Tag Archives: Guest poem

Old Lady

We need more poems about getting old. Here is a wonderful one from Glenys:

lifecameos

Old lady blood problems
old lady pills.
Tiny toes dangle
from huge balloon feet.

Stretch marks cross my shin bones,
feet and ankles vanish.
Old lady giant ankles
more old lady pills.

Old people clipboard forms,
old people ‘flu jabs.
All line the waiting room
old people recovery time.

Old lady walks to town
fit as fit can be.
Old lady taxi home
after two hours’ shopping.

In my mind
I am middle aged
but my body keeps doing
old lady deeds.

Previously posted April 2016.

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Shoe

Another great poem from Robert Ojaki. It’s relevant to both the USA and UK today:

O at the Edges

blueshoe

Shoe

The right has only one option,
as is true of the left,

neither to mingle
nor disappear like washed socks

or loved ones in a casino.
There are those who believe

in fallen towers and pasts
burnished beyond recognition,

and truth, as it was written, for them,
in blood, with money inherited

from thieves. The puddle happens.
The door rotates. A snifter shatters.

The shoe’s approach defines its wearer.

* * *

This first appeared in March 2016, but somehow seems even more appropriate today.

cactus shoe

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Untitled Poem by Li Shang-yin

Leonard often shares Chinese poems, and this one is simply wonderful:

Leonard Durso

It’s so hard to be together, and so hard to part: a tender
east wind is powerless: the hundred blossoms crumble:

the heart-thread doesn’t end until the silkworm’s dead,
and tears don’t dry until the candle’s burnt into ash:

she grieves, seeing white hair in her morning mirror,
and chanting at night, she feels the chill of moonlight:

exquisite Paradise Mountain—it isn’t so very far away,
and that azure bird can show us the way back anytime.

translated by David Hinton

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The morning after the poem

Thotpurge has finished a poem about not finishing the poem. Brilliant!

THOTPURGE

at first light, on a
single sheet of paper, I found
a poem that does not want to be
read, a sky that will not know its
end, a cloud that realized it cannot
resist the wind, and a moon that
longs to scream over and over and over
again that all it can ever see,
is darkness —

the poet, as always,
did not
show up
at the
reading

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Climbing a beech tree in your parents’ garden

A truly wonderful poem from Sarah Connor. Enjoy!:

Sarah writes poems

You will come to a place
where you can stop,
back pressed against the trunk –
a place where you can feel
your soft limbs branch and stiffen,
and the sap pulsing under
your skin, and all your thoughts
are nests and breezes,
and the taste of sunlight,
and the tree holds you here,
like a father holds a child –

Or maybe
your father hoists you up
onto his strong shoulders,
so you can peer through
the green leaves of his hair,
over the fence to where
next-door’s cat lolls in the sunshine
and the old lady jabs
at her flowerbed

and now two butterflies
spiral up towards you
and a bird swoops in
to land upon a twig

and no-one else can see
the tree-ness of you.

I’m hosting at earthweal this week, and asking you to think about how children connect with nature. Or adults, I guess. 

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Baby Brother

This wonderful poem from Glenys has really taken me back to dressing up my little boy for the school pickup–he had a Loch Ness monster hat!

lifecameos

Baby brother is dressed up
to collect his sisters from
school st home time.

Great Grandma knitted his bright
striped beanie, cousin Paul grew
out of the dashing dinosaur leggings;
little friend Oliver passed on the
jacket with Barney on it. The
tiny tartan sneakers came from
Sarah over the road, she’s at
kindergarten now, nearly a big girl.

Yes the big girls at school
will gush and coo and gasp
over him – he enjoys that already.

Mummy thinks he is cool too.
Holding him on her hip she
tickles his ribs with her free hand.
He giggles and wriggles
wiggles and jiggles
chuckles then shrieks
gleefully, joyously
grinning from ear to ear
energetically, excitedly.

It’s a happy day today !

Previously posted November 2016.

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STAR TIME

I love this poem from Damian and where it goes at the end. Enjoy!

best poetry blog in the cosmos

STAR TIME

we sat
under the night sky

making love
to the stars

matching them
with their names
figuring out
new ones

trying to make each
star-naming moment
a special
ultimately
memorable experience

until
longing for a star
of our very own

we decided
to birth one

and
having no uranium
no plutonium either

loaded the microwave
with every item of kitchenware
aluminum and iron
and high tec appliances

set the dial
to hyperdrive

and aimed
for the Sun

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A Fox Crossed Barley Lane

A wonderful tale of foxes and people over time:

lifecameos

A fox crossed Barley Lane at dusk
trotting from his den on the heath
towards the scattered Essex farms
to hunt for a springtime dinner of hens
ducks, geese with newly hatched young.
He passed a farm labourer plodding along
the rutted track to a meagre dinner.
The fox would dine better than he tonight.

A fox crossed Barley Lane at dusk
trotting from his den on the heath
towards the prosperous Essex farms
keenly seeking a poultry dinner
from their large abundant barns.
He briskly rounded the loaded wagons
creaking along the potholed track.
His mind was on his dinner.

A fox crossed Barley Lane at dusk
trotting from his den on the heath
to seek his dinner at Essex farms and
backyards along the High Road
crossing Barley Lane as it followed
the new railway with its deafening trains.
It took more work to extract his dinner
but…

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Friday Poem: Days by Orhan Veli Kanık

There are days, I gather myself and leave,
In the smell of nets freshly hauled from the sea
Taking flight on the path of gulls
Drifting from one island to another.

There are unimaginable worlds,
Flowers open, erupt in noise,
Smoke bursts noisily from the earth.

But the seagulls, the seagulls,
Each feather bristling with haste!

There are days, blue all over me.
There are days, sunlight all over me.
There are days, delirious days . . .

by Orhan Veli Kanik

translated by George Messo

Rather than from one of my poetry books, this week I have a Turkish poem from Leonard Durso’s glorious website leonarddurso.com