Wednesday, 23 March 2011

Righting My Writing

I'm pretty lazy, to be honest. I have no discipline and I never force myself to write anything. Luckily I've got a career elsewhere, but I still enjoy writing as and when...

Listen!

Righting My Writing

If there is a way
To which I feel I can commit
Then commit I will
Until then I will flit
Between passing thrills
The delicate intricacies
Of flowing prose
To the sharp staccato wit
Of poetry
Who knows what I may find
And although I know I’m probably wrong
in thinking there’s a style to which I just happen to belong
And although I know there’s work to be done
Commitment, perseverance and carrying on, and on
It happens in my head
Like an unravelling thread
And I’m perfectly happy to wait
Until the future, that distant date
When it comes together of its own accord
At which point
It will be its own reward
By which time
I won’t care a jot
And of course
I’ll be so old and forgetful by then
I’ll have to start all over again

Wednesday, 16 March 2011

You're In Luck

A slight departure from rhymes.

You're In Luck

“It’s not right, Rosie,” said Ella, sniffing the cup. She squealed in disgust. “You CAN’T.” Rosie grabbed the beaker of dark purple liquid from her big sister and brought it to her lips. It smelled sweet to her, the same juicy ripe sugary drink that she’d tasted an hour ago from the same cup. Determined to show off her bravery, she squeezed her eyes shut, stopped breathing, and let the grapy mixture stain her tongue. After a second, she composed herself. Eyes wide, a quick assessment of the situation showed no adverse reaction.

“Ella… it’s the same. It’s just juice again.”

Ella wasn’t convinced. They tried the experiment once more, this time with coffee. The same thing. Rosie hadn’t felt sick, or looked green, or noticed any different flavour. After a few more drinks, Ella was persuaded to join in the taste tests, and agreed. There was literally no change.

Feeling a little petulant, Rosie drank an entire carton of orange juice and waited until she could feel pressure on her bladder. She eagerly took her glass into the bathroom with her, but was rewarded with a pale yellow stream instead of the acidic egg-yolk orange she had hoped for. “Looks like it’s just you, Ella,” Rosie announced as she rejoined her sister. “What can you have done to make THAT happen?”

Ella shrugged, warming to the prospect of having a magic power. “I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully, “but do you think it works with food too?”

Tuesday, 15 March 2011

Quiet

It occurs to me there isn't long now before I go back to work on a boat, and I'll revert to blogging about that. I'm still writing songs rather than poems. Have one.

Quiet

I don’t speak much
I prefer to let others take up space
I hide in my corner
People rarely see my face

Does it bother you
That I don’t tell anyone how I feel
I’m sure you realise
It doesn’t make me any less real

It’s a quiet kind of feeling good
A little sort of love
A pretty gentle happiness
You’re in my heart
You’re in my heart

Tell me the truth now
It doesn’t seem likely you know either
What this is, or how
We can carry on any further

Does it bother you
That this time next year I could be gone
I’m sure you realise
But for me, for now, you are the one

It’s a quiet kind of feeling good
A little sort of love
A pretty gentle happiness
You’re in my heart
You’re in my heart