Carefully chosen words

Dead man walking

2011-11-03T19:41:00.000Z

A well-balanced gait
May be misleading: I am
Limping with both legs

3/11/11

Fallen

2011-11-02T23:21:00.001Z

On this red earth world
We are distracted by
The earthly pleasures

2/11/11

Losers

2011-09-27T22:38:00.001+01:00

The trouble is, there's too much peace
The union leader said
There's no demand for guns and planes
What can we do instead?

The trouble is, there's too much peace
The politician sighed
I can't fly in to show the flag
Reflect our national pride

The trouble is, there's too much peace
That's the phrase they use
I'm not sure that's the problem
When I read the news

27/9/11

Removals

2011-09-19T18:35:00.000+01:00

The car waddled over the speed bumps
And entered the college car park,
Sitting low on its springs,
Weighed down with stuff
And expectations

We climbed the stairs
And saw the room -
Blank and unobjectionable,
Then ferried the awkward boxes up
Adding personality and clutter
By increments

In no time it was finished
We parted
I returned in an empty car
To an emptier house

19/9/11

Treatment

2011-09-11T16:12:00.003+01:00

At the sex clinic
There's no appointment system:
It's first come, first served

10/9/11

All change

2011-08-27T21:16:00.000+01:00

A child leaving home
Is a very stressful time
(for the child as well)

22/8/11

The dating game

2011-08-22T19:53:00.001+01:00

Every one-night-stand
Always ends the same, she sighs:
The men come and go

22/8/11

Futures

2011-08-08T20:03:00.002+01:00

Chinese lanterns soar
Taking our wishes and hopes
To unknown endings

8/8/11

Time machine

2011-07-28T21:17:00.000+01:00

Italian cafe
Glass tables and strong coffee
50s atmosphere

28/7/11

Changeable

2011-07-27T20:49:00.000+01:00

Two days of the heat
Is enough to remind us
Why we don't like it

27/7/11

The waters of Lethe

2011-07-26T22:51:00.000+01:00

Grasshoppers kvetching
River runs slow and clear
Casts a drowsy spell

26/7/11

Still got it

2011-07-26T22:49:00.000+01:00

A shop girl looks up
Steadily she meets my gaze
Then smiles a welcome

26/7/11

Gifts

2011-07-25T23:26:00.000+01:00

The Prodigal Son
All callow thoughtlessness
Outshone his brother

Unfair or unwise
To favour the miscreant
Yet it's instinctive

We value others
For the love that we give them
Not the love returned

25/7/11

Distance

2011-07-20T19:44:00.000+01:00

Retreating ridgelines,
Increasingly hazy, fade
Into the dusk sky

20/7/11

The parable of twilight

2011-07-18T23:04:00.000+01:00

Midges cloud the air,

Their frantic activity

Getting them nowhere

30/6/11

Retreat

2011-07-18T23:03:00.000+01:00

In the chapel there

Is respite: the still centre

Of the turning world

I may not believe

In God but I still can seek

The gift of His grace

All will be well, and

All will be well; all manner

Of things will be well

Just routine

2011-07-18T23:02:00.002+01:00

We think that we have

Habits; actually habits

Have us, usually

30/6/11

Intimacy

2011-07-18T23:01:00.002+01:00

Outside darkness falls;

We talk softly of moments

Of intense feeling

30/6/11

Summer fruit

2011-06-18T06:42:00.000+01:00

Beneath the branches
The sheep lie in the shadow
Like windfall apples

18/6/11

Saturday morning coffee

2011-01-08T10:37:00.000Z

Nutty scent of grounds
The swirling of hot water
Taste of luxury

After hours

2010-12-22T15:53:00.000Z

On the graveyard shift
The shadows are haunted by
The skeleton crew

22/12/10

Self portrait

2010-11-01T22:57:00.000Z

"I am a camera with its shutter open, quite impassive, recording, not thinking."
Christopher Isherwood, Goodbye to Berlin

Self timer set:
Snapshots are my journals
Proof of life

I am a viewpoint,
A moving image stream,
A series of tableaux

My memory is full
Battery low
Too dark
Poor image
Delete

1/11/10

2010-10-27T21:17:00.000+01:00

Old HTML
Coders never die: they just
Degrade gracefully

27/10/10

Memento Mori

2010-10-26T23:13:00.000+01:00

Dense blackness yields
To a chill grey dawn
Clammy air sticks
To my skin

Dread stalks me
Death marks out its targets
Nearing with each step

Soon enough, it will strike
To my very heart.
Much better to face
The threat myself
Than watch helpless
As it takes those I love

The terrible calculus
Of such balancing
Sours the soul
But denial is vain evasion

The memory of yesterday's
Crisp sunshine seems
An age away
A paradise
Before the Fall

26/10/10

Midnight poetry symposium

2010-09-25T23:20:00.001+01:00

Poets will go on and on
They have the stamina to fight
After all the rest have gone

Some praise Chaucer, some praise Donne
Living rivals are heaped with spite
Poets will go on and on

Being brief is seldom done
They drone their woes into the night
After all the rest have gone

"Publishing is one big con
The money making grip's too tight"
Poets will go on and on

Booker, Costa, Orange won,
For novelists the future's bright
After all the rest have gone

They argue over who should write
They have the stamina to fight
Poets will go on and on
After all the rest have gone

25/9/10

A poetry manifesto

2010-09-17T16:09:00.001+01:00

I was reading some poetry by a respected poet recently and kept feeling 'This is terrible', 'so what?', 'this makes no sense', and 'And?" I was going to write a scathing review, and then stopped. I realised that my problem was, well, my problem: I have an implicit view of what poetry should be and what poets should be aiming to achieve, but others may not share that view. I know they don't: they are happy with cryptic, fragmented, idiosyncratic statements that leave the reader to do the work of filling in the gaps. They are happy, but I am not.

