A Poet's Last Stand - Ian Duquemin

I am so frail that I can barely breathe
Yet my mind refuses rest
My pen dilly dally's across paper like a stone skips on water
Spider ink scrawls from my scatty thoughts, as though a madman has moved into my head... With squatter's rights well learned
Is this to be my epitaph? Like so many "lasts"
Surely this cannot be my masterpiece. My pièce de résistance. My Magnum Opus
But in truth... I am only a poet... Always the dreamer... So then... I am but a fool

Ian Duquemin

Image : Pixabay - cromaconceptovisual

Open Mic - Richard Fleming

At Open Mic on Monday night
the theme was ‘Leave’ but still they came
in ones and twos, all burning bright
with sheafs of poems, no two the same.
Yes, Fifty Shades of Po-e-tray
few rhymed, but that’s the modern way.

Some read with breathless, high-pitched squeaks
or mumbled incoherently.
Some had perfected their techniques
and read with verve and energy.
We listened, then, with faces, stern,
stepped to the mic to take our turn.

Some read from pages, some from screens.
Some poems were fun, some poems were sad.
A few were clearly in-betweens.
Some were unquestionably mad
but then, of course, most poets are
madder than average, by far.

We heard short poems and poems, too long:
the latter made us stretch and yawn.
Now and again we had a song
then all at once our time was gone.
The readings stopped. Now I could cough,
sup up my drink and bugger off.

Richard Fleming

Poetry Competition Secrets - Stephen A. Roberts

Let's get writing;
You know the ropes,
Death and birds
Trot out the tropes.

Carefully place some enjamb-
ment
without overdoing it, too
much
of a good thing can be...
tiring.

Remember what Adrian Mitchell said -
about why most poetry isn't read

and don't -

forget a dramatic twist
where the poem's subject slits
her wrists...

Stephen A. Roberts

Birth of a Poet - Ian Duquemin

On the day that the rain makes a spider web shine
When breeze blows the blue bells so letting them chime
As snow spirals down as if fairies in flight
And a spark lights the moon on a magical night
When unicorns leap over waves crashing in
And beauty is found by the soul that's within
As words from the lips of a lover are sworn
That's when a poet is born

Ian Duquemin

Sarah's Lament - Sarah Tonan

Now everyone I meet these days
tells me that they’re writing poems.
Not modestly: they’re sorry that
they’re not the Poet Laureate.
They rattle on like metronomes
about their skill. I’m in a daze.

So why’s the Guernsey Poets blog
not inundated with their verse?
A Sonnet shortage? Odes as well?
Not even one neat Villanelle
or little Haiku, short and terse?
Attention poets, it’s no slog

to get your arsis* into gear
and send your precious poems here.


Sarah Tonan

* A poetical term referring to the unstressed syllable of a metrical foot.

The Proseman’s Guide to Writing Poetry - Chris Hudson

All lines should rhyme
Because when reading it
This saves a lot of time!

Topics should be warm and cosy
So we all know exactly what is meant
Nothing to bend th’enraptured will
But stifle with sentiment.

Jokes too are okay
As long as they
Don’t break societal convention
Preconceived clichés are so much more apt
To gain the audience’s attention

A poem can show wit and be apposite
But not be improprietous;
Indecorous behaviour
Is reserved for rioters

Whilst it is absolutely forbidden to assume
Any stance of politics or philosophy
(That is best left to the bedroom!)

To win one’s audience to one’s side
One must make no comment absurd nor snide
But levelling all experience at root
And aphorisms twee to boot

The concept of the poem should be endlessly brewed
And any fortitude or boldness eschewed
Every word pored over in minutest detail for all to see
The dead idea thence pinned to a tree

Nothing free or frivolous should blight the page
Lest the dear reader fly in a rage

With sentiments barren and mundane ideas
Nothing original should blight one’s ears

No idolatrous ideas, or tales of woe
Nor bravely how we bashed the foe

But metaphors bland and senseless dross
Lest our pals think us incongruous
Respect your reader and try to ease
Areas where he has sensibilities

The poet may pull his hair out in writing verse and rhyme
But the reader does not always have the time
To decode scrawlings of trenchant pus
These kinds of poems will not liberate us!

Christopher J. Hudson

Winter Landscape - Joan Willard

A panorama crisply white,
that sparkles under clouds of grey,
with coloured accents sharp and bright,

like Breughel’s painting, dark on light,
rich brown, deep green, clear red inlay,
a panorama crisply white.

