A poem: On Point

On Point

“I didn’t do it,” she said, as she pointed at someone else’s  parent’s parents.

“I didn’t do it, “he said, “and I have NEVER used that word.”

“We didn’t do it,” they loudly declared, as they counted out the coins to pay the lady who was busy raising their children.

 

“I didn’t do it,” she said as she gestured towards her black boyfriend who she had decided

to name ‘Justice’ because it was such a strong, regal sounding name, and rolled so easily

off the tongue.

 

“I didn’t do it,” he said as he spoke sadly of his inability to find work,

and how a system of structured “reverse racism” was now working viciously against him,

stopping him from B.E.E.ing able to find any employment at all.

 

“We didn’t do it”, they chorused as they hung another banner together,

calling for an “Off with his head” sentence for the president who couldn’t pronounce all

of  the numbers in the language of their choosing.

 

“I didn’t do it,” she said as she quickly looked away from the scene happening in front of her in the restaurant and crossed over to the other side of the street.

“I didn’t do it,” he said as he quickly logged off of his social media account because it was getting a little uncomfortable now that she had been caught saying that thing.

“We didn’t do it,” they whispered as they grabbed their last bag off the conveyor belt at the airport and set out to begin their new sparkly lives.

 

Then one day, without warning, they all suddenly ran out of fingers to point and as they stood in front of the mirror, they watched as a thin trickle of blood slowly dripped out of their left nostril and ran quickly down their face, settling in a tiny little growing puddle on the floor.

Writken Word: Cowbell

This will be my second attempt:

i had this idea for a stream of consciousness kind of Spoken Word vibe but written down with no edits and so what i am going to do in a moment is ask Facebook for a word to get me started – i will pick the seventh word suggested, whatever it is, and then come back here, write down that word as the heading and then flow a written piece with whatever comes into my mind

Writken Word: Take 1

i had this idea for a stream of consciousness kind of Spoken Word vibe but written down with no edits and so what i am going to do in a moment is ask Facebook for a word to get me started – i will pick the third word suggested, whatever it is, and then come back here, write down that word as the heading and then flow a written piece with whatever comes into my mind and try and catch the rhythm of a spoken word piece and publish whatever comes out. No pauses. No edits. You’ll have to take me at my word on that, but here goes with Writken Word, first attempt:

CHEESE

Consider this if you will, as you open up the refrigerator of your soul and realise that there right at the back somewhere far in the distance, in places that you cannot even see any more there is the smell of something slowly and softly making its way towards you. As you peer more deeply in you are suddenly hit in the face by a giant wave of pungent odour that knocks you down, leaving you bruised and breathless as you lie there pondering what just happened on the floor. Could that strong smell be emanating from me you ask yourself but before you can reply there is the sound of a reverberation that begins within and threatens to force out the very expansions of every tendency within you to want to make sense of what just happened. You decide to wait, knowing that waiting brings with it the anticipation of the opportunity to try and make some kind of sense, find some meaning stop the dreaming that this must be. This can’t be real but yet you start to see the congeal that is setting in around the edges of your mind and you start to know, this is real. This is happening, this is now. And you are powerless to stop it or even to contain and so you let out a refrain with every process in your brain scrambling to undo that which has already been done so long ago and cannot be stopped now. You stop. And wait. And think. And listen. And suddenly the smallest smile appears at the edge of your mouth as you realise that this is not a powerless state of being, this is simply the past and it is vast and it stretches seemingly infinitely out, but as you turn around you see that the space in front of you is empty and ready and waiting for you to act, to live, to breathe, to create, to do. And so so leaving what is past and what may have been a disaster and what is trying to drag you back with its stenchy smell you set out anew on a new journey which is undiscovered country waiting to be a road less walked upon but by you. This is not a story that has already been written and is waiting to be rewritten. This is a new opportunity to paint to climb to fly to breathe. To be. And so you will be. And you will NOT be held back by what has already been not matter how badly it smells to you. No, you are going to seek out new smells, create new fragrances, be new perfumes to those you encounter from here on out. You will not forget the past, but you will NOT be contained by it.