My manifesto for poetry is that it should:

be expressed in natural language, not using exotic, obscure or archaic language for effect
avoid oblique cultural references which may mean little or nothing to readers
be expressed in conventional word order
give the reader a clue what is happening and why this matters
if rhymed, have true rhymes, and much better not rhymed than badly rhymed
avoid unnecessary adjectives and adverbs
not test the reader's patience
avoid 'poetic' diction

Maybe I could start a movement - Poets against Poetry?

Up North

2010-08-28T10:52:00.001+01:00

Arrival

We reach the cottage
Unpacking is delayed by
Squabbling over rooms

Liquid refreshment

The local water
Carries the faint tang of salt
It sticks to the teeth

Transformation

Within half an hour
The neat empty kitchen is
A familiar mess

Plumbing

Experimenting
With the shower tap settings:
It's Russian roulette

Not found

Drifting like ghosts from
Room to room, mobiles in hand,
We search for signals

Refuge

I wake up feeling
That there is something missing:
Oh - there is no noise

Downtime

The kitchen clock ticks
Unnoticed: nobody has
Any meetings planned

Burdened

The apple tree bends
Under the strain of lifting
The swollen ripe fruit

Late

The night's silence is
Broken by a distant train
Like an owl's sad hoot

Early

Through the open door
The crisp clean air floods in
Sharpening senses

Diaspora

Meeting old friends is
A reminder of time and
Distance we've travelled

Snug

The purple heather
Lies like a heavy blanket
On the sleeping hill

Buffet

Another pub lunch
Sitting outside in the sun:
Wasps are invited

Crisis

The village shop's closed
So the nearest source of milk
Is five miles away

Details

It's easy to miss
The map's faint contour lines when
Planning a journey

Plan B

Energy exhausted
They wait while I go ahead
To collect the car

Blase

The bullock stares back
Chewing lazily on the cud
He's not interested

Sunday

People crowd the shops
Seeking souvenirs, postcards,
Presents, toys and treats

Street theatre

The entertainer
Does his magic trick: making
The crowd disappear

Private sport

The bus driver aims
For the deep puddles, trying
To drench the pavement

Market forces

Museums charge high
Admission prices, but art
Galleries are free

Horrible history

The Middle Ages
Were a time of great piety,
Disease and squalor

Activity

Butterflies flutter
Around the buddleia bush
In morning sunshine

Work ethic

The half-done jigsaw
Exerts its demand: it has
To be completed

Routine

By the third day we
Have established a pattern
For the morning tasks

Forecast

The barometer's
Needle edges up, bringing
Hope of changed weather

Trouble

Talk of future plans
Bubbles into argument
Then understanding

Victim

An upturned beetle
On the bathroom floor vainly
Tries to right himself

Omen

The photograph showing
A Nazi rally displays
A common purpose

Finale

Many hands are found
To help with the last stages
Of the big jigsaw

Symptom

Extravagantly
Smooth, my close-shaved chin's a sign
Of time on my hands

Locomotion

The Age of Steam was
Before our time, but the trains
Were simply better

Thoughtless

A dad tells his child
To put his head out of the
Moving train's window

Pedestrianised

Puffing and panting
We inch up the long incline
Like the trains used to

Haggling

The ticket machine
Prefers a smart card but it
Will settle for cash

Late August

Each chill morning hints
At a change of season soon:
Summer is ending

Reorientation

After relaxing,
From two days before we leave
Thoughts turn towards home

Packing

We subtract our things
Room by room, removing all
Trace of residence

The map fallacy

Moving south always
Feels quicker because we go
Down the atlas page

Surfeit

The car is quiet
Children sleeping or staring
At the passing views

28/8/10

Dinner date

2010-08-12T23:10:00.000+01:00

Talk between forkfuls
Runs on while the waiter waits
To clear away plates

2/7/10

Little England beyond Wales (Pembrokeshire)

2010-08-10T18:29:00.001+01:00

Little England

Neither visitors
Nor local inhabitants
Have strong Welsh accents

Picturesque

The boatsman curses
And pulls at the mooring rope:
Tourists think it quaint

Hyperlocality

Local produce makes
Local food for non-local
Consumers with cash

Porthgain sunset

Oystercatchers strut
The harbour mud, the works now
Idle and silent
.

Herding

The collie listens
For ancient commands: "Away"
"Come by" and "Lie down"

Leaving

The Irish ferry
Dips below the horizon
Headed for Rosslare

10/8/10

Breakfast of champions

2010-08-10T18:21:00.000+01:00

Cooper's marmalade's
True Oxford - posher, thicker,
And slightly bitter

10/8/10

A long way from anywhere (July, Nantwich)

