Poetry

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Poetry.

There are many reasons why I write poetry. One important reason is to express an attitude. The poem acts as a good reminder of how I want to be...

Ghosts

Beware the ghosts that haunt you

And the demons who will taunt you,

Always there but rarely seen;

They are the spirits of despair

And the wraiths of couldn`t care,

The phantoms of perhaps-I-will,

The shades of might-have-been.

Another useful function of poetry is to make a point - and maybe to comment on someone else`s views...

Daydreamy

" And what do you think you`re doing?"
said Miss Casey looking mad.
" Nothing Miss," I answered
feeling foolish, feeling sad -
Because I had been daydreaming:
my mind adrift in time and space,
half asleep, but only half,
with wonder on my face.
For I`d been here and there and everywhere,
flying on a whim,
zooming out beyond the classroom
to the galaxy`s far rim,
And back before the dinosaurs
to the fiery start of time,
before TV or radio
or poetry or rhyme...
And in imagination
I went to Tutankhamen`s tomb;
then sideways, east of nowhere,
to Merlin`s magic room -
And to Frankenstein`s laboratory
and on through the Gates of Dawn,
but infinity is tiring -
Miss Casey must have seen me yawn.
So, " Nothing Miss," I answered
without trying to explain.
Miss Casey shouted, wagged her finger,
kept me in at break again.

Poems can be used like entries in a diary, letting you remember clearly people, places and events that otherwise you might have forgotten...

Donna Didn`t Come Back

Donna didn`t come back

on Monday.

We all knew

what had happened

and found we couldn`t remember

her face before

her crutches and fallen-out hair.

No-one ever talked

about what she had

or what she was.

Even so

and despite her eyes

which said I`m tired

I give up,

we all expected her

to come in that door

sit down to maths

and pretend

the world was still

OK.

You can also play with poems to try and create certain effects and reactions. For instance, have you ever lain in bed and convinced yourself that something really nasty is hiding nearby?...

Listen

When the landing light goes out

And the stars begin to glitter,

Did you hear that distant shout

Or that secret patter-pitter?

Hold your breath and lie quite still,

Let the darkness slowly settle...

What was that - the creak of wood?

What was that - the clink of metal?

Or the trees that sway outside

In the wind, their dry leaves rustling?

Or could it be that night`s dark cloak

Softly hides a ghostly bustling?

And up there beyond the ceiling

Did you catch a sudden squeak -

And suspect that in a moment

There`ll erupt a long high SHRIEK!!

And a gurgling and a splatter

And a bubbling and a plop,

And that through the lath and plaster

Something horrible will drop...

But don`t worry, so you say,

For it`s all inside my head...

Until you hear that dragging noise

From underneath the bed!

*

I also like to take a poem that already exists and try to reflect its style and atmosphere in a poem of my own. A favourite poem of mine is Lewis Carrol`s The Jabberwocky. Here`s my attempt at something similar...

- Goes By

It was a roiling night

of glombous reebs and grasting storm.

Barb owls huddled out the swirlwind`s bite;

Decapedes in their hollows snoodled warm.

All through the low and high

of Shadowland the streams ran churdling

in the forest deeps. Moon`s houring

sent out abalone light above the cloud hills hurdling,

while from the screamsome north -

the ice-teeth scouring

and breathly deathly cold came wreathing with a sigh.

Then

Something nudged and trudged aside the trees

and tramped the gladeland paths to squeshy mire;

made the seed-balloons pop and the opticus cry

as, in its thousand eyes,

the stars lay mirrored in the direful sky

and weepydrops crystalled red as vulcan fire.

Something comes this way

- goes by

something gaart and vast and sleez,

that sends the night mare riding

and the dawnflower fearfully hiding

as it passes, leaves its shadow

on the road to midnight seas.

Poetry also let you imagine what it feels like to be someone else. I once met a girl who was a real Batman fan. In fact, she confessed that she was in love with Batman, but was torn by the knowledge that he was a fictional character. I tried to understand how she felt in this poem...

Love You Batman

Love you Batman -
Love the way your batwheels turn
And the cruel curl your batlips make
And the way your cold blue bateyes burn.
Love you Batman -
Your dark shadow`s on my mind:
The night the knight sweeps me away
For the dawn and broken dreams to find...
Love you Batman -
Let me kiss away your fears
Of evil and of lonely nights
And hard caped-crusading years.
Love you Batman -
Your firm hands on my skin:
Your identity revealed at last
As your hard bat heart gives in.
Love you Batman -
Let`s hang around together in your cave
And whisper sweet batnothings -
Oh, I`ll love you to the grave.
Love you Batman -
I know Gotham`s full of sin,
But maybe you`ll visit Bletchley soon
To see your batfan -
Lynne
xxx

I have believed for a long time that talking to yourself is the first sign of sanity. And you can even use poetry to do that. A while ago I came across an old school photograph of myself. There I was, seven years old, with all of my life ahead of me. I looked so serious and frightened. I thought I`d better send my child-self a message of reassurance and thanks...

Dear Steve -

OK, so you were not to know

The songs that evil sings;

Have not yet named

The dark or seen

The face behind its mask of lies.

You never thought about the rain

Tomorrow brings;

Have not denied the truth of life;

Have not begun to blame

Or rage when heroes die.

But there are good times here

As well you`ll find -

Good days

And clear nights filled with stars

And dreams -

Your friends among the hurts and fears

That you can bring to mind

Along the ways you`ll walk

When sunlight`s still as honest

As it seems.

I wonder, did you regard

The man you would become

When all those dawns were yet

To be?

And was it easy? Was it hard

To think about the one

Who might forget?

Who might be blind

To what you see?

To late maybe

To let you know

I carry with me all you made -

The child the father of the man.

You let me grow,

So never be afraid -

I`m here!

Because you were, I am.

Guess which one is me...

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And finally -

a riddle

I am the cat that leaps in my lap
I am the grey mouse caught in my trap
I am the yawn at the end of the day
I am the love that would love spring to stay
I am the hurt of the knee that is cut
I am the door that stands open or shut
I am the longing to see the sun rise
I am the stars in the vast starry skies
I am the oak branch - I am the bird
I am the paper - I am the word
I am the child - and I am the man
I am the bridge - and I am the span
I am older - never old
I am daring - sometimes bold
I am crying - now I smile
I am an atom - I am a mile
I am a day - I am the night
I am the darkness - I am the light
I am a moment - I am a year
I am arriving - when am I here?
I am becoming - sometimes I try
So pray then tell me -
What am I?

Answer: a poem.

*

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