Onomatopoeia

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Onomatopoeia

 

Muck, that is a dirty word,
It sounds as if it smells;
A word to wash one’s hands of,
Its very sound repels.

Loony leaves a nasty taste,
Slides smoothly off the tongue,
But it is not nice, take my advice,
A word to leave unsung.

Slime is such another,
And slimy is the same,
Words to keep away from,
Ones I won’t exclaim.

Take words like boos and booze,
To me they are repugnant.
They may describe one’s feelings,
But they smack of poor judgement.

They’re onomatopoeic,
Not exactly slang’
But they lack that sense of candour,
Like boom and thump and bang.

So many words are wholesome,
Sweet sounding and pure.
But some words are not tasty,
Rude, uncouth and immature.

 

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On Waking Up

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Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

ON  WAKING UP

Waking, this morning I said,
I don’t think I’ll get out of bed.
There was no concealing
I had hurt her feelings,
I’d spend the day sleeping instead.

Waking in fear and dread,
I regretted those words I had said
I’d not meant to hurt,
Just meant to assert,
I cried crocodile tears when I bled.

Waking and wond’ring what’s next,
I decided to send her a text,
To tell her I’d lied,
Our love had not died –
Just sulking because I was vexed.

 

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God is a Woman

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God is a Woman, it now is claimed,
No more a scheming Man;
Not that all-seeing, omniscient being,
Of whom I was a fan.

For now this HE becomes a SHE,
My preconceptions lost;
And I must learn to re-construe
To my eternal cost.

I’d rather S/HE was bisexual,
Of indeterminate sex.
That might satisfy all tastes,
Fewer feelings to be vexed.

 

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Photos:WHB 2020 ©

Birth Of A Poem

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Pen & Wash  … WHB 2019

Birth Of A Poem

This poem
and its ill-connected words
do not
yet exist

These lines
part-formed and immature
struggle for release
from their birth pangs
strain to express themselves
in meaning
to say what they want to say

Seeking existence
from the seed of an idea
knowing what is needed
but fighting for form and feature
longing to tell its tale and sing
to live
to feel
to be vibrant
cool and yet tense

Always promising more than it can give
allowing its feelings to weep
its thoughts to shudder and provoke
to breathe a bitter breath
to both calm and to excite

Above all
striving to be worthy
in love with what it hears
bringing meaning to an idea
and from its birth
to bring into the world
an infant ode
wanting
hoping
demanding to grow into
a thing of understanding and beauty

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‘Feelings’

[  # 88 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

Nina Simone

Nina Simone

My reason for showcasing the lyrics of this song are really just an excuse to feature once again the power of the musician/singer, Nina Simone, previously featured in my blog:  ‘Strange Fruits’  – originally posted on Dec.31st 2016 .

Originally popularised by the Brazilian singer Morris Albert, in 1975, the lyrics of the song have been described as “incredibly, stunningly crappy”, largely because of the vagueness and lack of a defined context.   Nevertheless, if anyone were to be able to invest the song with meaning, and with ‘feelings’, then Nina Simone is the person to do it and I commend the YouTube video of  her 1976 Montreaux Jazz Festival performance, which can be found by following the link at:   ‘Feelings’.   Her approach displays all her power and intensity, coupled with her magnificent playing of the piano.

In 1988, French songwriter Louis Gaste successfully sued Morris Albert for plagiarizing his song “Pour Toi”, which appeared in an obscure 1957 French movie. The tunes are very similar. He was awarded 88% of the royalties.

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FEELINGS

Feelings, nothing more than feelings,
Trying to forget my feelings of love
Teardrops rolling down on my face,
Trying to forget my feelings of love

Feelings, for all my life I’ll feel it
I wish I’ve never met you, girl; you’ll never come again

Feelings, wo-o-o feelings,
Wo-o-o, feel you again in my arms

Feelings, feelings like I’ve never lost you
And feelings like I’ve never have you again in my heart

Feelings, for all my life I’ll feel it
I wish I’ve never met you, girl; you’ll never come again

Feelings, feelings like I’ve never lost you
And feelings like I’ve never have you again in my life

Feelings, wo-o-o feelings,
Wo-o-o, feelings again in my arms
Feelings

Feelings, wo-o-o feelings,
Wo-o-o, feelings again in my arms
Feelings

The Borderlands of POETRY – 5

PART THE FIFTH

 

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Photo by John-Mark Smith on Pexels.com

Poetry As Religion

 

Poetry has become my religion
My faith lies in belief
Belief that my words convey my feelings
Express my thoughts
In a way that my actions are unable to do
And while I write
While I construct my idolatrous icons
I am worshipping at the altar of my muse
And offering penance for my frailties.

