It has become somewhat similar to a route march,
End of walk. End of tether.
No longer a stroll as the heavens threaten with grey cumulus snarls,
and little mutt at my heels, tripping over tangled pendulums in his eagerness to stay by my side,
Ignoring lupine best sense in his attempts. Almost succeeding.
The half-hearted hood-pulling gets me nowhere.
Nimbus parades scud deftly, and I am treading water, mocked by the breezes. Spat at by the sky.
River feels closer, edging the path, brooding repertoire;
graffiti ripples and underwater weeds beckon, gesture with green tendrils.
Messages to be read with clear eyes. Momentarily clear skies.
Tugger has a scent.
And the iPod whirs into motion, next song judders onto play. Touched by the zephyr.
We are not alone. After water and air must be land.
So I see the nettles now, masses of nettles, masses and masses of spiky ladies.
A choir of anonymous leaves, shattered dresses swaying gently in the rising draught.
Beauty in the hurt. Unity.
Caught on the winds I am sandwiched between two gospels.
Give me the beat; free my soul…
Spaniel metronome rudder flashes from beneath their skirts.
World outside looks so unkind…
Cheeks smart from the sting of air currents, unrelenting as the tributary beside.
Drift away.
In perfect harmony they bend their choppy bobbed heads, and
as each beat drums with my heart:
I hear two songs.
Storm umbilical cord twists around my aorta, and tightens, tightens in time.
Crotchet rain drops splashing onto wide eyes as I stare upwards.
New lenses. New sight. New sound.
The bridge comes with a crescendo of silent sigmoid waves from my chorus,
atonement dubbed over by barking; thunder clap applause.
Through the rain I listen intently – watching plants bow in perfect beats with Apple’s tinny record.
Sibilant motion slowing gently. Fading into the last seconds of the song.
Gusts whistling into nothingness. Sun.
We meander home, listening to the silence; finding our footsteps in epochs to an almost ethereally greater hit.
Urtica Rhythm
I’m not sure about the first two lines, ‘No longer a stroll as the heavens threaten’ would make a much stronger opener - get straight into the downpour. I’d prefer an article before ‘river’, and, on the same line, I’d lose ‘brooding repertoire’. I’d also cut out -
‘……………….Touched by the zephyr.
We are not alone. After water and air must be land.’
‘And the iPod whirs into motion, next song judders onto play.
I see the nettles now, masses of nettles, masses and masses of spiky ladies.’ - Sounds better - Earlier in the poem you had clouds scudding deftly, implying a wind much more stronger than a zephyr and the ‘we are not alone’ line doesn’t really say a lot.
I like the combination of the music, Nature v iPod, the two gospels. The seeming interaction between plants and music -
‘plants bow in perfect beats with Apple’s tinny record.’
You build it up nicely to a peak culminating with the thunder, the applause - I’m glad you used ‘thunder clap applause’ - It’s ’thunderous applause’ without the cliché. The linking of the emerging sun with the end of the song is a fitting closure.
‘Gusts whistling into nothingness’
There was one line in the second half of the poem that I didn’t understand -
‘Spaniel metronome rudder flashes from beneath their skirts’ - ??
nice one to come back with
Barrie
re Urtica - Boiled nettles are a great free substitute for spinach, but I’ve never tried them raw in salads.
‘……………….Touched by the zephyr.
We are not alone. After water and air must be land.’
‘And the iPod whirs into motion, next song judders onto play.
I see the nettles now, masses of nettles, masses and masses of spiky ladies.’ - Sounds better - Earlier in the poem you had clouds scudding deftly, implying a wind much more stronger than a zephyr and the ‘we are not alone’ line doesn’t really say a lot.
I like the combination of the music, Nature v iPod, the two gospels. The seeming interaction between plants and music -
‘plants bow in perfect beats with Apple’s tinny record.’
You build it up nicely to a peak culminating with the thunder, the applause - I’m glad you used ‘thunder clap applause’ - It’s ’thunderous applause’ without the cliché. The linking of the emerging sun with the end of the song is a fitting closure.
‘Gusts whistling into nothingness’
There was one line in the second half of the poem that I didn’t understand -
‘Spaniel metronome rudder flashes from beneath their skirts’ - ??
nice one to come back with
Barrie
re Urtica - Boiled nettles are a great free substitute for spinach, but I’ve never tried them raw in salads.
After letting go of branches and walking through the ape gait, we managed to grasp what hands were really for......
Urtica is a nettle and nettled am I at this collection of obscure statements that seem so opposed to any poetic effort.
Not! I had to read this many times to realize that my complaint arises from cultural differences. This is so British! So now I must withdraw my objection and give some praise to this verse. It would be stronger so were I more endowed with it's origins.
Not! I had to read this many times to realize that my complaint arises from cultural differences. This is so British! So now I must withdraw my objection and give some praise to this verse. It would be stronger so were I more endowed with it's origins.