It’s not “World Poetry Day” until Friday 21st, but here in Geelong, the Geelong Library held a celebratory event tonight (Wed) … so appropriately, I thought I would repost a poem from my first book, Tullawalla, “Poetry in Motion”
Poetry in Motion
I was searching for words Maybe the script’s lost in celluloid I’ve a pile of empty poems Frustratingly strewn Here, there and everywhere But I hear them whispering
“We’re not finished yet Do not leave us for dead Under this thick biblical heap Please tend to your lost sheep”
The mound of poetry pages Began chanting louder And I was silently listening To their distant preaching But I’m not that proud And I quickly lit the gunpowder
Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “Hungry Crows” (a Pantoum) is in this week’s edition. … To read my poem, please click on the link below to visit the article, at Coffee House Writers Magazine. >> https://coffeehousewriters.com/hungry-crows/
Hungry Crows (a Pontoum); is my metaphorical interpretation of the ‘infamous’ White House meeting between President Zelensky and President Trump
A Pantoum, Poetry Format
Stanza 1: 4 lines, ABAB rhyme scheme
Stanza 2: Line 5 (repeat of line 2 in stanza 1) Line 6 (new line) Line 7 (repeat of line 4 in stanza 1) Line 8 (new line)
Stanza 3: Last Stanza (This is the format for the last stanza regardless of how many preceding stanzas exist): Line 9 (line 2 of the previous stanza) Line 10 (line 3 of the first stanza) Line 11 (line 4 of the previous stanza) Line 12 (line 1 of the first stanza)
“My Back Pages” Lyrics by Bob Dylan
Crimson flames tied through my ears Rollin’ high and mighty traps Pounced with fire on flaming roads Using ideas as my maps “We’ll meet on edges, soon,” said I Proud ‘neath heated brow Ah, but I was so much older then I’m younger than that now.
Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth “Rip down all hate,” I screamed Lies that life is black and white Spoke from my skull, I dreamed Romantic facts of musketeers Foundationed deep, somehow Ah, but I was so much older then I’m younger than that now.
Girls’ faces formed the forward path From phony jealousy To memorizing politics Of ancient history Flung down by corpse evangelists Unthought of, though, somehow Ah, but I was so much older then I’m younger than that now.
A self-ordained professor’s tongue Too serious to fool Spouted out that liberty Is just equality in school “Equality,” I spoke their word As if a wedding vow Ah, but I was so much older then I’m younger than that now.
In a soldier’s stance, I aimed my hand At the mongrel dogs who teach Fearing not I’d become my enemy In the instant that I preach My existence led by confusion boats Mutiny from stern to bow Ah, but I was so much older then I’m younger than that now.
Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats Too noble to neglect Deceived me into thinking I had something to protect Good and bad, I define these terms Quite clear, no doubt, somehow Ah, but I was so much older then I’m younger than that now.
When you walk into my home You cannot help but notice That all the walls are adorned With photos and various pieces of memorabilia
And if you venture out the back door Into my verandah and courtyard area You cannot help but notice That the fence and walls are also covered With more pictures and Tullawalla scriptures
Our Creative Geelong Market Day was a very warm 33’C. However, we were comfortable enough, and with Frankie’s friendly demeanor and help we still managed to sell a fair few books.
Our bookstall, and Frankie overseeing the setting up …
The market’s Atrium area, and Jen Stevens with her creative pottery display
Adele and her fabulous hand-painted denim jackets …”Twilight” and “Ekphrastic” were inspired by her perusing my books at our previous market day.
A painting I purchased from our adjacent stall holder, Jen McElwee. And an embroidered card that she gifted me, with my poem “Dreams of the Heart” that she copied from my book “Tullawalla”
The clerihew is a funny, four-lined poem that often makes fun of celebrities and other well-known people. Format: Line 1 (person’s name) (A) Line 2 (rhymes with A) Line 3 (B) Line 4 (rhymes with B)
Yes, Prime Minister (A Clerihew)
Our Prime Minister is Mr Anthony Albanese He’s not a great philosopher like Socrates Maybe our head politician is a good theorizer But the lads at the pub reckon he’s just a dreamer
Today’s Throwback Friday poem was written in March 2022, and appears in my third book, “Until Eyes Hear Sound”, Chapter 1, Little Creatures and Birds, page 6
Innocent Millipedes
Please Mr Shootin’ Putin Do not roll your tanks of destruction Over the innocent Mr & Mrs Millipede Millipedes were the earliest animals to breathe air And make the move from water to land They date back 428 million years Now people of the world cannot hold back their tears
Did you know Mr Shootin’ Putin That Millipedes are fairly timid critters Docile decomposers that live in the leaf litter Of forests all over the world! They aren’t flashy or fast And they follow the motto “Slow and steady wins the race” Millipedes are peaceful They don’t bite They can’t sting And they don’t have pincers to fight back
Please Mr Shootin’ Putin Do not roll your tanks of destruction Over the innocence of creation
Creative Geelong’s monthly Market Days showcase local artisan products, secondhand goods, clothing, books, records, produce, artistic works and art materials to buy, sell, swap – all welcome to visit. The Market Day will be undercover in our Hub at Centrepoint Arcade,
This Saturday
132 Little Malop St In the atrium, and along the arcade 11 am-4 pm
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Wednesday Challenge is the word Stodgy. You can visit their fabulous site by clicking on >> Here My poem “Flying Among the Clouds” is definitely not Stodgy.
Flying Among the Clouds
I’m flying high Cruising among the clouds Fly with me And the rest of my flock Up here There’s no need for a clock
Time gives no commands Cruising among the clouds Silently overseeing the crowd
Time always flies At the same standard pace There, in that space Between daytime’s silvery moon And twilight’s glittery sun
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 