Smooth naked limbs of trees delight
the birds. They trill a roundelay
with coloured accents. Sharp and bright

they watch soft snowflakes’ gentle flight.
Those dancing star shapes help array
a panorama crisply white,

where cats with velvet paws alight
on frozen roofs, their eyes slate grey
with coloured accents sharp and bright.

A halo-ed silver moon at night
lights up the landscape clear as day,
a panorama crisply white
with coloured accents sharp and bright.

Joan Willard

Trees - Ros Willard

The slender poplars
quiver in expectation
as Spring approaches.

Heads bowed, willows wash
long lustrous gold-green tresses
in sun-flecked rivers.

Dying russet leaves
fall; a discarded ball-gown.
The dance is over.

Silver birches, stark
against a monochrome sky,
bleed internally.

Ros Willard

You Are A Rock - John E Blaise

You are a rock
The key to the lock
The hen to the cock
The shoe to the sock
The stew to the stock
The hind to the buck
The ship to the dock
The ham to the hock
The sheep to the flock
The door to the knock
The hem to the frock
The food to the wok
The hand to the clock
The tick to the tock
You should be in shock
Because you are a rock

John E Blaise

To Rhyme Or Not To Rhyme - Janet

Internal rhyme in poetry demands elements of symmetry.
What's in the middle does depend on what is written at the end.
Rhyme or not, the poet's choice, if to give their poem voice.
Important though is to recall, else into the trap will fall,
not to contrive is a must or the story will be lost.
Put pen to paper and then write no matter at what time the night.
Be not afraid dismiss the fear then let the world your message hear.

Janet

Ode To Free Verse - Stephen A. Roberts

I hope that I am not too late,
to add my voice to the debate -
about not making poems rhyme
supposedly a heinous crime.

The following work is tongue in cheek
and has sadly spawned some rhyme that's weak;
please don't be upset, just gently cringe
at this turgid, rhyming binge.

This loose discussion of poetic styles
is designed to bring you out in smiles,
I don't know my iamb from my elbow
Hmmm, think I'll end this line with yellow.

So off we go, you'll soon agree
that sometimes rhyming can be twee,
we're already at verse four, line three
with our rhyming dik-shun-ree!

Yes, one man's fish is another man's poisson
vin de pays is the frenchman's boisson;
quick find me a word to rhyme with doggerel
oh dear, it seems there's ...none*.

With so many types of written form
one cannot say what is the norm,
there's more to this than rhyming couplets
(you know this line will end in droplets).

Yes, it takes all sorts, there are many voices
odes and sonnets, even if your choice is
free verse versus schemes more rigid**,
I'm pretty sure this blog can bridge it!

So if ginsberg, cummings and poets bolder
don't float your boat and leave you cold, er,
you can look up words to rhyme with “verse”,
like I have done with this silk purse*** !

*  you can put "bugger all" here, I swear but I was timid and didn't dare!
**  did you like this rhyme internal? please, no, stop, it's too infernal!!
***  of all the rhymes this is the worst fetch the nurse, my boil has burst!

Stephen A. Roberts

The “Peter” Limericks - Ros Willard

There was a philander, Peter,
whose girlfriends were Joan, Pam and Rita.
His wife got annoyed,
a hit man employed,
now Peter’s no longer a cheater.

***

In a draughty stone castle Sir Peter
could not find so much as one heater,
so to keep out the cold
in a building so old
he drank Plymouth Gin by the litre.

***

There was a young cannibal, Peter,
who married a girl called Conchita.
He loved her big eyes,
her lips and firm thighs.
In fact, it was hard not to eat ‘er.

Ros Willard

Glance meeting - Lyndon Queripel

She was just a face
Another face in the crowd
And yet our eyes met

Lyndon Queripel

Some Really Dumb Haiku - Andrew Barham

Fishing for luck
Onychorhynchus keto
We'll have a fry-up!