2010-07-27T20:00:00.001+01:00

Country air

The canal's scent (blocked
Drains) competes with the odour
Of manure-spreading

Gridlock

The road system makes
The most of its meagre traffic
With traffic lights

Throwbacks

Bored teenagers sit
On benches, like everywhere,
But they sometimes smile

New horizons

Many have departed
Leaving the old, the young, and
The unambitious

The bells, the bells

Thursday night practice
Peals ring out, a marathon
Of matrimony

Dissonance

A charity shop
Shows misery memoirs as
Its best-selling books

Holiday

The schools, offices,
Cafes, even the hotels,
Close for the summer

Fine distinctions

They are proud to be
From Cheshire, not Merseyside,
But sound like Scousers

Hard sell

The sign to the town
From the supermarket pleads
For more visitors

27/07/10

Metropolis

2010-07-20T23:01:00.001+01:00

1. Hardware

Immersion

Stepping off the train
I'm engulfed by smells and noise
And the milling crowds

Becoming

Cranes arc the skyline
The city is unfinished,
A work in progress

Soundscape

Cars, planes and machines
Compete for decibel count:
Humanity's unheard

A/C

Unseen, the big fans,
Striving to stir the thick air,
Make a constant roar

Oasis

A quiet garden
Secluded from the traffic:
A lunchtime haven

Change

Free Evening Standards
Stacked outside the tube station:
The sellers have gone

Afternoon

The pavement glowers
Blood-hot air is heavy
With sweat and garlic

Afterwards

Tavistock Square looks
Unscarred, no longer marked out
By unwanted fame

Support

Scaffolding is like
Ivy: you never know when
It's holding walls up

Patch of blue

Sometimes when you round
A corner you can catch a
Glimpse of open sky

Mood swing

The train rises on
Its axles as passengers
Reach destinations

2. Software

Masks

Faces, all colours,
Bear the same shell-shocked grimace:
Hardened veterans

Babel

Short snatches of speech
Extravagantly diverse
Like flipping channels

Flocking together

In pairs and trios
Clusters wearing the same clothes
Knot the broad pavement

Always greener

The dozing beggar
In the shopfront is envied
By passing workers

Pariahs

Hanging round like kids
In doorways: smokers and those
On their mobile phones

Insight

It's not that people
Can't talk or smile, just that they
Meet many strangers

No country for old men

Every waitress,
Cook, bus driver, policeman
Is under thirty

Class

The staff bustle and
Seek the indulgence of their
Wealthy old masters

Withdrawal

Face wet with tears
She fidgets, sobbing a tale
Of meeting a friend

Preparation

Office worker sits
Touching up her mascara
Deep underground

Ink

It is good to see
So many books in hand - so
Reading is not dead

Rush hour physics

Room for just one more?
Somehow, there will always be
Room for just one more

The male gaze

I openly stare
At a beauty, forgetting
I've no sunglasses

20/7/10

Martin Locock

Tortured

2010-07-08T22:10:00.000+01:00

For falling in love
She imposes the cruel and
Usual punishment

8/7/10

Crow in Westminster Abbey: a Ted Hughes memorial

2010-06-10T18:20:00.001+01:00

Down the river

On Tower Green,

Sleek ravens strut:

Their wings are clipped.

Crow is free to soar

His space, broad and high.

Through plumes of incense,

Sooty candle smoke.

Far below, tourists

Trample Chaucer's grave.

Crow feels the loss:

The north wind's absence

The missing green-brown

Palette of the moors,

But takes heart that

Something survives.

Gardening

2010-05-07T22:08:00.001+01:00

Gardening (detail) Martin Locock acrylic on board C 2010

She stoops to place fresh

Flowers on the gravel square

And removes browned blooms

Her work done, she stands

Her eyes cloud as she reads the

Simple inscription

Soon she'll rejoin him

She weaves away through thickets

Of marble headstones

7/4/2010

The Skeleton Coast

2010-05-07T21:08:00.002+01:00

Breakers pound the beach
Editing the sea's graffiti
Rewriting lines in the sand

Bald dunes, too arid to retain
A hairline of grass
Inch towards the interior

The wind howls around
Bleached whale bones

I review my options
East and west - impassable
North and south -prospects unpromising
Offering no hint of change

Yet staying would be worse -
I'd face the same choice tomorrow
But would be tireder, weaker

I stand up, start to to walk,
My hollow footprints smoothed
By the shore's impatient hand

7/5/10

Indentured

2010-05-07T21:01:00.000+01:00

Long years at this bench
Have I worked, under
The quick and critical eye
Of my master

Saint's days brought
No rest to me
While other 'prentice-lads
Whooped and frolicked
In the streets
I kept to my task

Each new skill was practised,
Honed, on off-cuts, waste,
Until I was deemed worthy
Of the prime material

My back is bent,
Shoulders drooped, eyes sore
From so much hunched labour

The grizzled master grows old;
His guild and trade will soon be mine;
I will be master in his place.

23/2/2010

The Mind, Body, Spirit section

2010-03-30T22:18:00.002+01:00

From brain chemistry
On through fitness and fatness
All the way to God

30/3/10

Punk proverb

2010-03-30T22:15:00.000+01:00

John Cooper Clarke said
That a friend in need
Was a friend in debt

30 March 2010

The loner

2010-02-08T20:28:00.002Z

He'd rather drink than
Talk so spends his nights at the
Anti-social club

Spilt milk

2010-02-04T19:21:00.002Z

We are where we are:
However we arrived here,
We are where we are

Landscape and language in the Arctic

2010-02-01T21:56:00.002Z

They say Eskimos
Have two hundred words for snow*
And one word for love

Imagine a world
With one word for snow and two
Hundred words for love

*It isn't true that they have 200 words for snow.

Maturity

2010-01-29T20:14:00.000Z

The old chef says that
It is the stalest bread that
Makes the best breadcrumbs

Marathon men

2010-01-29T20:12:00.001Z

The slap of trainers on tarmac
Echoes down the still-dark street

Youths are happily a-bed,
Snugly dreaming - it's the
Middle-aged who feel the need
To run, their faces red,
Mouth open, gasping, as they try
To beat their personal best,
To improve, transcend

They never can outpace
The thing from which they run:
It's perched on their shoulder
A shade, whispering doom.

Birthday poem (for Gwenllian)

2010-01-09T12:44:00.001Z

In the blank darkness
Of the icy winter world
Gleams a new pale bud

Airport

2010-01-09T12:42:00.001Z

Welcome to Heathrow
The world's biggest bus station
Queue here for tickets

Arrivals emerge
Tired, battered, blinking: they can't
Match their meeters' joy

Knots of travellers
Confer about the delays,
faces lined in doubt

One by one the planes
Drop down from the holding loop
Buzzing the M4

The remote chance of
Terrible violence seems to
Worry people more

Than the certainty
Of boredom, chaos, expense:
The glamour of flight

The importance of clear thinking

2009-12-09T22:23:00.003Z

What happens in vagueness
Stays in vagueness

Intoxicated

2009-10-24T15:15:00.001+01:00

Translation of Meddwi by Meurig Walters

I supped from the cup of your lips
I drank in the wine of your cheek
No moment was as sweet
As this lip-to-lip

My soul soared to the horizon
Sated by the charm of our love
At golden dusk
I was drunk from a girl's lips

Give to no other that cup
Offer no taste of that wine
I'll return in the night
With a burning kiss

A contract with the new day

2009-06-27T08:48:00.003+01:00

I'll do honour to
The thing inside myself that's
Greater than my self

Carefully Chosen Words: the book

2009-06-19T20:56:00.008+01:00

Carefully Chosen Words, A selection of my best and most popular poems, including Belonging and Mary's lament, has been published by Carreg Ffylfan Press.

