

White wicker chairs shaded
with dappled sunlight along overhung paths

-------------------------------------------------------

Like bleached white ribs of long dead beasts
the wicker chairs along the path
lay dappled in the sunlight shafts
that through the overhanging branches
flash when boughs swing in the breeze

along the path lies the adventure
into shade and greening gloom
as overbrush and knotted wood
gather to create a room
filled with cool and gentle wisps
of movement in the subtle air

to assignations yet unknown
wandering along the path
smell the air, the mild aroma
feel the cool touch on soft skin
lift the feelings, raise the mood
into darkness feel the tension
expectations fill the void

soon the path winds out from under
spreading oaks with leaves that rustle
in the warm and gentle breezes
pass from shade into the light
to find more wicker chairs that line
the winding path we've yet to follow
where sunshine glints from shining paint
like bleached white ribs of long dead beasts

------------------------------------------------------------

That's all folks! See you tomorrow.

 

Wonderful thanks.
Sorry about your cat.

 

Bit thin tonight. I've been busy during the day and struggled to put some words together, so I haven't even named this evening's offering. Anyway, here it is.

-----------------------------------------------------

Darkness trails away, long thin and silent
veils of shadow passing
they fall with steady rhythm
changing light like lighthouse beams stab out
the sharp and bright edged shining sword cuts true

along the blade of light by dark defined
creatures of the night with eyes reflected
blinking in the brightness
they turn away from light as
though it hurt to see the point of light directed

back into the veil of dark and shadow
turn the scraps of living flesh disturbed
once more to go their ways
along the trails that fade by day
from where the sword of light had picked their silhouettes

but now the light has gone the dark resumes
the silent light that cut through swept away
the noises of the night
of discovery and fright
the scratchings of a fight
the panting breath of flight
desperation in the plight of fleeing prey

morning slowly rises through the mist
the beams of light now lost within the day
all that happened overnight is now the past
dawn has come and swept them all away

-----------------------------------------------------

I hope for inspiration tomorrow, but it will be fighting against F1, so I don't know which will win the race.

 

oh my cheer up Bj and don't forget your clock changes. xxx

 

I took my time a little more today and managed to put together some thoughts on foreign holidays (for those who feel the need!). So have a read.

..........................

Holidays abroad?

------------------------------------------------------------

Dust whips up in eddys around the empty chairs
as the fading sun shows bright on metal legs
the tables just stand empty showing nothing but blank stares
the waitress waits and watches from the shade

the canvas awnings flutter in the early evening breeze
their bright stripes now begin to slowly fade
the scene is like the view of an impressionistic frieze
from a now long dead artistic renegade

the impressionists saw shape and colour as their final goal
with detail being only second best
for them it was what seeing at a glance left on the eye
as the head was turned until it came to rest

but now there is some movement as a group of men arrive
to sweep the empty flagstones in the square
they wield their brooms like soldiers on parade all in a line
and work in rhythm as they clean, working in pairs

soon all the grey and dusty slabs are clean, every last one
the water wagon now begins to spray
in no time cobbles gleam and slabs are shining in the sun
enough to cause the men to look away

meanwhile the waitress sits and watches all the workmen's actions
and hopes that now the square is cleaned at last
the tourists and the locals will respond to the attraction
and fill her tables for their night's repast

and so we leave the market square and head toward the lanes
where all the bars and night life now begin
to open up and serve
those who feel they have the nerve
to brave the night as darkness closes in

with the sound of laughter echoing around the narrow paths
between the buildings heels begin to clatter
as party goers heed
the call to fill the need
for food and fun and all the things that matter

seasoned tourists all, who have watched the prices fall
as the lockdown emptied every bar and square
now are keen to make amends
from the Spring until the end
of the season while the weather remains fair

------------------------------------------------------------

Booked yours yet?

 

Booked yours yet?

BJintheUK, Today at 6:01

Yes Jersey in June. xxx

 

Just a quickie today. As the weather is nice I thought I'd write about a squall at sea.

.............................

