Songbird

She dug the earth as he did write
The biryd did sing with all its might
The herbs were planted; thyme and rue
and now a song of love for you.

Picture 6

Please read the poem, Bird on a Briar, along with its modern translation and commentary by Carol Rumens here

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This is going to be.

This is going to be very hard work
he says with a sigh
and inside she swells with delight.
This is going to be
This is going
This is
This.

Margin

at the end
of modern poetry
a test

stared at verses
SCRATCHED lines
scored through tears
to see

    some imagery

waited for the
poems to
SPEAK

for the
–other lovers–

to appear
tell me anything
but
all the thought
in my
head
was that
you’d gone
–finished–
so the
whole
damn
book
bled. Continue reading

Word-watching

Words on the wire play truth or dare.
Each takes a turn on tides of air
lifting
–all the twos
and the little ones
the frolicking fros
and the gamely comes–
falling
wings whiffle
kissed and blushed
by setting sun.

Plain Gazelle: Lions

I never trust a lion when I’m crossing yonder plain,
Except for one called Brian when I’m crossing yonder plain.
It is really quite absurd the way I leave the herd;
I become an erroneous ion when I’m crossing yonder plain.

When I’m crossing yonder plain I like to shake my ass.
They think that I’m insane when I start to shake my ass,
But whenever Brian’s there I simply do not care
and fear I just can’t feign so I like to shake my ass.

First I shake my ass and then I start to dance.
The herd stampede en masse whene’er I start to dance.
They simply cannot hear the music in the air;
I become this crazy lass and all I do is dance.

All I do is dance and blow kisses at my kitty.
Like lovers do in France I blow kisses at my kitty.
A gazillion lionzelles leap out of yonder blue
I’d do more with half a chance than blow kisses at my kitty.

I blow kisses at my kitty but you shouldn’t trust a lion.
And I know however pretty you should never trust a lion.
For just in time I see this isn’t amorosity;
Brian yawns and says a pity you will never trust a lion.

This is a parody of the brilliantly clever and original poem Chain Ghazal: Chickens by Esther Greenleaf Mürer

The sun shone on the school gala

The sun shone on the school gala.
Didn’t bring my hat, rummaging
through clothes, this sun is ridiculously hot!
You can barely breathe in this heat.
It’s a scorcher, Mrs Caldwell, too
intense, but what a relief for the school!
You exchanged the lemon drizzle cake for a feijoa preserve, a spicy
ginger creation, relishes too; tomato and beetroot, I think I can tell.
Before, I wasn’t sure where to park the car. Difficult
to find a space. Difficult to squeeze into the space.
Hope to return. Hope to return and find I haven’t got
a ticket. The white elephant: some foot wash, foot cream
and a pumice stone (hardly used). “The cafe is a cafe, the cafe is life,
and a person can either be ruined or survive when
she makes her way through this fete. Whether she makes it or
not depends on a cake and plenty of caffeine-” A coconut
almost toppled onto the parched grass here on the school field,
merited another throw; it’s March and we’ve won a calendar.
You seem to be a Star Wars jigsaw sort of person
and it’s possible that one of these is of interest to you.
On the other table, six porcelain cheese and cake labels.
I’m rushing because it’s nearly time and because I woke up
too early with a headache after last night’s barbeque and a wonderful
riesling or two. One shouldn’t constantly worry, one should not constantly fret,
one should probably observe parking restrictions. A traffic
warden like a lead balloon. The rest is green and red.

A parody of The snow whirls over the courtyard’s roses by Tua Forsström on Carol Rumens’s Poem of the Week blog.

Rhubarb and Ginger Jam

My grandad made rhubarb and ginger jam
in a tiny kitchen overlooking
a busy intersection and
a tower of flats that my dad totted up
from the comfort of Grandad’s armchair;
his pipes lined up along the windowsill.
50 floors if I remember rightly.
That was my landmark for years on the way
to work, to a new house, to meet my future
husband, to visit parents. I never stopped,
but I’d look across the busy roads
if waiting at the lights and
see the window of the tiny kitchen gleaming
where my grandad used to make rhubarb and ginger jam.

Words Whirl over The Waste Land

What’s on your mind? Elizabeth shared Eliot’s photo
The view is fabulous. Look at Marie on the sledge. Shock.
Hold on tight, Marie! She’s getting so big. Smile. Like. Comment. Share.
Burma Bridge! 6, no, 7 minutes ago. Write a comment…
Caesar shared Matt’s video. Unreal City. Length 0:59
There are Orcas in Wellington Harbour. No way! (Look out! Fear death by water)
Sharks in Auckland! Shock. What next? Wanted: Product Testers
Receive free samples. 47,064 people like this.
Unguent, powdered, or liquid. Surprise! Dramatic Cleopatra eyes!
Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds. Therein lies
the sweet smell of success. Enobarbus and Tom were tagged
in Antony’s photos with 5 others. 44 minutes ago.
Speak to me, Tom. Why do you never speak?
Speak.
Tears.
No Think! Think. Wink.
Tweet. Tweet. Tweet.
Jog. Jog. Jog. Just climbed Snowdon. I’m on top of the world!
Boadicea has added 2 new photos. Woah! 2 hours ago.
Marcus is in Sydney til Sunday. Currently no plans from 4pm Thursday.
3 people like this. Kiss. I’m booking you for Sunday Brunch. I’ll be there.
You have a new nephew to meet. Smile.
We will miss you. Oh God! Sigh. Like. Write a comment…
OK my lad is listening to AB/CD – can’t believe how grown up he is getting.
So proud.
Kiss kiss kiss
Mark likes this. You mean AC/DC? Yeah LOL.
Looking forward to giving this a taste in a few weeks
Pear and apple cider. Me too. Smile. When’s it ready?
HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME
24 minutes ago via mobile. Big smile.
Listening to an instrumental set tonight, awesome original song.
So many layers of music. Billie Jean is not my lover.
Woooohoooo! Shall we dance?
Tiresias and 3 others like this. Smile.
HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME 3 hours ago.
Will’s 3rd Birthday. Laugh. 14 people like this.
Got text from the estate agents. Shock. (AUDACITY!) Open home Sunday.
Building inspection Friday. What? Getting sick of surprises every five minutes.
Write a comment… Shit! Shock. Who’s taken my soup ladle??
What are you making? Soup?!
3 hours ago. Essence Beauty Therapy. 102 people like this.
She turns and looks a moment in the glass
I’m so tired of winter! Come on Spring. Sigh. G’night Ladies.
Night. Sleep tight. Bye bye all.
withered stumps of time were told upon the wall
fragments we have shored against the ruins
to like. to share. to write…
Shantih shantih shantih
View more posts?
Where are the notes?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poem inspired by Poem of the week: The snow whirls over the courtyard’s roses by Tua Forsström on Carol Rumens’s weekly blog. I’ve included quotes from T.S. Eliot’s poem The Waste Land