Words, Words, Words

Roses are red, Violets are blue, Sugar is sweet, And so are you.

Roses are red, Violets are blue, Some poems rhyme, Mine doesn’t!

Roses are red, Violets are blue, Thy eyes are red, Cause you’ve had a pint or two!

Back in the summer I showed my ten year old, soon the following week to be eleven, niece my growing collected poems, a recent project with the working title: “Say it with Words, collected poems ..... moments in time and beyond” that, to date, nobody else has seen.  It came about after a serious discussion she had instigated about whether or not poems should rhyme!

Over the coming weeks and months, I’m going to share some of the project with you, my wider audience, here then for starters is the introduction:

 

Say it with flowers, no words.

                            with apologies to Interflora;

                            inter ...... between, among, within a group

                            flora ...... flowers, plants, vegetation,

 but between friends,

 among allies

 within your group

 don’t forget the

 flowers,

 plants,

vegetation,

as sometimes

actions

speak louder than words!

  

“Poets don’t draw.  They unravel their

handwriting and then tie it up again,

but differently.”

Jean Cocteau 

“We do not remember days

we remember moments."

 

                                      Cesare Parese

  

I like to think of it as 

“Free Form Poetry”

or

“As it happens Poetry”  

with a rhyme if it

happens to be there!  Not sure if these

are original “names,” but I like to think so!!

Roger

And, here’s the first one from the “book” (as some of it indeed in a book, other offerings are currently stored electronically!), from a previously “published” booklet called Common Ramblings” and both apt after the last blog post and for those up in matters of folk music as next month sadly seems to herald the demise of Mike Harding from his regular folk programme on Wednesday evening, BBC Radio 2 – shame on them!:

Student Days

each time from when on high I see

the myriad of lights spread out

beyond the plunging hillside

in the valley far below

surprisingly I'm taken back

to far off student days

and Mike Harding

folk singer, rambler and Rochdale cowboy

on his rickety stuffed alsation dog

the audience hushed

save the easily put down heckler

from "rent-a-pratt, Leeds branch"

and the story unfolds

of how one night

he was forced from his bed

by bladdery needs

and stood gazing from his window

down on the lights of Manchester

far below

a myriad of lights spread out

majestic and mystical

each tiny light its own

story could unfold

as it shimmered and lit up

 

the surrounding blanket of the night

he, like I, went on to question

the meaning of it all

the meaning of life itself

it all being out there

encompassed by the twinkling

of those far off anonymous lights

joy, misery, laughter and pain

there .......

he, like I, then thought .......

sod it, and went back to bed

 

And to keep you going for the time being, one of those currently stored electronically, a haiku style poem combining words with another love – photography,  unfortunately it isn't letting me load this properly, with words superimposed on the photo with an attractive coloured border, you'll have to use your imagination, I'll try again next time!!:

 

After the Rain   Puddles in the lane     Grey damp sky and dripping trees Waiting for the sun