[Word supplied by Jamie Rogers Gibson randomly on Facebook]

To fully appreciate it, i think it might help to speak out the words or at least mouth them silently to yourself as everyone in your office is starting to stare…

[For the next one i did titled COWBELL,  click here]

 

micropoem: robbed

robbed

gone

but not forgotten.

but gone.

too soon.

not that any other

time would have

felt any more right

but this one

definitely felt

every bit of wrong

i miss you, friend

not forgotten!

[For other of my shorter Micropoem types, click here]

Literary Lion Challenge: Edge

i stumbled upon a piece of a blog called Literary Lion, [who i believe to be Laura Gabrielle Feasey who you can find on the Twitterer as @laurafeasey], in which there lay a challenge to write a 400 word or less piece titled ‘Edge’ and in the absence of regular Tandem Blog posting, i decided to take up that challenge and so here is mine, i hope you will enjoy, or something:

EDGE

David woke up with an impressive jolt.

He’d had that dream again. The one where he was the guitarist that Bono had picked to be in his world famous rock band. You know, U2. Yes, THAT U2. Except that he hadn’t been picked, had he? Because his name was not “out there” or cool like ‘The Edge’. His name was David.

Big world-travelling hit-producing rock bands didn’t choose people named David as their guitarist. They chose someone who people would not make complete eye contact with, who you would half-smile and nod to as he entered the room and quietly made space for him to pass by. They chose someone called ‘The Edge’.

“I could have been The Edge”, thought David, whose last name was Evans. David Evans. You don’t see people getting excited about screaming that name into an announcer’s microphone as a legendary quartet set the stadium on fire. Metaphorically, that is. They didn’t actually set the stadium on fire. Although with U2, who knew what they might try? David Evans clearly didn’t. Because he was lumbered with that sad, ridiculous name?

What if he’d told them that his middle name was ‘Howell’? That was slightly interesting, wasn’t it? I mean, not by itself, but maybe snuck in between the two most boringest names he could think of, maybe ‘Howell’ was just what was needed to have helped him force entry into the band?

David Howell Evans. He whispered it again. As he finally climbed his way out of bed and started getting dressed.

David. Howell. Evans. He liked the sound of that. If he had applied to be a member of the group that would Wow the world with ‘Boy’, by giving them his whole name like that, maybe it would have been he who was synonymous with not being able to find that thing you had misplaced on a badly signposted road somewhere on a clot-ridden Sunday afternoon?

David Howell Evans pulled on his jacket even as his face continued to shout to anyone who might have been vaguely interested that he was sulking. Pouting, even. That could all have been his!

Yet here he was, stuck in a hotel room somewhere in the middle of who knows where, doing he couldn’t for the moment remember what.

David looked up and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. “Oh, right!” he exclaimed out loud.

i hope you enjoyed reading that – make sure you check out the home page for Literary Lion and all the other entries for this challenge… and maybe consider writing one yourself…

Poem: the nature of it

the nature of it

stunning sunset

casting its fading light

across the valley

trees gently shaking

their arms

in the breeze

farmyard animals

searching for

the perfect harmony

from cacophony

as they raise

their gravelled voices

as one

flies buzzing

creepies crawling

tiny birds picking

at their nests

the beauty

of nature

[as long as

it keeps

its distance]

[For other poems i have written this year, click here]

A Poem: Turning the Tide

Turning the Tide

one white hand

calling to another

to tear itself away

from the clenched fist

it has become

accustomed to

to step away

and towards

the sea of black faces

looking on

exhibiting so much

welcoming

grace

forgiveness

patience

but at the edges

one can start to see

the restlessness

is beginning to show

[For other poetry i have written this year, click here]