98pp, paperback, with colour covers., and only £7.99 + P

Poets don't jog

2009-04-09T18:44:00.004+01:00

Poets don't jog
You don't hear their footsteps coming from out of the morning fog
Not for them the red-faced gasping staggering slog

Poets don't jog
They'll still be in bed at midday sleeping like a log
Or face down on the sofa among the empties snoring like a hog

Poets don't jog
They're blearily looking through the kitchen for breakfast stuff to make their arteries clog
Or holding wine bottles up to the light in search of dregs so they can have the hair of the dog

Poets don't jog

End of the pier show

2009-04-07T13:48:00.002+01:00

Wigan owes George Orwell no thanks:
He made the dismal pier a by-word
For squalor and industrial decay

But in the exuberant 1980s,
As the town faced its post-industrial future,
Heritage seemed a tangible asset

The 'Wigan Pier Experience' was born
From canals, bridges and warehouses;
The tourists failed to appear
The experience unwanted:

The heritage centre's now closed down.

A new deal

2009-03-31T20:54:00.001+01:00

The beggars
plead for change
But nothing does.

The best policy

2008-11-15T12:57:00.000Z

Sometimes the truth hurts:
But then, on the other hand,
Lies hurt all the time

Fledgeling

2008-10-24T20:02:00.004+01:00

There came a time
In the swimming pool
When I took off the floats
And he swam from my arms
Frantically paddling to the side
Go on, I said, you're safe

I ran along behind the bike
My hand steadying the saddle
I gave a push and stopped
As he pedalled on down the path
Go on, I said, that's right

The documentation has been checked;
He heads for the departure lounge,
Walking tall;
He lifts his arm to wave
Go on, I think, fly away

Patination

2008-08-13T19:41:00.001+01:00

Burnished with wear, the ring
Is pitted and tarnished: it sits
On the mantelpiece, no longer
Warmed by proximate blood;
The finger it encircled reduced
To fleshless bone.

Smelted, forged, wrought
And tempered, the ring retains
Its form on cooling. The fading
Of the heart's heat leaves
No shape memory.

Toronto notebook: a haikulogue

2008-08-05T22:23:00.002+01:00

Foreign

The taxi driver's
Accent is hard to pin down:
Oh, it's Serbian

The same but different

A squirrel explores
The corners of the car park
But its fur is black

Footfall

Pedestrian city
Nobody wonders why you
Choose to walk around

Negative advertising

A sex shop is named
Very unappealingly
It's "Not just condoms"

High rise

Hemmed in by glass blocks
The passing clouds can be seen
As cool reflections

Convenience

Plastic surgeons and
Dentists vie for passing trade
With the sandwich shops

Security

Sirens aren't common
The police station dormant,
Another office

Jetlag

I've changed my watch but
I think my stomach's still
Eating on British time

Manners

Breakfast is labelled
"All you care to eat": Nanny
Would surely approve

Local news

Headlines mean nothing:
names I have never heard of
Doing something, or not

Babylon

The air's sickly sweet
In the wake of a black guy
Smoking a fat joint

Evening

The pavements are full
As tourists and locals seek
Food, drink and good times

Wheels

A long-legged girl skates
Dodging through the ambling crowds
Eyes follow her path

Temperature control

The Canadians
Have their air conditioning
We have our windows

Small rebellions

Although the waiter
Says "Have a nice day" to you,
His heart's not in it

Welcome

Doors which are unlocked
Are still kept closed: no labels
Hint at openness

Trapped

People approach me
All the time, wanting to
Tell me boring things

College

Ivy hugs old walls
Obscuring Gothic windows
Clutching ancient stones

The passion

A nude bronze statue
Arms outstretched, unsettles me
"Crucified woman"

Neighbours

Visiting tourists
Forgetfully say "Here in
the United States"

An exception

Although order and
Tidiness seem general,
There's some graffiti

Manners 2

"No excessive noise"
Warns a road sign, leaving its
Key term undefined

Time

The Catholic church
Sounds the hours with its bells; chimes
Doubled by echoes

Nutritional advice

Chocolate milk is
Not a food group; and maple
Syrup is not fruit

Half empty

Wine bought by the glass
May not fill it halfway up:
Leaves me wanting more

Queen's Park

The park is busy
A girl does Tai Chi while
Joggers trot past her

Patience

A squirrel sits up
Swaying, focused on watching
The berried branch move

Museum

The forecourt rattles
As the subway train passes
Beneath the sidewalk

Meteorological Office

A proud plaque records
"Bringing weather to you since
1892"

Rapid transit

The line runs next to
The real railway, carrying freight,
Its bigger brother

Little England

Islington, Old Mill,
Runnymede, Lansdowne, Bathurst:
Named by pioneers

Airport bus

Flight crew, when earthbound,
Share bus seats with mere mortals:
They stay dignified

Equality

The premium class
Passengers queue just as long
As all the others

Limbo

On the brink of change
Turning back to UK time
My watch means nothing

Airport

The gallery looks out
On boys' toys - the planes and trucks
Playing together

Belfast notebook

2008-05-11T22:50:00.001+01:00

A series of haiku written in the course of a visit to Belfast. They are intended to catch my thoughts and reactions at the time and don't reflect my considered views.