 

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My Distant Star

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Van Gogh – 1888: ‘Starry Night over the Rhone’ (detail) … Musee d’Orsay

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MY DISTANT STAR

 

It’s not what I meant
by following my star
but that’s how it is
you’re so remote and afar.

so in my reflections
I make the connections
I’ve been living your life
I’ve laid siege to your mind
and fenced in your feelings
thinking your thoughts
and wishing your wants
your dreams I’ve been dreaming

 so what am I doing
with this surrogate presence?
what will I find
and what can I prove
amidst mist and fashion
by chasing each clue?
a sense of your passion
that essence of you?

I need to give you a meaning
to capture that feeling
of truly belonging
no longer just dreaming
no longer an adjunct
no remote stalker
given to stealing
your dreams, thoughts and wishes
your love and your kisses

 and then if I dare
all that I want
is your love to snare
rejoice in the glow
all else is despair

 

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SUICIDE ON A WHIM

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‘River Liffey Incident . . . Pen & Wash . . . WHB – 1994

SUICIDE ON A WHIM

suicide on a whim
is not unheard of
but few such perpetrators
live to tell the tale

one such
rescued from his indecision
by the Gardai
lived through his trauma
sweet Liffey run softly
while I tell the story

distraught by his
gambling debts
and the drinking
his only way to a conclusion
seemed to him to be
voluntary
self-inflicted
euthanasia
yes
he thought
that he wanted to die
half-determined
part irresolute

in a single moment of wavering
he had jumped
just fell perhaps
but the fear
and the cold water
soon hit him
hit harder
than the twenty foot drop

an instinctive cry
escaped him
you could call it
a change of mind
his cry for help
was a second thought
an unintended consequence
of his half-hearted conviction

and now he was held
grasped in a rescue bid

but did he wish to be salvaged
to be pleaded with
would that bring him
the closure he craved
attention unwanted
but secured
attention secured
but unwanted

and still
he could not let go
the ladder
his passport to life
a life he did not desire
could he bear to go there
yet again
to continue
victim to more pain
to yet more anguish

but temporary chagrin
is no killer
his cri de coeur
answered
his indecision
thwarted

is it heads or tails
is it stay or go
is life’s hurt
greater than death’s pain
is future shame
worse than eternity’s
opprobrium

we will never know
the prognosis
I suspect
he is still amongst us
ever indecisive
a suitor for attention
defaulting on his debts
not stopping at three pints
one of life’s
irresolute chancers

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THE LESSONS OF HISTORY

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THE LESSONS OF HISTORY

The lessons of history are all around
Etched on death’s memorial
But who looks at memorials?

The war to end all wars ended
But the peace had not been won

Exchanging eyes
Has not proved a workable proposition
And yet the attempt goes on
And mankind is condemned to try again
To seek an end to conflict
By perpetuating conflict itself

Those lessons from the past
Unlearnt
At best misunderstood
Ignored
And so it continues
The errors of the past
Visited on countless future generations

Fear reigns
And stultifies hope
Because mankind remains
Because mankind will not change
Still comatose
Sleepwalking into conflict again
Again
And yet again

Original sin
Casts its sinister shadow
Over hope
And so
The cycle continues
War and peace
Unfeasible bedfellows
History hardly notices the difference

But we do
And suffer for it

holbein-mort2aThe two illustrations above were scanned from my copy of Holbein’s ‘Le Triomphe De La Mort’ published in 1780 … Etchings of Holbein’s originals by Chr.De Michel

LANGUOR

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Bruton, Somerset . . .  Pen & Wash – WHB – 2016

LANGUOR

Contentment suffuses the scene
And peace lies softly on the land
Life languishes in its grip
Labour held in thrall to lassitude
Neglectful now of endeavour.

In the calm
Of the midday sun
The farm sleeps on
Parading its contentment
Revealing its accord
With its heritage
By just being there
Seemingly throughout time
Amid the rolling fields
Savouring
The languor of a lazy day
The serenity
Of a sublime summer

The quiet joy of existence
Tells more of peace
Than a thousand pacts
Life lived
In alliance with nature
Endowing us with serenity.

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