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jana

SOULFOOD ~ the poetry thread

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COINS

 

Out of love, out of luck, out of change

Last night I opened my old money box.

Stuck a knife in, slid out the coins.

Each a record of a love I knew.

 

Old copper pennies.

Time has weathered them, blurred the details,

Worn away the rough edges.

Reminds me of my grandparents

Rubbing along through the years

Time smoothing away their differences

Shining through the patina of age.

 

Threepenny bit.

Record of childhood friendships

Many-sided, sometimes two-faced,

Side by side we took on the world,

Dropped the portcullis

To keep out strangers.

No longer legal tender.

 

Hah. Counterfeit sixpence.

My father left this when he left,

Trailing lies and bruises.

I stowed it away for reference,

A template for disaster;

I should have checked it

More often.

 

This one gleams.

Bright, shiny, alluring.

Those glittering edges are worn so thin

If you grip it, it bites to the bone.

Love as a weapon.

I remember him.

Sometimes I still bleed.

 

Solid golden guinea,

Holding value down the years.

Gave me life, made me cry,

Made me who I am.

Mother love

Never knowingly

Undervalued.

 

One by one, coin by coin,

I slid them all back in.

Tomorrow I shall look

Down the back of the sofa.

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Doggerel

 

i'm being stared at by a nose -

the other end's a tail that goes

around in circles, up and down;

a hairy dog that's small, and brown.

she's fond of cheese and walks and sleep

and blankets left all in a heap;

she mumps and grumps

and moans and groans,

she bounces, flounces,

chews up bones.

a welcome bounce can soothe your woes

but i'm being stared at by a nose.....

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love

 

in the little world

we have crafted

out of wine goblets, lies

and favourite films,

heartbreak is so passe.

 

it's a clean little world

because nightly we sweep

broken pieces of trust

under rented sofas and wake up

to unscratched mornings.

 

we've stuffed secrets

so deep inside drawers

that they've been smothered

by petty details

and casually forgotten.

 

the walls are clean

and the cushions

look as cheerful as we do

especially in photographs

with the wrong white balance.

 

our little world

has the two of us,

things we've forgotten and

photogenic bric-a-brac,

because heartbreak is so passe.

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Nae Mair Shortbread, nae Tartan…

.. a wee rant agin the stereotype....

 

Ye can burn the broom o’ the Cowden Knowes

Ye can stuff the Gallowa’ hills

An’ the banks and braes o’ Bonnie Doune

Will nae cure my heart’s ills.

Whate’er the road ye choose tae tak’

Ye’ll be by Lomond afore me,

And as fae the road an’ the miles tae Dundee

It’s beginnin’ tae bluidy well bore me.

I will nae cam’ alang wi ye

Tae Isla by Glenshee

I’m no yer bonnie lassie

Don’t try that line wi’ me!

I cannae thole yon bonnie boat

That speeds like a bird ‘cross the Minch

This langin’ fae the ‘guid auld times’

It moves me nae one inch.

So tak’ awa’ yon shortbread tunes

An’ gi’ me summat new

Wi’ bite, and spark, and driving beat

A heady, stirrin’ brew,

Tae warm ma fleece-and-gortex soul

In snaw and sleet and hail

In a cold and grey nor’eastern toun

In the teeth o’ a nor’west gale.

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Boss. (a hobo for VB)

 

He's speaking my language.

I don't understand a word....

Men are aliens.

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for TJS

 

Twenty years on,

Mostly forgotten

You suddenly

Turn up in my dreams…

 

I taste you on my tongue.

Skin has memory…

Wake, shocked by recollection.

I hated hairy chests – until you.

 

I loved you – illegal, out of bounds.

My subordinate…my ‘bit of rough’

If they knew back then, they kept our secret.

Damned if I know why.

 

But I know why not.

Why we should not be.

Why the ultimate subordination fails…

Fucking paperwork.

 

Not a hope in hell for a happy ending.

Depressed, unsatisfied, we parted.

Manic, ironic, sarcastic….

Why are you in my dreams tonight?

 

And if we met tomorrow

Would you overlook my excess pounds…

And would I see past

Your receding hairline?

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(One of Tat's kids had homework where he had to write a tale using words ending in the 'shun' sound... she did a rather nice piece over the way re the recent inauguration. As she'd done all the heavy lifting, i used some of the words, in the spirit of the Rev Lowery...)

 

this disillusion

needs new solution.....

 

inauguration

ends segregation..

with expectation

comes culmination -

 

the celebration

of the nation!

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Autumn Migration. ( a hobo collection)

 

Falling from the sky;

Drifts of brown, like autumn leaves.

Pinkfeet arriving.

 

Winter’s breath freezes,

Takes form, flight, white as ice.

Hailstorm with whoopers .

 

A farewell flypast.

Blue crescents cuts the cold sky.

Swallows are leaving.

 

Amidst the brown throng

One gleaming snowflake, black tipped.

Snowgoose, far from home.

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currently playing in the Winter Poetry challenge at Myth & Moor - each day Terri choses a subject and poems are writ, so figured may as well stick them in here too.

 

Day one - subject Bears in myth etc

 

Callisto

Shamed by His lust

Changed by Her jealousy

Sent shambling and shaggy into the forest

beyond the olive groves

Rootling amongst sweet onions

I heard a voice I knew.

My lifting heart sang in tune

with the bowstring.

Suddenly spinning,

Cast hard and high into the void

Forever pivoting on the point

of my child's tail

And the star dust sifts

From the thickness of my coat

As I point the way

for the lost ones in the forest.

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Day 4 - Deer in myth and story

 

Dancer:

winter

the circle of the heavens

has turned once more

sharp hooves dig through snow

for lichen and sweet blaeberries

breath turns to fog on the whetted air

we are gathered and selected

roped and ordered

two by two

mothers daughters sisters

heavy gear on my back

newly mended

a sister rolls her eyes

throws up her head

tries to hook with a tine

he ducks the gesture

laughing like a bell

harnesses the team

brings round the bucket

we drink deep

earthy taste of mushroom

red and white

as blood and bone

the draught shivers through me

muscle twitches under hide

silver ringing softly

creaking of leather and wood

the ancient sleigh takes the weight

promises and expectations

hopes and disappointments

whipcrack

reins slap

hooves dig into ice crust

stars spin

bear follows dragon follows queen

reindeer fly

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HICU Haiku .... because you have to sit around a lot....

 

Stop! Please Wash Your Hands!

You're not getting in without

A strong smell of soap!

 

blue, private, zig-zag

the curtains open and close

around small dramas

 

a hospital gown

preserving lost dignity

no fashion statement

 

needle-stuck,taped up

poked and proddled anyhow

cruel kindnesses

 

the machines go 'ping'

two o'clock, time for a nap.

all the food is beige.

 

she looks straight at me

and tells me seriously

"i have a daughter..."

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it's about waiting

waiting for the ambulance

waiting to breathe in

waiting for news

waiting for dawn

waiting for the train

the bus

the plane

the taxi

waiting for the miles to roll beneath wings and wheels

waiting for updates

waiting to breathe out

waiting for the slightest hint

of

recognition

waiting for a call you hope won't come

waiting for visiting hours

waiting for opening doors

waiting for the look that says

yes

i'm

still

in

here

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ER Dr Seuss

 

one trace, two trace

red trace, blue trace

spiked trace, flat trace

old trace, new trace

this one has a little peak

this one gives a three-toned squeak

this one zigs and zags and wibbles

this one wiggles in the middle

this one shows your beating heart

this one summons the crash cart

big trace, small trace

tells-it-all trace

one trace, two trace

red trace

blue trace......

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