Safety announcement:
Bend forwards, head down, and then
Kiss your arse goodbye

The plane, like a queen
Moves fast and straight above the
Chequerboard of fields

From above, the clouds
Look clean and new, like Earth
When freshly fashioned

The cold bus station
At night, empty of buses:
Travellers marooned

Turning a corner
I find an angry mural:
Still fighting a war

Midnight, midweek, still
The air thick with strong liquor
They're hard drinkers here

University
Dressed up like a Gothic church
Knowledge is worshipped

Larkin liked it here
But he liked Leicester and Hull
So can't be trusted

A loner zig-zags
Talking as he walks along
Lost in mobile chat

An accent suited
To rapid escalation
To extreme anger

Peace's four horsemen:
Building work, English firms, wealth,
Global chains, have come

The place has Troubles:
The past not an anodyne
Distant narrative

The departure board
Makes it seem halfway between
London and Dublin

Faces pinched and pale
Vitamin C hasn't yet
Arrived in Ulster

Happy to talk to
Anybody, anywhere
Or just to themselves

They still make things here
New factories not just shops
How old fashioned is that?

Coffee house culture
Brings the cafe tables out
Into the drizzle

Government buildings
Old, squat, proud and resentful
Fight irrelevance

The street map shows no
Boundaries between beliefs
Just names from headlines

Big Issue sellers
Are a commonplace, alas:
They're no big issue

The city drivers
Are always slow to signal
Quick to sound their horns

The delay is due
To the road improvement works
Thanks for not minding

I'm doubly foreign
English, from Wales: a tourist
Fresh from overseas

However modern
Airports always have concealed
Tacky old corners

A hen party shrieks
Dressed in custom-made T shirts
Ready for wild times

Come buy, come buy

2008-05-10T14:33:00.003+01:00

'"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.'
Goblin market, Christina Rosseti

'You like my poems? So pay for them' Wendy Cope

Gillian Clarke and Wendy Cope
Clutched slim volumes in the dark
"Our readers are our only hope"
Said Wendy Cope to Gillian Clarke

"We'll take a stand against the trendy-
Stick to printing" suggested Gillian
"It worked before" remembered Wendy
"Making Cocoa sold half a million"

"Well, nearly" Gill muttered in dismay
"If we don't fight it, noone will:
If people want us, they can pay"
Responded Wendy Cope to Gill

It seems the poets were unaware
In the world beyond the reading list
People choose from what is there:
If you're not online, you don't exist.

An old ploughman's view

2008-01-04T23:18:00.000Z

They ask me if I miss
The jangle of the horse harness
The romance of the plough team
Now that tractors rule

They don't like my reply:
"Where's the romance
In staring at a horse's arse all day?"

The Gospel according to Martin

2008-01-03T21:43:00.000Z

I have unconsciously been slowly creating an alternative Bible as a result of my returning to Christian (and Old Testament) stories in order to explore moral questions. Some are critical and perhaps heretical, but they represent the ebst and most serious poems here.

Creation: Diminuendo

Noah's flood: The raven's tale

The Massacre of the Innocents: Collateral damage

Nativity to Crucifixion: Mary's lament

Crucifixion: Stations of the cross

Acts: The gospel according to Thomas | A Monmouthshire hedgerow

Revelation: Seven cities | The cloud of unknowing

The new Shakespeare

2008-01-02T11:34:00.000Z

Othello

"Jealous much?" asked Iago
"Totally" replied Othello

Hamlet

Hamlet's dad was all "Woo-woo, I'm dead"
Hamlet was all "To be or not ... whatever"

The Merchant of Venice

Shylock was so into bling it was untrue.

Macbeth

Wannabe king Macbeth was like "Is this a dagger, or what?"
Lady M rolled her eyes and said "Duh!"
Then he went postal

Romeo and Juliet

Romeo met Juliet at the prom
Their clueless parents were like "No way"
"Yes way" they said, and died.

The rhymes for love

2007-08-31T15:05:00.000+01:00

Poets are always complaining of
The scarcity of rhymes for love:
When at last push comes to shove
They reach out for the nearest 'dove'
And search the earth and skies above
For words that fit just like a glove;
So poets are always complaining of
The scarcity of rhymes for love.

Found poetry: from a shopping centre wall

2007-07-23T18:06:00.000+01:00

"Shopping and eating":
A good short description of
Consumerism

Love in the time of cholera

2007-03-26T19:01:00.000+01:00

Surrounded by dead,
Those of us merely dying
Must cling together

Dark prism

2007-03-05T21:48:00.000Z

Glo they call it
Sheened like a beetle's back

High the price
Lives lost or marred
White fingers, clotted lungs
Senghenydd, Gresford, Aberfan

Steam and smoke
Fuel to power an empire
Shovelled into fireboxes and hearths

The wealth it brought
Turned to ash
The land scarred
Buildings silent

On the ridge
Grey turbines turn
The valley sleeps
Its labour done

Kipling on management

2007-03-04T21:39:00.000Z

"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you"
Rudyard Kipling, If ...

If you can keep your job when all about you
Are losing theirs and rightly blaming you
If you can fake sincerity when men doubt you
And make them suffer for their doubting too
If you can apologise for keeping someone waiting
But delay them further by your lies
And seem good natured while secretly hating
The well-informed, the gentle and the wise

If you can plot - to overthrow your master
If you can snipe - without bothering to aim
If you can meet with Chaos and Disaster
And treat those two co-workers just the same
If you thrill to hear your name is spoken
Feted by dolts and praised by fools
And insist on fixing things that are not broken
Or, failing, turn around and blame your tools

If you can steal the balance of the Lotto winnings
And fire someone without giving a toss
If you can stall an initiative's beginnings
And ensure the outcome's total loss
If you can do without backbone or sinew
And leave a mess behind you when you've gone
If you can kill all honesty within you
And focus everything on Getting On

If you can reject all impulses to virtue
Poison every task with leprous touch
Ensure that all of those that hurt you
End up hurt themselves at least as much
If you can fill each unproductive minute
With a critique of how the firm is run
And forget the part that you play in it-
You will be a Manager, my son.

