About Roland's Ragbag

Long retired; Expatriate Tyke; Eclectic; Not-So-Grumpy Old Man.

No Nonsense Now

If you were defeated in trying to make sense of my last published ‘poem’
(‘GO WITH THE FLOW’ on Monday 18th November), my meaning, if it had any, is hopefully disclosed in my poem, ‘No Nonsense Now’,  below . . .

‘A Poem should not mean

But be’     .  .  .  .  .  .  .   From ‘Ars Poetica’ by Archibald Macleish

 
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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

No Nonsense Now

 

What a load of nonsense
what a stream of tosh
I hope you weren’t too stretched
devouring all the text
wondering what was coming next
searching for meanings that were not there
twiddling thumbs
tearing hair

Just stream of consciousness unleashed
roaming the mind
making free with the world of words
fishing from a goldfish bowl of ideas
draining the well till empty
and all invention ceased

Perhaps I did a service
reminding my poetic muse
that words alone
do not atone
for laxity of thought
or those too easily wrought

And sense is only sensible
when verse is finely honed
bolstered with truth
taut of structure
worthy of my judgement
and of your time

 

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Go With The Flow

hieroglyph wall

 Photo:  WHB – 2019   ©

Go With The Flow

 

catspaw on the naked river
run the gauntlet
let it flow
now the murk amidst the mountains
gives the world a humid grace
try to press for more excitement
midst the banality that runs apace

trigger guests and bring them weeping
to that latent humble home
there to quench the embers burning
letting life remember lust
and so distinguish hope from wanting
bringing resolution to purpose
an end to speculation
no last favours granting

the instant instance
the shimmering shade
the glorious glory
of the everglades
burnt out shell of that softer softness
forget the unforgetting minute
press the button that says refresh.

 


{ By way of clarification, a follow-up to the above poem will be published in 2 days time – on Wednesday 20th November }


 

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Two Word Tales: #5

hand hiking hiker resting

Photo by Maria Petukhova on Pexels.com

Two words

‘At Rest’

They said

It all

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Throughout this week, I shall publish each day one of a series of short verses which, together, by the end of the week, will have told a story. 

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Two Word Tales: #4

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Photo by Inge Wallumrød on Pexels.com

Two words

‘Good Bye’

Were all

It took

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Throughout this week, I shall publish each day one of a series of short verses which, together, by the end of the week, will have told a story. 

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Two Word Tales: #3

landscape nature africa boy

Photo by Julian Jagtenberg on Pexels.com

Two words

‘With Love’

I lived

That gift

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Throughout this week, I shall publish each day one of a series of short verses which, together, by the end of the week, will have told a story. 

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Two Word Tales: #2

red rose

Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán on Pexels.com

Two words

‘I Do’

Brought love

To me

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Throughout this week, I shall publish each day one of a series of short verses which, together, by the end of the week, will have told a story. 

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Two Word Tales: #1

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Photo by Ann H on Pexels.com

Two words

‘Get lost’

They hurt

I cried

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Throughout this week, I shall publish each day one of a series of short verses which, together, by the end of the week, will have told a story. 

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Forms Of Address

We never have just one name.  I have spent a while considering the number of different ways in which I had recently been addressed.  The realisation also came, that being older appears to give more licence for those we meet to be free and easy with the various forms of address which are available to them . . .



I am addressed in different ways,

If the cap fits, then I wear it.
I do not mind, I’ve learnt to accept,
So I just grin and bear it.



“Well, there you are,  my lovely”, the waitress warmly said.

I shrivelled in my seat  .  .  .  not feeling in the least bit lovely.

“Take your change, old fella”,  as the shopkeeper mouthed goodbye.
Honest, I suppose, but unkind  .  .  .  I let it pass with a sigh.

“Don’t forget your hat, young man”,
Came the cheeky reminder from a bumptious innkeeper –
Sarcastic enough to hurt my seniority.

“Cheerio ducks, enjoy your day”,
Such jollity from the buxom barmaid,
As if it wasn’t already past my sleep-time,
“Goodbye” was all it needed.

“On your way now , darling”,  the cheery matron muttered,
As if I was lingering languidly
And delaying her siesta.

Brusquely bustled aside with an
“Out o’ the way, mate, don’t hold up the British working man.”

My presence effectively disregarded.

“Hiya, Mister, got a quid for a fag?”
Mister, being generic,
My catch-all name … Bought for a pound.

“Can I help you, Sir?”
Kindly meant but formulaic,
Curt but kind
I think you’ll find.

“Come in, Honey … You’re very welcome.”
Warm reception from the receptionist,
No deception.


And so, my dear,
To make it clear,
How I address you
Fits how I assess you.

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On Being Cantankerous

cantankerous

Testy now, and truculent,
Jumping to conclusions,
I tend to speak before I’ve thought,
A source of some confusions.

When I was young and in my prime
I would have paused and pondered
Before I’d let my mouth run free;
My mind would not have wandered.

Now, grumpy and cantankerous,
I’ve no wish to be told,
Despite the fact the signs are there,
That I am growing old.

For age and life have brought to me
Such exasperation
That now I speak my forthright mind,
Inviting much vexation.

Now I’m content to be quite brusque,
To stir up some dissent.
My time of life has brought disdain,
I’ll say just what I meant.

With one foot in the waiting grave
Why pussyfoot around?
Just tell it as it is, my friend,
No comebacks underground.

 

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