Afternoon surprise

-------------------------------------------------

The wind howls loudly through the rigging
blinding spray showers heaving deck
soaked and cursing, cold and frightened
the crew all hold on till grim death

the squall blew up without much warning
out of a clear blue arching sky
with few white clouds to dot the heavens
and warming sun to bleach the sails

the sudden onslaught caught them napping
lazy day forecast ahead
and so the crew were quietly snoozing
down below in cooler shade

but as the morning reached midday
the seas began to rise in anger
waves so high white horses play
galley ways soon filled with water

crewmen fought to reach the deck
then batten all the hatches down
while reefing sails they laboured quickly
seeking shelter from the foam

within an hour the seas have calmed
the waves now ripple all around
the hot decks drying in the sun
as crewmen check to see she's sound

then back to work to pump the bilge
lift her back to normal trim
raise her sails once more to fill
then tug the sheets to reel them in

the ship now saunters on her way
the afternoon is looking fine
the squall's now just a distant memory
but they'll keep watch now all the time

-------------------------------------------------

Ahoy there! Watch out, avast behind! Ooer missus!

 

Wonderful as always BJ. XXX

 

Didn't have much time to write a poem this evening as I've been busy at the airfield all day. However, I did manage to write something, and here it is.

..................

Forty winks

-------------------------------------------------

Pulse .. pulse .. pulse .. pulse .. pulse
blood flows loudly through the ears
sounding progress through the night
as the tired one tries to sleep

insomnia is a curse for all time
sleep just won't come for hours
it seems to slip away as it arrives
yet the blood still pounds

but wait, the daylight comes
where did the time go?
perhaps I did sleep after all?
the hands on the clock
moved far round the dial

the morning's half gone
yet still the blood pounds
my ears hear the pulse
every second or so

like a pendulum swing
or a metronome tok
the pulse counts the time
till it's time to wake up

but the day time's arrived
the light of new day
sounds drown out the blood
the pulse fades away

till the evening returns
and tiredness descends
so climb up the stairs
and fall into bed

will sleep come tonight
or still be elusive
hot cocoa might help
but it's not conclusive

it may be a boon
or just indigestion
will the tired one sleep
now that is the question

-------------------------------------------------

Indeed, will I get any sleep tonight? My hip's been giving me hell this evening, and I expect it to get worse when I go to bed. Wish me luck!!

 

Sorry it's so late tonight. Our daughter was round for the afternoon and evening, and I dozed off once she'd left. I didn't wake up till nearly midnight, so then it was on with the lamp to burn the midnight oil. Anyway, I knocked up a phrase or two and they're below.

..........................

The hero's curse

------------------------------------------------

The sound of tapping plastic keys
echoed around the bare walled room
another hour, another day
of working hard to craft the tome

the tome of story, tale so told
as though by hero to his fans
a lasting legacy of sorts
about a battle, a subtle strand
of sub plot told in flash back mode
to tell us how in chess like moves
he overcame the villain and
then saved the girl and found the gold

so all ends well or so it seems
the people all now cheer and scream
then go about their daily business
charmed and safe now in his hands

he is their servant to command
his works are splashed across the page
as though his fame is all he needs
but though he's happy with the girl
we know that nothing will succeed
like being respected in his place

for saving all their stolen treasure
he'd like some too just for his pleasure
but though he got a rich reward
he still feels cheated by their words

and so the hero leaves the town
to seek his fortune in other places
searching new lands never seen
different hands and different faces
shake and smile respectively

to see such handsomeness made flesh
attracting all the girls and women
not to mention the odd young man
who all would bed him if they can

yet on he goes to find his challenge
nothing given nothing offered
he must find his own way through
and work through all his trials alone
with no-one's help and no support
until the day he knows he's won

for then he can relax with honour
wealth and glory rightly his
his fans now pump the flesh and clamour
there's never been a tale like this
of solo struggle overcoming
all the odds to win the game
and so the story's finished now
our hero basks in eternal fame

------------------------------------------------

Phew! Glad it's not me who's the hero. A bit like being an expert I s'pose, and I wouldn't want to be one of those. I'd rather be on top than on tap!