Early July 2017, my blog/website was only 3 weeks old when I wrote this abstract poem, ‘Fruit Loopy’ … hmmm … and I am not sure what my thoughts were at the time … but I had only been in my new little abode for 5 months, and I was finishing off building the verandah, and starting to create a courtyard garden … I suppose I was “dreaming” about how much Carole would have loved my new home, so hence the “funny title”
Today’s Throwback Friday poem is a rewrite of a piece original called “Living On a Knife Edge”(Feb 2019). This poem was one of two, that I submitted to be published in March 2020 , but the other poem was accepted ahead of this piece, and here today I have again revised the 2020 poem.
Living On a Wooden Bridge (Revised)
Fire, fire, there’s raging fires
I need help to stamp out the flames
Burning down this old timber bridge
A traveler’s last causeway to the edge
Carrying today’s harsh realities
Spanning a lifetime of dreams and fantasies
Rain, rain, there’s a Noah’s flood
I need help to stop the cascading suds
Fill the sandbags with riverbed mud
Plug the leakages with woolly rugs
Ring out qualms and doubts
And accept the charity handouts
Warning, warning, there’s a heatwave
I need help to see through the shimmering haze
And peer into nature’s fiery atmosphere tonight
Where millions of her fireflies are alight
Forcing eyes to hear the sound of flashing delights
Gathering above the bridge to be the world’s new sunlight
“The Hosting Of The Shee” a poem by William B Yeats, sung by the Waterboys
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare Caoilte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling: ‘Away, come away’ ‘Away, come away, away, away’.
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare Caoilte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling: ‘Away, come away’ ‘Away, come away, away, away’.
Our armsa-wave, our lips are apart And if anything gaze on our rushing band We come between him and the hope of his heart We come between him and the deed of his hand.
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare Caoilte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling: ‘Away, come away’ ‘Away, come away, away, away, away, away…’.
The “Epilogue” poem “Words of Mine” from my book Tullawalla, has been revised many times since my original version, written in November 2017, and the Tullawalla version is definitely my finale piece. Featured Image Above: An Illustration by my niece, Kerri Costello, for the ‘Epilogue’ poem, “Words of Mine” (Tullawalla, page 153)
Words of Mine(The Epilogue, in my book ‘Tullawalla’)
I’ve given you all, my humble words I’ve given you, my hidden soul Words trickling, through cool mountain streams Words dripping off the frozen ashen trees Words gliding across the icy lakes Words of love, drowning in the memory rains
I’ve given you all, my inner self I’ve given you, my outer grief Words Tumbling over the embedded rocks Words twisting along winding rivers Words cascading down the forest waterways Words sifting through my barren hands
I’ve given you all, my lonely heart I’ve given you, my secret loves Words of life, living under the vast oceans Words of time, travelling to the stars beyond Words flowing through happiness, and sorrow Words of mine, destiny’s dreams of tomorrow
“Words”, A song by Hailie Andersen(France), adapted from my poem ‘Words of Mine’ … Click on the Link below Hailie’s photo to listen to the ‘Soundcloud’ Audio
Today I am presenting another poem that will be appearing in my new book “UntilEyes Hear Sound”. I wrote ‘The Reincarnation of a Pumpkin’ in October 2020, and the poem will be the opening piece in the Weird Section, ofChapter 9. Humour, Fantasy, Faeries, and Weird.
The Reincarnation of a Pumpkin
My locked bubble is about to go boom
A year I’ve been a stranger in my own tomb
Under a pumpkin lid, hiding my gloom
Where my world was a rotting cave of doom
Now these orange walls are my life-giving womb
Being reborn like a smiling old groom
I’m breaking away from the master’s dead blooms
Escaping on the green witch’s magical broom
Flying over the full moon of autumn
Where I’ll be able to wear my mask and costume
Hidden under my orange Kaftan from Khartoum
And I’ll invade the newsrooms, and the children’s bedrooms
Today I am presenting another poem that will be appearing in my new book “Until Eyes Hear Sound”. I wrote ‘No Place Like Home’ in August 2020, and the poem will be the opening piece in Chapter 7. Memories and Rhymes
Today’s Throwback Friday poem is from October 2019, a time when I was anxious about trying to finish my “Tullawalla” Manuscript before my publisher’s Christmas deadline. Tullawalla was my first serious attempt at compiling a poetry collection, and I was panicking that I would not complete the project in time …I calmly sat myself down and wrote this poem to myself … “What’s all the fuss about, stop worrying, and just do the best you can” …
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 