All entries for December 2009

December 04, 2009

Car poem

This poem is about my car. It stopped the week after I arrived in Coventry and it cost me too much to fix (it was the fuel injector pump). Last week I sold it on ebay as a broken car and got 500 notes for it. I'm still not sure about the word 'farts' in the poem, but it does make me laugh. My academic George told me it was purile. That's probably fair.

 

Soft Focus

 

With the slightest of commands – a turn

of a key, no drama, just a touch

behind the ear – you choke and churn

out a growl, and a phlegm-filled smoking cough.

Bellowing boisterous black farts from your rear,

oil gushes and fossilblood floods into aged

organs, driving limbs of cranks and gears,

and muscles grind under skin rusted and faded.

Your ninety horses smell freedom and run loose,

gallop through leaves yellow and red, fallen.


Library – poem inspired by Lorca

Writing about web page http://www.poemhunter.com/federico-garc-a-lorca/poems/page-2/

This poem is in the style of Frederico Garcia Lorca as a reflection on his poem Song. I can't find it on the internet, but I've linked other Lorca poems for your interest. Song is about a diligent girl picking olives outside her village. People come to try to distract her but she ignores them and continues her work. I've chosen a contemporary setting for the girl and tried to copy Lorca's style as much as possible. (Top B is a university night out.) 

  

Library

  

She is cultivating knowledge,

roaming erudite heights

under the unwavering glare

of the fluorescent library lights.

Four course-mates arrived

with bags and books,

whispered secrets

and knowing looks.

“Come to Top B lass.”

The girl ignores their plea.

  

Three young footballers passed,

well-defined and lean

with branded polo-shirts

and kit bags bursting at the seams.

“Come to Leamington lass.”

The girl ignores their plea.

  

The bold blue afternoon

rescinded to an amber glow.

A hall-mate approached

with clear liquids and Redbull.

“Come to pre-load lass.”

And the girl ignores his plea.

  

She remains cultivating knowledge,

roaming erudite heights,

warmed in her library

by the unwavering fluorescent lights.

  

(Inspired by Song, Frederico García Lorca, 1898 - 1936)


Luke Kennard–inspired poem

Writing about web page http://www.argotistonline.co.uk/Kennard%20&%20Loydell%20poems.htm

This is a poem directly inspired by Luke Kennard. He's a writer at Birmingham University and is a couple of years younger than me. Having inspiration from a younger writer is a bit like looking up to a Premiership footballer. Only he isn't 19.

  

Prospecting

  

I sit on cracked brown leather and drink from a round tankard. My beer tastes of seaweed and fresh air. I think of bold waves rolling small pebbles on the shore like a giant prospector hunting gold.

“What would the sea do with gold?” I turn to ask you but you’re looking in the opposite direction and my lips tangle with your damp hair. I’m enveloped in coconut-flavoured shampoo vapour.

“Sorry?” Your reply catches me still mouthing the word ‘gold’, but now I’m lost in thoughts of crumpling waves and your warmth after one of your baths.

“I think I’ll order the Full English,” I reply, keeping my eyes closed.


Continuous writing exercise

Writing about web page http://www.argotistonline.co.uk/Kennard%20&%20Loydell%20poems.htm

We had a session with David Morley the other day and ran through two exercises. Starting with a given phrase, we wrote continuously for two minutes. We then wrote for two minutes while counting down from 100 (out loud). From each of the exercises, I mined an interesting phrase from the drivel I had written. These were:

'all is naught when we are trying to come to the final of a sports event'

'pencil for the lolly'

DM gave us ten minutes to write a piece linking the two phrases. This is how I did that.

The Event

All is naught when we are trying

to come to the final of a sports event.

We chase the crowds and weave

side to side picking a route

through the hustle and bustle.

Shouts for one team, then the other,

groups of lads whose excitement bubbles over

into playful spats,

decorated in bold team allegiance.

Clouds of animal fat soar from burger sizzles,

even the sky radiates with potential

for something never before experienced.

And possibly, wanting some sustenance and sugar,

coming with little more that the clothes in which we stand,

with little to be had or made,

a trade or exchange and possibly a

pencil for the lolly.


December 2009

Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su
|  Today  | Jan
   1 2 3 4 5 6
7 8 9 10 11 12 13
14 15 16 17 18 19 20
21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31         

Search this blog

Tags

Galleries

Most recent comments

  • I've just discovered this blog. Enjoying the words! by Vivien Sellers on this entry
  • It's a coincidence that just before I came here I was trying to remember all the words of the best h… by Sue on this entry
  • Cheryl Cole, Andy (or whatever her husband's called), John Terry, Tiger Woods, their love lives, aff… by Sue on this entry
  • Like it lots. Enjoyed ready it. Lovely soupy words. The only thing I like a little less is the last … by Ali on this entry

Blog archive

Loading…
Not signed in
Sign in

Powered by BlogBuilder
© MMXXI