A chronological survey of the viability of coalmining at Abernant

2007-02-14T21:06:00.000Z

Depth: 0 years 2006

Kites circle the landfill tip
Lorries bring waste from far away
The surface sheds make rusting homes
To workshops and short-lived stores
The tidal swarm of miners gone

Depth: 20 years 1986

Hands, deep grimed with coal,
Clap for warmth on the picket line
Shoulder to donkey-jacketed shoulder,
The strikers bar the gateway
Matched by a fluorescent line of police

The scabs arrive in a tatty bus
Met by a storm of jeers and threats
Heads bowed, they pass through
To their lonely shift

Depth: 40 years 1966

A new era of mining dawns
Well engineered, gleaming,
In fresh new buildings
A workforce trained and keen
The promise of coal
A dream of prosperity and purpose

Depth: 60 years 1946

White eyes in black faces
Blinking in the daylight
A cacophony of accents
Bevan Boys from Scotland and Kent
Leaven the local voices
Trudging out of the pit
Exhausted by victory

Depth: 80 years 1926

Striking against pay-cuts
The Feds and Communists
Are joined by their colleagues

Some, penniless, dig pirate mines
To heat their threadbare homes

Depth: 100 years 1906

Smoke fills the valley
A wailing whistle and hiss
The first train heads for Swansea
Heavy with lumps of anthracite
Waved on its way with cheers

Belonging

2007-01-29T11:55:00.005Z

Some people are born where they belong,
Their home and family supply all needs:
The glow of hearthlight waxes strong
The call of the wider world recedes.

And some search long but never find
A spot where they can set up base
At last they must become resigned
To moving on from place to place

And some again, the lucky few
Are urged to leave, and to seek out
An individual rendezvous
With love's whisper or fame's shout

Belonging is a state of mind
Tranquility its foremost fruit
Sought by all, but many find
It cannot grow without a root

REPRODUCTION RIGHTS
I give permission to students to quote and reproduce this poem in assigments on condition that the poem is credited to Martin Locock and the url is stated: http://locock3.blogspot.com/2007/01/belonging.html.

Teachers and others wishing to include it in resource packs should contact me at mlocockATgmailDOTcom.

CONTEXTUAL INFORMATION
Information about the poet can be found at A Few Words (see for example Self portrait in 30 statements) and Answers to questions from Poet's Letter, and there are also author's notes about the poem.

PUBLICATION

Belonging is included in my poetry collection Carefully Chosen Words published by Carreg Ffylfan Press.

Welsh traditions

2007-01-08T10:46:00.000Z

Knowing more about rugby than the WRFU
Using three words when one word would do

Forming a committee to get something done
Pooling the talents and wasting each one

And when it goes wrong to everyone's shame
A nation united in apportioning blame

Heat

2006-12-19T22:59:00.000Z

Sunbathing beauty,
Bronzed skin glistening with oil:
Poetry in lotion

Restless

2006-12-09T08:50:00.000Z

The wind at sunset
Brings the scent of far bazaars
Calling me away

Answers to questions from Poet's Letter

2006-11-23T19:03:00.000Z

Q. What made you produce your poetry on a blog?
The main reason was my discouragement at the process of trying to get the poems into print. I had been circulating small collections among my friends, but these were by their nature limited by duplication costs and whether people had expressed an interest in receiving them. I thought that if I put them on the Web then maybe more people would find them.

Q. Do you get feedback and does this help with the creative process?
I don't get a lot of feedback, and what there is tends to be praise or dispraise rather than analysis. I do a lot of reworking as part of the initial drafting process, so by the time it's on the blog I consider it near-finished. A more common effect of feedback is to inspire further poems in response to comments suggesting altenative approaches.

Q. Has it opened your poetry up to people across the world?

Well, the world, including Britain! Most of my readers come from the US, I am a member of Moontown Cafe, a US-based poetry forum, and my closest contacts are with some of their poets.

Q. Has it led to you changing the way you write (in terms of frequency) or think about your poetry?
The immediacy of writing online has led to my writing very short poems: a lot of haiku, for example. In an informal context, a poem doesn't have to be big or clever to be worth writing, so I write more often. Although this isn't quite what you asked, reading other poetry on the Internet has taught me to value brevity and clarity above all; there is an awful lot of awful poetry out there! I think that before I was more willing to embrace complexity and obscurity: now that I am writing for real readers I consider this discourteous.

Pessimism

2006-10-03T23:05:00.000+01:00

The single life has
Its points, but my bed is
Half empty without you

The end of days

2006-08-18T21:32:00.000+01:00

Loss changes the calendar
Transforms it into a minefield
Of broken anniversaries
Missed events
Empty chairs,
A rosary of grief
Rotating with the months.

Forgetting seems like treachery
To the gone,
Yet without it, who can bear
To face the rolling years?

