Posts tagged with “poem”
Step Zero
Hello, my name is Paul And my father is an alcoholic (hit the wall) I dream of my father's death and it is still his problem (take a breath) Hello my name is Paul And my mother is dead (hit the nail on the head) Goodbye Dionysian wines of sun, Hedonistic Epicurean good clean fun (have a whine) Goodbye my name was Paul I never had a problem with alcohol at all (hit the wall) There may or may not be scope for a poem in there - too autobiographic for me. AA meetings - not a bundle of fun. Seems they are a way of life for many. Now then, where's my next one? Ha ha Ha. 03:30 AM | 0 Comments | Tags: AA, father, drinking, poem, testimony, motherI'll be the death of him!
DO DOGS HAVE SOULS ================== Be careful son, my father would say I tell a lie If I died he would not cry When his dog dies I watch him cry When his dog dies I hate myself for crying ###### -------- But the dog, what of him? He just sees two lost souls and, for pities sake, when the dog dies I see three. What about you? ###### -------- PAW ALL SOUL's EVE 2011 ###### -------- Poetry, doggerel, or therapy, you decide.... All comments welcome and, if I know you, I'll take it up with you in the appropriate manner. Yes, father I am perfectly serious - you are old enough to die of shock now. Over and out 01:28 AM | 0 Comments | Tags: poetry, poem, God, dog, father, deathj, dogerelElegy Query Epitaph Query Obituary
Assasination by poem, if it were possible, would be a fitting end for my father.
The Iambic pentameter what done it Guv -
A cunning plan for the perfect crime - read a poem where the rhythm is SO powerful it accelerates the beat of the heart
Therapy in testimony?
What my mother did for me
I was born and she died
What my step-mother did for me
Took my father to task for calling me a pigs arse
Stopped my father stealing my leather jacket
Called herself my mother
What my father did for me - that's a toughie
And society thinks I should respect that?
06:49 AM | 0 Comments | Tags: poem, familyBamboozled
Upon confronting himself
the narcissist will often
hide amongst bamboo
The pandas of the psychic world
often prone to failed breeding
preferring their own gender
Within their bamboo stand
Descent from home
through mired stench trench
Up to a pot
Where I sat and wept
No stand, just sit
a lonesome clump
place to shit
or feelings dump.
Across the way another called
echo of the first
Mother to the other, maybe,
or itself the first?
Straight shooting people
in deep discussion
Shoot eating pandas
in dire strait’s
Narcissist to their self
Pandas to their natures
Each to each
Lost to the world
They eat it up you see
and shit it out
without a doubt
something we could not
Sorry to see the pandas gone
Narcissus hung himself
from the apos trope fee
PAW July 2011
PAW July 2011
In grudging respect to Lynne Truss and her volume on Sussex dialect - read at the tandem rally in Easter.
I reserve the right to revisit, delete or generally muck about with this poem.
Commentary will be respected so long as it makes a reference to the poem, in keeping with the "about" page of thge blog.
11:51 PM | 0 Comments | Tags: panda, poem, mental health
Isabel's poem
This was written by my daughter at the weekend, I shall photograph the original text and post it, but this is my version typed as faithfully as I can:-
Look! a leaf
Scrunkling my life away.
Look! a rabbit hole
Like a bowl
Eating my life away.
Look!...a nest
Like a bed
Sleeping my life away
Look at the green grass
Like a bean
I roll my life away
Isabel Eleanor Amelia Wrighton, November 2009.
06:21 AM | 2 Comments | Tags: kids, parenting, father, children, poem, Isabel, poetryThree Score plus More
At the weekend I visited my father, aged seventy five, and made sure his computer was online. Although I am quite sure he shall not manage to read this I thought I would put the poem he gave me at the time online:-
Three Score years and tenSo what does one do then?The Bible says - that's your lot;"Can't I do what I forgot?"Now I am seventy two,My latter years have just begunCruising, boozing, having funSeventy Two, don't feel so wellMy prostate begins to tellOh no! I'm seventy threeMy doctor has his hands in me.He looked inside and said "It's bad!"My love, she pretended she was sadSeventy four, my pension pot is growing,I remember the wild oats I've been sowingSeventy five, life goes quickerAnd my blood is getting thickerOh dear lord six and seventy,Does that make me feel more HeavenlySeventy Eight, the reaper's lateSeventy Nine, or is it Ten?Hari Krishna - not again!Jesus, Allah - I've got the scoreI can't do it anymore.J.C.W. October 2009
06:04 AM | 0 Comments | Tags: father, birthday, poem, poetryFading
The older I get the more I see
People
The less they see me
Year by year I am fading
like well worn jeans
At least that is how it seems
One day the invisible man
might see all that he can
of all of the people
doing all of their things
But I can never see
What they are looking at
when they do not see
me!
