one deep breath

one deep breath : the unseen.



guardian angels
watching them when I'm not there
faith, trust, hope and love




*
This week's prompt made me think I'm more of an observational guy and I could appreciate the unseen more. I had a bit of difficulty with 'observing' the unseen without being too literal.

poetsday

the minutiae of Life & the two-minute poem;

the draft

the draft of a suicide note lay
amongst the aftermath of breakfast
a half-consumed body of man
the sacrificial lamb hanging
ominous from the beam
the coffee has become quite cold now
collecting my belongings I turn
taking one last look while
heading for the door

*

right to the top of the tree

no one need stand on the tips of their toes
to see over the intellect of tony mcgee
while tony would prove one and one made three
but a shortage of men made him CEO
and it's not what you know, nor who you know
but how you go - and so tony went
right to the top of the tree.

*

(dedicated to old bosses and their disgruntled employees everywhere)

one deep breath

one deep breath : mystery (yugen).

1

recognising you
when i glance in the mirror
flowing eternal


2

two figures walking
caught in the passing headlights
as the night claims them


*

Reading the link on one deep breath for Kristin Boryca's study on the four aesthetic terms in haiku - sabi, wabi, yugen and aware, I wondered if they could relate to the four elements - fire, air (wind), water, earth. (whatever they might mean!)

I came up with;

sabi - solitude - air (or wind)

wabi - stability - earth

yugen - mystery - fire

aware - impermanence - water

a pointless exercise but I had a bit of time on my hands.

Poetsday

Fucking Paul McCartney

Yesterday, I had this dream
That everyone had turned
Fucking Paul McCartney!
And what's wrong with that?
They'd like to know...

avoidance

eighteen syllables
or fewer than seventeen
and poor enjambment

poetsday

The minutiae of Life & the two-minute poem;


things I avoid

I am a product of my time and place
and I avoid that which isn't mine;
the saccharine, maudlin, inner weeping
and wailing, soul-searching, self-pity
tearing of clothes, and angst negativity.
I would take these things and bake them hard
in a cake of concrete: a lifesaver
ring tossed from the bridge to those drowning
and after a hundred years, when the river
has dried parched and the cement crumbled to
nothing, I will have been gone a long time.

*

this one was definitely two minutes, it's like a pop-gun of thought.
but is it true? don't ask me, I'm barely a poet, not a psychologist!
yet each moment of life is a completed work, there are no second drafts. ;o)

one deep breath prompt

one deep breath : simple pleasures.

1

a day walking without purpose
mentally sketching
poetry
photos
and
words

2

an empty house, everyone's out
enjoying the quiet
and music
playing
real
loud


*

Susan suggests a backwards Fib this week, so this is what I have done. It was fun. Hey, sometimes when you innocently type something out, you look at it and get an inkling it might be incidental poetry? I seem to do this all the time... is it just me? It's only a bit of nonsense. ;o)

Susan suggests a backwards Fib
this is what I've done
my two fibs
backwards
what
fun!

;o)

one deep breath prompt

one deep breath : countryside.

1

rising brilliance
the fair autumn countenance
of a harvest moon

2

the moonlight farmers
a new satellite guiding
invisible lines

3

fusion of wet leaves
mud and yeasty cattle feed
autumn country smells



*

a late harvest moon this year, october 6th - it was a beauty, just the minimum of cloud cover, wonderfully illuminated. I had to taxi my daughter to a village 20 miles away, so I had a good view all the way. but did I have my camera? no! :o(

also saw a few headlights in the fields that night - tractors doing tractoring stuff. I don't know what they'd be doing right now, possibly harvesting, or fertilizing, or liming, or just ploughing in the stubble. they do it by global satellite positioning now, I'm told - the harvest moon is just coincidental.

I love those autumn smells, it's a season for all the senses. the mud reminds me a little of the rugby season starting at school, those mouldy old boots never got cleaned. I'm really keen on the smell of those cattle cakes; I don't know what goes in them but I could be persuaded to try a bowl for breakfast - full of malty goodness! - though I suspect they might increase my milk yield too. ;o)

poetsday

not the minutiae of Life but still a two-minute poem


woolgathering

swimming against the nighttide, diving deep
the white sickle pearl of eve time's creep
part the willows, the brush and the keep
woolgathering as we sleep

a hundred score have passed this way
minds cold as the whisperer's call
and leaving before the bitter bell's toll
the blessed thief and the black kaliboer

with the fluid sighs of twilight screams
a falling circle through an hour-glass seam
the shadow wakens the weeping streams
woolgathering as we dream

poem haiku

1

haiku are puddles
poems draw from deeper wells
water is water


2

a man of few words
finds haiku a natural
saying what you find


3

writing poetry
takes more than a single breath
ties tongue and blanks mind

poetry thursday prompt

poetry thursday prompt: the body

a two-minute poem


pondering body and mind

at the farthest end of this street, a bird
sings silently within its small cage
opposite an empty apartment block
i stand here much the same, minus those
bits taken, deemed to be useless or rotten
and hanging onto scars to remember
those things i've long ago forgotten, but
you still amaze me, like two old friends;
a mind less keen though i've never been keener
a body less strong though i've not felt fitter
how far we have come, together, yet still
in a race where there's never two winners
i'm already wondering whether it'll end
like the bird or the empty old building.

*
it's seems quite a downer for old me, so i'm sitting here thinking; is this really me? i have to say yes, though it isn't something i dwell on - i just saw the prompt, had a think and scribbled a few lines. it's all practice, you don't improve waiting for the right prompt to come along!

poetsday

the minutiae of Life & the two minute poem


sweet lady

come sweet lady and scrub my peripheral
bring the bursting holdall with brushes, coarse
and detergents, toxic, polish those pegs
like old rattle-bones, reco-reco samba
rhythm, the bristles scratching to and fro.
watching you work reminds me of my Gran,
tackling the most mundane task as if her
life depended on it - and often it did!
the endless hours of piecemeal and graft,
yet never the slightest hint of boredom
- but pride! minutes later she left me with
my keys fresher and the faint wiff of fairy.

lunar tunes

1

one small step for man
one giant leap for mankind
lost in transmission


2

down from the heavens
they walked upon the sea
of tranquillity


3

there is a theory
that the vikings got there first
and stole all the cheese


inspired by one small a... what did Neil really say?

poetsday

the minutiae of Life & the two-minute poem

1

the relative pleasures of walking and art

artwork: is art work?
then is walking work?
so is walking to work work?
and is running hard work?
so why don't you wait for the bus?
is that work too? Yes,
but is it art?


2

things said

you said i was so shallow
that if i was the sea
you could walk across me
and not get your soles wet
and i said you were too sensitive
if you were a seismograph
you would register a
catastrophe every time i sighed.
that night under the covers
we put our theories to the test
knowing that a new sun must never
shine on an old argument.

one deep breath prompt

one deep breath : sweet serenity (books).

1

the surrounding roar
fades slowly into silence
as i read my book

2

no shortage of works
if you're not enjoying that book
stop! - start another

3

that elusive third
selecting my three for two
from ottakar's books



*

though i buy most of my books on-line from amazon thesedays, i can't resist a good high street offer of 3 for 2. i realise why i buy from amazon when i can't quite decide if i'm entirely happy with that iffy third choice. ;o)

the second haiku is inspired by something i read the author, Nick Hornby, advising in the book section of my weekend paper. ironically, it could very well be one of Hornby's that i would give up reading. :o)