Love's season

2006-07-11T19:23:00.000+01:00

We met in a shower of apple blossom
Loosened by winter's final frost

We kissed as daffodils
Peeked warily from the soil

Our love ripened with the berries:
straw, rasp, black

Autumn brought barrenness
Winter, solitude

Modern proverb

2006-07-11T19:19:00.000+01:00

Never mind, there's twenty more fish in the sea

Philosophy's task

2006-05-05T18:53:00.000+01:00

There is knowledge
And then there is certainty
We can lightly know a fact
It sits in mind, untroubled and untroubling,
Engendering no warmth
No strong emotion, no fear

But reality intrudes
A visceral certitude
Of consequences sure and soon
And wholly negative

Sometimes this shift
Is occasioned by events
Newsflashes from the outside world
Broadcasts from fate

And sometimes by thought
The erosion of plausible denial
The collapse of cant

Ecologists say "Extinct is forever"
Glib, tautological, as a slogan
For their very specific, very urgent cause-
They also speak a general truth

As Socrates said, philosophy's task
Is learning to die

Roanoke, Spring

2006-04-28T14:08:00.000+01:00

The wind blows steady from the east
Bringing air tangy with salt

The banks of mist, torn and tattered, clear,
Revealing distant land-masses to north and south

Sand and reeds whistle and rattle
Across the dunes

The storm beach is littered with flotsam,
Tarred timbers and frayed ropes

The Outer Banks have sheltered many,
Ships and sailors, refugees

Seeking haven from Atlantic storms
A pause for thought

Here the horizon is full of choices
Each compass-point a destination

I wrap myself up, staring out to sea
Awaiting an omen to guide me

I have lost my faith in experience
Since it has brought me here

from Bede's History of the English Church (2006 edition)

2006-04-23T10:02:00.000+01:00

One sin at a time

On the conscience of St Augustine
Was much that was simply disgusting
He started to worry
And so he said sorry
For it all, apart from the lusting

Many are called, few are chosen

The thing about St Benedict
Was his Rule was incredibly strict
For each one he monked
Ten novices flunked
And out from the abbey were kicked

Against gluttony

Ascetic Thomas Aquinas
Always avoided large dinners
To others who'd fast
He'd say "You won't last:
You're amateurs, only beginners".

Incarnation

According to Cardinal Newman
God, granting salvation to Man,
Smiled on the godly
And damned those who oddly
Insisted His Son's only human

Defending the faith

Henry called the Papal Nuncio
An idiot and a duncio
Enraged, he said
"I'll chop off your head!
I've done it before, more than once-i-o!"

Gently does it

Inquisitorial Torquemada
Gave advice to his torturing cadre
"If they won't confess
You just have to press
On their conscience a little harder"

Schism

Martin Luther's 95 theses
Broke the Christian world in pieces
The question was if
The Roman Pontiff
Oversaw the whole of the species

Soil temperature

2006-04-23T10:00:00.000+01:00

To test the soil in Spring
To time the sowing of seed
The farmer used to sit
Bare-buttocked on the ground:
"Warm enough for me", he'd say.

Many seasons later
His bones seed the soil
Under a blanket of earth
Protected from winter's frost:
"Warm enough for me", he'd say.

Turn of the tide

2006-04-23T09:59:00.000+01:00

The sea's greedy hand
Finally admits defeat
And loosens its grip

Unaware

2006-04-08T07:47:00.000+01:00

Ignorance is bliss
But it cannot last for long:
Bad news travels fast

Two trains to London

2006-04-06T19:43:00.000+01:00

08.43
Rustling newspapers
Yawns, coffee; much reading of
Letters and reports

14.06
Lengthening shadows
Empty seats; crossword puzzles,
Books, quiet chatter.

The last librarian

2006-02-28T19:52:00.000Z

Memory-
Keystone of civilisation,
Of all progress-
Is underwritten by paper

Amnesia
Lives in the continual present,
Errors repeating endlessly

Hypatia,
Knowing this,
Collected scrolls
In numbered halls

Theophilus
Hearing the word of God
Wished to burn all others

Alexandria
Glowered
Under flaming skies

Hypatia weeps
Her loss,
Oblivion's gain

Physics 101

2006-02-23T20:05:00.000Z

Sleeping in

Motionless bodies
Will remain motionless when
In bed on Sunday

Hypercriticism

Every action will
Cause an equal opposite
Over-reaction

Stress management

Bodies when pressured
Will transmit that pressure to
Everybody else

Argument against filing

A system's total
Entropy over time will
Tend to a limit

Gravitational pull

Small bodies exert
Small forces of attraction:
Large bodies, larger

Final voyage of the North Ship

2006-02-07T19:48:00.000Z

"The current rate of shrinkage they calculate at 8% per decade; at this rate there may be no ice at all during the summer of 2060." BBC News, Arctic ice 'disappearing quickly'

"I thought it would last my time"
Philip Larkin, Going, going

"I saw three ships go sailing by
Over the sea, the lifting sea
And the wind rose in the morning sky
And one was rigged for a long journey"
Philip Larkin, The North Ship

One sailed towards a northern place
Over the sea, the rising sea
But of the ice there was no trace
Although they searched most wearily

One sailed to the Antarctic pole
Over the sea, the dying sea
To measure the size of the ozone hole
Growing bigger annually

The third sailed for a western shore
Over the sea, the angry sea
It had gone, like Atlantis before
So it returned unhappily

The ships voyaged to and fro
Over the sea, the landless sea
Watching out for a new rainbow
To signify God's mercy

The skies where no dove or raven flew
Over the sea, the cleansing sea
Were scanned in vain by the crew
The water took them tenderly

Sweet sixteen

2006-01-26T20:16:00.000Z

Daughter, beware of
The wild animals in the
heavy petting zoo

First amendment

2006-01-25T19:42:00.000Z

Congress shall make no law
respecting an establishment of religion,
or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;
or abridging the freedom of speech,
or of the press; or the right of the people
peaceably to assemble,
and to petition the government
for a redress of grievances -
Unless it feels like it.

The benefits of age

2006-01-18T17:56:00.000Z

Withering leaves are flags,
Signing the march of the seasons:
They are lost in the wind

Youth has gone; stuff fills the void:
A life of shopping, cleaning, and waiting

Unimaginable to the urgent young
Who, breathless, move on:
Next party, next girl, next kiss

Filling their days
With a chaos of pleasure
But unable to luxuriate in it:
No time! No time!

I'm slower now, calmer,
More thoughtful;
A line is drawn: that's done, over.
Now, what's next?