Paul Wrighton October 2009
06:52 AM | 0 Comments | Tags: draft, poem, poetryOde to a burglary
Come on you burglers
Come and have a go
Take every thing I own
I'm a Quaker so
that's OK....
The riches of my spirit
far outweigh your karma
if you want to hurt me
You'll have to try harder
Come on all you burglars
You got my daughter's DS
now you really shouldn't
Mess with my princess
Come on all you burglars
show me your face somehow
I may be a Quaker
But I could kill you now
All the stuff you have is tainted
You can have it all
But frightening my daughter
You really didn't oughta
That made it personal
that made me care
Makes me see your life as worthless
But I can't go there
We'll get our home back
we have our love
You have some stuff
and when you go above
You're going to fucking pay for this in ways you never could imagine you fucking bastard.
Sorry I'm a Quaker
What I meant to say
was God bless and I feel sorry for you
and listen to a voice inside next time
Just LEAVE THE DS, OK?!
06:48 AM | 0 Comments | Tags: autobiography, unemployment, parenting, Quaker, poem, kindness
Posting from a Library...
Right now I am in Castle Carey for the Childrens carnival later today. I shall try to get pictures onto my phone for later… it could be quite visually pleasing if the rain keeps off! This goes to show the blog addiction has hit hard, even though this offers a lovely quiet respite from the inevitable family drama as a bonus! I brought my laptop, but to hope for wireless access was expecting too much (it is pretty much a small rural town).
Anyway, with the country air I arose early. My father is quite the eccentric (you can see him and some of his poems from the "about me" link if you click on far enough and he has been moved to more traditional housing than his old beach hut on wheels!). So in his new abode he insists that visitors leave something in a Visitors Book provided for the purpose.
Arising early I found this book and the muse struck. Occasionally I may feature a poem in my Blog. BUT I am determined that it should not become exclusively a poetry nor exclusively a writing blog… So they will be tagged and archived in a manner of my choosing from time to time….
If there is no poem in this post it has obviously been done…. Likely gone on to a better place… But for the moment you will find it below:-
LOVE OF A POET
==============
Never love a poet
To love one is absurd
A poets love entirely
Being given to the word
Bad poets write of love
A moral for my daughter
Good poets love themselves
Like a fish loves water
The didactic part comes now
Not of love and not of poet
Of happiness and loving life
The poetry's in how you show it!
PAW 4/10/2008
Feeling bashful now - sigh.
As I say - you may have noticed a previous post that has now self-destucted, well think of that poem as being written in an ink that fades very fast, because it too will join collected and selected ephemera in the ether at a future time. Of course copies may have been taken, but I don't want to think about that… I'm weird and shy that way.
I am quite happy to blog and reveal my identity within the blog, but when it comes to publication in any traditional sense I would prefer a "nom de plume". If anyone cares to suggest suitable pen names in comments - that could be fun, perhaps. But please, no Tadalafil based etymology or themes! Oh I just thought, I really need to avoid mentioning the C word, V word or any other pharmacopoeia or else the spiders are going to mark me down down down!
I notice now that being in the library with a timer on my connection really focusses the mind! Perhaps I need to start introducing a fake similar system at home? No question of idling off away to tweaking little corners of the site or googling weird wikipedian linkage chains. Speaking of which I have turned on a Wiki markup (you'll find an example on the ABOUT DIDACTIC link for the word didactic). I've tried to make one on this post too (in the previous paragraph, for Tadalafil), but the internet and browser setup here may make this tricksome.
My next poem was intended to be titled "Ethereal Ephemera", but the muse does not respect my future titles and plans. So there we are. Or here we are.
I can certainly feel the chill of the new season with October, added to the chill of the countryside away from the city heat. The children taking part in the carnival should be fine however - the theme is "Teddy Bears Picnic" and they are all wearing furry outfits… This time the great family drama (there is ALWAYS one) was brewing about the "float" trolley upon which my great niece Jessica (13 months) is due to perch… Anyway, my father has become the grumpiest bear in town with the sorest head…. and now refuses to push the trolley or even lend them his drill to finish the work!!
Sigh - and now I have to proof read, correct, and return to the melée!
Thank goodness I can return to domestic blogging come Sunday night, only 30 hours of this to go!
11:38 AM | 0 Comments | Tags: poem, carnival, teddy bears, poet, poetry