poetry thursday prompt

Poetry Thursday's inspirational prompt this week is ''food'' - now, it always happens that I do most of my browsing around lunchtime and so food is invariably never far from my thoughts. Previously I had written about my lunchbox orange - 'twas nothing more than a scribble really.

this time, what with the bad news in the east and the heatwave bringing home the reality of climate change and, if we ignore this, the possible suffering it will bring to the affluent world - on a par to the current crises in many parts of the third world - and how their fragile economies and eco-structures are totally dependant on trade with us, the affluent world, yet still they starve while we get obese - this crazy travelling fruitcase of a world in which we live...

so, from my box this lunchtime I want to compose something about my rosy apple. (as per usual, it's a work in progress but one that I'll probably never revise.)


My African Apple

What can I tell you about my apple?
Its satisfying shape and glossy hue
Firm to touch, crisp, the expectation of bite
A little label that says South Africa!
Seven thousand miles, this fruit travels further
Than I do. Across plains and mountains
Rivers and valleys, villages and towns
And I wonder, as I crunch, whether
It crossed the dry lands of Somalia
Or Sudan and whether a woman there,
I’d seen on an aid poster, looking up,
Seeing my apple’s flight, wondered too
As I do, as she walks to fetch fresh water.
Some evenings we’ll walk the mile to the pub
Leaving the car because I’d like a drink
She walks fifteen miles because she wants to live
And apples fly seven thousand miles because
We can’t wait for fruit to be in season.

one deep breath prompt

1

thunder and lightning
we search the ominous sky
for a patch of blue

2

biking in the rain
the ford is no obstacle
to those who are wet



one deep breath prompt: perspective

this is how I spent my saturday, with friends up from London eager to try out their mountain bikes in the cotswold hills - needless to say, as soon as they arrived the heavens opened up! after two relentless hours of rain, we went anyway - and eventually the rain went too. great day!

poetry thursday prompt

poetry thursday: SEX

Is a pop lyric prosody? In the end does it really matter...? this old, old song came to mind;


My SEX

My sex
Waits for me
Like a mongrel waits
Downwind on a tight rope leash

My sex
Is a fragile acrobat
Sometimes I'm a novocaine shot
Sometimes I'm an automat

My sex
Is often solo
Sometimes it short circuits then
Sometimes it's a golden glow

My sex
Is invested in
Suburban photographs
Skyscraper shadows on a carcrash overpass

My sex
Is savage, tender
It wears no future faces
Owns just random gender

My sex
Has a wanting wardrobe
I still explore
Of all the bodies I knew and those I want to know

My sex
Is a spark of electro flesh
Leased from the tick of time
And geared for synchromesh

My sex
Is an image lost in faded films
A neon outline
On a high-rise overspill

My sex
My sex.

(John Foxx)



SEX

Before Midge Ure, before electronic, before punk
before our sex, before real sex, before any kind of sex
was My Sex. Dirty, sweaty, hot and wet, bodies pressed
and moving rythmically, impulsively reciprocating, the beat
overloading my senses, your voice, drowning whispers, and screams
and the sweet-bitter smell of our wasted fluids, spilt and mingling
on the floor. up hard, upfront, rough against the edge, the pedestal
and ivory tower, the stage at the Marquee Club, Wardour Street west one.

I wasn't a fan, my friend was but
in those days I was up for anything.

---

I'm still learning about poetry appreciation and I know the serious writing will only follow the appreciation. So I didn't intend to write a poem but once I have it on my mind, the urge to form verse from prose is too tempting. However, if anything it's a rough first draft (more likely a bit of whimsical nostalgia that I won't recover the passion to get back to!)

I'm not entirely happy with the metre - I'm suspicious that I'm not going to be a big fan of free verse, ''playing tennis without a net'' sort of game. I'm a beat fiend, probably the same wiring that prevents me being keen on classical music, I don't know.

You can pick up old Ultravox! Best of... CD for less than four quid at Amazon. By old I mean the pre-Midge Ure, original arthouse line up. I don't know what my ears would make of them now - but I'm tempted. Four quid won't even buy a round of drinks - unless maybe you're at the Ultravox! Appreciation Society's annual dinner & dance.

I've to get back to paid employment this minute and have to leave it unfinished for now...
Laters.

illustration friday prompt

haiga: pencil, ink & highlighter pen

I tried some haiku while on holiday in Zakynthos last week, this one an observation on our way down to the local beach. Since being introduced to the concept of Haiga - basically illustrations with haiku - I am quite taken with them. By turning my holiday haiku into a haiga I have a possible submission for the IF theme this week.

one deep breath prompt

1

last bus gone, i walk
my shadows waltz around me
down orange lit streets

2

the underground breeze
electric rails sing strangely
next train approaching


one deep breath prompt: urban

as I live almost entirely outside of the urban environment thesedays, I had to draw on a few memories as a youth living in London - always walking home from dates and the mole-like existence of the tube commuter.

one deep breath prompt

1

slow trickle of water
the rising tang of bitter fruit
one sweetened one not


2

procrastination
the cat in need of its rest
often kneads its bed


one deep breath prompt: ceremony and ritual

one deep breath prompt

This week's haiku prompt at one deep breath is journey. Though I don't do enough rail journeys, I often associate the idea of a journey with trains - the great age of the train! Why have we abandoned this glorious scheme for so many mean little tin boxes? (Another story). I relish long train journeys. There's nothing like just sitting back, half-mesmerised by the clickety-clack, watching little mayfly worlds come and go, passing by your personal window.

In addition is the optional submission of a Haiga. A haiga is a painting in the spirit of the haiku, and which compliments the haiku. I adore traditional Japanese brushwork; clear, clean and ordered it's as if every stroke is purposeful, economic not wasteful or superfluous, great discipline. Though I've heard it's easier to admire those things in others we don't possess ourselves. ;o)

Anyway, I love the idea of Haiga so I'm having a go.

popeye prosody

Iamb what Iamb... (Popeye philosophy)

so far so good, the beginning of Stephen Fry's book is very educational.

I'm encouraged to adopt three rules; tools with which to make the journey more meaningful.

1. Take your time - poems can't be read too slowly, but they can be read too fast!
   
   
2. Do not look for immediate meaning - just enjoy the flow of words, the meaning may come much later...but don't worry about this.
   
   
3. Always carry a notebook and pencil for those moments - flashes - of inspiration.

I'm learning about the basic building blocks of poetry, starting with stress and the iambic pentametre. I find this difficult to be honest because the more I think about it the more I go wrong. It comes easier when I don't try. The problem is hearing all those awful actors reading poetry with exaggerated and often misplaced stress on certain syllables - I'm doing this myself! though when I read like a normal bloke, it's hard to notice the natural stresses on polysyllabic words - but with perseverance it's improving.

So, an iamb is a two syllable element with a rise or stress on the second syllable, like appears, today and iamb (pronounced i-yam).

a pentametre is a measure of five elements, so an iambic pentametre is five iambs (or ten syllables where each even numbered syllable is naturally stressed). It is also known as a heroic line. so, that's what I've learned.

To consolidate, I am instructed to come up with some iambic pentametres of my own, off-the-cuff, very quickly. I hope I got it right. Here's the ten;

the clock is twenty minutes fast today
i run but tiredness trips my aching feet
a bruise appears where none appeared before
my shoe is loose my sock is falling down
erase those foolish marks and draw a line
he's tall because his legs are very thin
money is tight so daddy looks for work
this sugar's sweet and costs an arm and leg
no sense to make a piglet ride a sow
come rain and shine the rainbow arcs my way

Can you feel the rhythm? I was told to concentrate on the metre, not try to make sense! :o)