Cold

2006-01-01T10:03:00.000Z

Winter lingers on
As dirty as week-old snow
Resisting the thaw

Errata

2005-12-22T18:16:00.000Z

"All time is not your tear-off jotter, you cannot afford to scribble
So many so false answers"
Louis MacNiece, Eclogue by a five-barred gate

The idea that some are just born good
Believing what's not understood
Certainty of what Jesus meant
Hating those who are different
Judging before finding out
Denying any room for doubt

Mary's lament

2005-12-04T10:23:00.001Z

Pregnancy brought me joy and pain
Pain and joy, joy and pain
Joy first, and then pain

As soon as I felt it grow within me
My body succumbed
To the swashes of hormones
The tides of chemicals
The traffic in tissue
I grew and changed
As he grew and changed

I became large and ungainly,
Comically rounded;
I smiled and patted my belly
In joy

My good humour even survived
That hurried journey along crowded roads
In the muddy, frosted fag-end of the year
To Joseph's native village

No room
Still, can't be helped, we bedded down
In straw, flanked by the steaming forms
Of cows

Then the baby came, and with it, pain
My muscles straining
I lay there, panting, sweating;
heart pounding, I cried out
Wailed in the sunset
Pain, such pain

Then there were two voices wailing
Then only one
Then none

Thirty years on, and thirty miles north
I reach the foot of the little hill
Of ill-omened name
The city walls behind me; the gate locked
against encroaching dusk
The three trees stood on the summit
Long shadows sweeping the grass
And something ending

We had done so much, taken such care;
Food, water, clothes, love
Joseph taught him a trade
We had thought to relax
See out our days, warm
In the knowledge that he carried on

But then Joseph died, left us alone;
And then he left,
Said he was called to other things
Had work to do
I waved him off
Kept my fear to myself

The rumours came
From time to time
Travellers, soldiers, relatives
Buzzing with news
He'd been here and there
Doing wonders
And helping, always helping

But then the good news stopped:
Instead, capture, trial, and sentence
I hurried to Jerusalem

I can do nothing but watch
But must do what I can
As he labours through the hours
His face drawn, plastered with sweat and blood
His voice cracked
He asked why his Father forsook him
I wanted to tell him
His mother had not

III

Now all is dark
I'm in some room
(I can't recall where)
With some people, friends I think,
Downcast, snivelling and sobbing
He had such strength!
And we do not

It is unbearable
What can I do but bear it?
I cannot go on
What can I do but go on?

Joy and pain, he brought me,
Pain and joy, joy and pain
Joy first, then pain
Such pain

The raven's tale

2005-11-27T15:36:00.000Z

For forty days we had huddled in the rafters
Birds of every kind, squabbling over perches,
While the roof of the Ark was hammered
By incessant rain; through cracks in the shutters
I could see the swirling waters, heavy with silt,
Swelling and flowing around the boat

Then one dawn we woke in great surprise
Some change had happened, but what?
It took some time to realise
It was the silence, the absence of sound:
The rain had stopped;
We chattered in excitement

Noah strode in from the stern
His face drawn and pale
His clothes stained and damp
But relief filled his eyes
"It's over", he said, "We've come through"
We didn't know what he meant
"We'll start afresh - now all I need
Is a creature to search for land
As the water drops"

The dove, primping his white feathers,
Lifted his head high for notice
Raising envious glances
From his neighbours
But not from me

Noah shrewdly assessed the candidates:
Too fat, too slow, too dumb
He passed the dove and selected me
"Go, find a tree, quick as you can,
And bring a leaf to show me
That we can start our lives again"

Off I flew, fast and high, and straight
Lazily flapping my wings
Crossing the calming waves
Looking down for a trace of green
On and on, further and further,
Until, days later, I saw a rock
A pinnacle of some great mountain
Standing just proud of the sea
And landed there to rest

Later, much later, I heard the story
Of how the dove got on
Became a symbol for peace
For a covenant between God and man
And was blessed by Noah;
But I also heard rumours
That Noah dined on pigeon pie

I made my own way,
Self-sufficient
Needing nobody's grace,
Content to fly
Until my goal appears.

Retired sailor's lament (echo verse)

2005-11-26T10:35:00.000Z

What can't be found while there's wind in the trees? (Ease)

A note on echo poems

2005-11-26T10:06:00.000Z

The echo poem was a form popular in the 16th-17th centuries. It comprises a series of statements of questions followed by a response (or echo) which repeats part of the end of the question:

Then tell me, what is that supreme delight?
Echo: Light

From George Herbert (1593-1633), Heaven

Another example is Edward de Vere's echo verses (1588).

Given the limited options, it is usual to allow some laxity about the precision of the echo.

There is a modern ribald echo poem about poets of the past by Kinglsey Amis, included in his published Letters (p. 115):

Say what the realm of honey-tongued Pope is. Echo: Piss

What ails Wordsworth in Nature's mystic lap? Echo: Clap

Regret (echo poem)

2005-11-26T10:04:00.000Z

What does the heart do when it's made a mistake? (Ache)
What is the fruit of being untrue? (Rue)

Broken (echo poem)

2005-11-25T20:03:00.000Z

Who walked away in the dawn, scattering the dew? (You)
Who remained there under a paling sky? (I)

Will you return when the wind brings the snow? (No)
What do they do who say feelings fly? (Lie)

Where must you travel when all hope is gone? (On)
What becomes of the bond that linked friends? (Ends)

Powerless (echo poem)

2005-11-25T11:59:00.000Z

Whose fate is ruled by far-distant towers? (Ours)
And who will obey Death's final call? (All)

Terminal

2005-11-22T20:36:00.000Z

The line stops here

Beneath arching glass

Locomotives shudder

Panting for breath

Carriages cough passengers

Onto the platform

Midnight arrives

Silence descends

Pigeons fight for litter

With the rats