***

Barely moving twigs
Foraging for tasty leaves
Slender stick insects

***

No time tomorrow
There's a bad moon on the rise
My red sky warning

***

Shake rattle and roll
Growing imperceptibly
Earthquake from nowhere

***

Earth shaking last month
When it really starts to rock
I phone my brother

Andrew Barham

Three Haiku - Tom Allaway

Liouh Island: Images courtesy of VisitGuernsey

Three Haiku - Tom Allaway

Lihou Island

Darkness in Lihou
Sitting round boiling kettle
Lying on the grass


The Garden

Brown thrush on green grass
Red breast robin eats near thrush
Garden harmony


My Space

Room-untidy desk
Stereo system playing
Now it is quiet

Tom Allaway

Two Limericks on the Sea - Jenny Woods

The Sea # 1

Oh! The Ocean, the Sea, et la Mer,
wide ranging tsunamis so rare.
vast expanses with white horse waves,
calm waters that wash into caves,
men in boats of all sizes; 'Take care'.


The Sea # 2

The waters that crash on the rocks
lap silently o're shoes and socks.
they pull back the pebbles and sand
leaving seaweeds the length of the strand,
and detritus in harbours and docks.

Jenny Woods

Z is at the end of your alphabet (and D is for ...) - Stephen A. Roberts

Image: Stephen A. Roberts

Z is at the end of your alphabet (and D is for ...) - Stephen A. Roberts

As normal, it began with A for Anyone, Anywhere, but you don't want to
Bore the listener
Creating a new line for every
Damn letter in the
English alphabet
Finding that some letters
Get
Harder to find
Ingenious, and sometimes
Juvenile words to represent them
Killing yourself to be clever
Loving each
Made up
New word,
Occasionally
Pausing to rethink in the
Quiet, and taking time to
Reconsider the
Specific choice
That will be
Understood by
Various people
Who know that your
X-ray means that
You have Z at the end of your alphabet; and that
Z is for Zurich

Stephen A. Roberts

If You’re Not on Board (Villanelle) - Rob Platts

If you’re not on board when my ferry sails,
and the spiteful wind's moaning its tirade,
I’ll wait by the gate till your bright light hails.

Picture me! swimming, with dolphin and whales
and cry only joy at marks that we laid,
If you’re not on board when my ferry sails.

Take heart, be strong, at the drive of those nails.
In good time they'll rust; don't be afraid, as
I’ll wait by the gate till your bright light hails.

Look to our children; put away dark veils.
They’ll step that small coin so your ticket's paid,
If you’re not on board when my ferry sails.

Laughter's in the offing, sheet in your sails.
While stars warm your hand and waves serenade,
I'll wait by the gate till your bright light hails.

Don’t turn your back to a new dawn or blade;
I’ve kept our ship's log and that'll not fade.
If you’re not on board when my ferry sails,
I’ll wait by the gate till your bright light hails.

Rob Platts

Notes:

The poem was written for my friend who’s husband, an old pal and shipmate of mine, was brutally killed at sea in 2009 at the hands of pirates. I've included a few notes for readers who may not be nautically minded.

1. The small coin refers to the ancient practice of shipbuilders putting a silver coin under the main mast to pay the mythical ferry man to ferry the souls of dead sailors to the after life

2. 'The offing' refers to somewhere between where you are and the horizon.

3. 'A new blade' is short for a rudder blade and is a metaphor for a new helmsman ie mate.

Haiku on Cat - Eleen Davis

I first heard of the haiku through Westonbirt Arboretum's autumn competition this year and find them fascinating to work on.

Here are some haiku musings on our ancient cat... - Eileen

Four Haiku on an Ancient Cat - Eileen Davis

(I)

Embers are glowing.
Outside, trees bend in the wind;
... Contented cat purrs...

(II)

Seed-filled pigeon strolls,
Calculating cat pounces -
but misses her tea!

(III)

Too cold to catch mice,
She miaows at the window,
Expecting dinner!

(IV)

Avoiding the flood,
Cautious cat crossing the road
gets splashed by a car!

Eileen Davis

Four Than-Bauks - Andrew Barham

A Than-Bauk, conventionally a witty saying or epigram, is a three line "climbing rhyme" poem of Burmese origin. Each line has four syllables. The rhyme is on the fourth syllable of the first line, the third syllable of the second line, and the second syllable of the third line.

Four Than-Bauks - Andrew Barham

(I)

Sky, blue and clear
The Sun here comes
As near as thee

(II)

The Raven calls
Old Spruce falls down
One tall tree dies

(III)

Religious fear
Sends a tear down
Your serious face

(IV)

Begrimed with mud
Clotting blood on
A good man's hands

Andrew Barham