#17 – ‘The mysterious…’

The mysterious translucence of candied peel
is a proof of the existence of God.
Stained glass just does the same thing,
bigger.
See also: rainbows, sunsets,
and backlit copper beech trees
in the spring.

#16 – a bit of Lorca. Sorta.

This requires a note of explanation. I thought I’d have a go at doing a version of one of Lorca’s Sonnets of Dark Love that maintained the form. I only managed the first quatrain, but it looks enough like a stand-alone poem that it’ll do. The poem this is taken from is much more interesting than my slightly wishy-washy rendering of the first four lines would suggest, but hey-ho. The Spanish for translate is ‘traducir’ and I can’t help feeling I’ve traduced a bit here, but never mind, he’s been dead for 70 years, so it can’t do him much harm.

I must not lose the mystery
of the polished stone of your eyes,
or the mark that is left upon me
by the rose of your midnight sighs.

Lorca is definitely worth reading; I was particularly struck by the Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías, of what I’ve read so far.

#15 – ‘Poetry is a prestidigitation…’

Poetry is a prestidigitation
of the tongue;
wordy gesticulation
designed to misdirect,
distract, deceive
and help the audience believe
you really do have nothing up your sleeve;
to make it clear
an elephant can disappear,
a rabbit can become a bunch of flowers
and a rose can be
death, or purity,
or love,
or all of the above.

#14 – a skipping rhyme

A Skipping Rhyme

These are the end times
how do I know?
Three little birdies
told me so.
‘Death’ said the robin
‘Famine’ said the wren
‘Plague’ said the sparrow
and just then
who came along
but old Jack Daw
and all four together said
‘War! War! War!’

1!
2!
3!
4!
Death!
Famine!
Plague!
War!

5 6 7
8 9 10
back to the start
and go again

#13 – a poet’s lament

A Poet’s Lament

I should try to write something good
instead of all this froth;
I should search out some inner flame
then find my inner moth.