The Last Waltz (till the 12th of Never)
Spenser Goes A-Huntin’
It's hunting season down in Poem Land
as April Poets seek to make a kill.
They have their choice of weapon close at hand –
a fountain-pen, a keyboard or a quill –
and stalk their prey through forest, over hill.
The Poems are alert, they won't be caught
so easily, but Poets love the thrill
of chasing them. The quite delightful thought
of catching one's so nice a Poet stops at naught
and often hunting hard through moonlit night
he will relentlessly pursue his prey
until a Poem's trapped – and then the fight
begins, a scrap which can go on all day;
a Poem can be vicious when at bay!
An inch of ground a Poem will not cede
as struggling hard it tries to get away.
Its savage claws will rend and rip indeed
the Poet's flesh, and make him curse and redly bleed,
just like this Poem's fighting me right now
as I attempt to pin it on the page.
It snarls and bites and scratches, but I vow
I'll not give up until it's in its cage,
and I have tamed its syntax and its rage.
I bend and twist and struggle hard to fit
its rhyming to its form, and when an age
has passed I feel it weaken just a bit ...
... and then the Poem's caught! At last! I’ve finished it.
🙃
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Bbm-7vdlbs&pp=ygUOdGhlIGRlZXJodW50ZXLSBwkJfgkBhyohjO8%3D
📝
Lexicon (all the poems are In there; you just have to pluck them out) 🙃
Tonight, my Oxford Dictionary's the friend
containing all the vital words I need
to make a poem fit for eyes to read.
I search for nouns and verbs, the richest blend,
hunt adjectives and adverbs, then with speed
I bung them on the page in lines that scan,
complete with chiming rhymes and poignant wit.
It seems so simple, on the face of it,
the perfect easy-writing poems' plan:
begin with A go through to Z, a bit
of care with choice of word and ordering
then that's the poem done! No need to curse
as once I used to do when writing verse;
this method means that I can smile and sing.
And if this poem's shite I've written worse.
🙃
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlTEjlHXXkw&pp=ygUPZGljdGlvbmFyeSBzb25n0gcJCX4JAYcqIYzv
📗📝
The Cost of Living
I've fought and fucked
all over the world,
learned to sail and ski and dive,
but only when I bought my coffin
– 'The mahogany with the brass handles, sir?' –
only then did I feel alive.
⚰️
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9V78UbdzWI&pp=ygUMY29mZmluIHNvbmdz
⚰️🙃
Hamlet on a Diet (or not)
The question is: to eat or not to eat?
This surplus poundage wobbling on my waist
is due to carbohydrates and to meat,
the both of which I simply love to taste.
Now doctors say I'll have a heart attack
if I don't eat some vegetables instead,
that if I have another meaty snack
I'll surely end up in the morgue. Stone dead!
But there's the grub! I want to stuff it in!
I'll suffer all outrageous Fortune's slings
and arrows, and to hell with being thin!
I'll not surrender starchy meaty things!
The Ham is in my name, and so that's that!
I'll eat my sausage butties and stay fat.
🐖
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8GpRil6ID0A&pp=ygUKcG9yayBzb25ncw%3D%3D
🙃
Thirteenth
I curse the Muse of Poetry,
capricious girl that she can be,
she's left me flat, abandoned me
to torment and to misery ...
but then for her that's nothing new!
I scowl and scrunch another page
then fling it in the bin with rage,
I'll surely riot and rampage
before this writing night is through!
These bloody words don't want to fit,
whichever way I look at it,
they make me curse and swear and spit
and feel it would be best to quit
the struggle of this writing chore.
So fuck it! I'm away to bed,
to rest my battered weary head
and have a good long sleep instead ...
I'll write no poems any more!
1️⃣3️⃣
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2apXO0RXYo&pp=ygUHMTMgc29uZw%3D%3D
☹️
Hollow Knocks
there are whispers from the wall
where shadows don't grow tall
the house broods in moonlight glow
the garden silent as bloody roses grow
.
the square windows weep
with forgotten moistures
from its halls where nothing sleep
and eerie wail sorrows
the ivy strangles every beam
nightmare weave its dream
cold weirdness in every gusts
of disturbed ghosts in ancient dusts
https://youtu.be/OUFuaMj6z-w?si=TmviF-g4BHINvS27
Linda
my companion drifts back and forth
from here to there in swift transit
whispers conversations
from time long lost to night
sometimes ethereal and pale
she appears with a smile
silvery image enters in gale
mini yet impressively ethereal
Once we danced with laughter's embrace
our childhood time to falling in love
going through broken hearts or a pretty dress
clock has time's delicate face
a phantom of light at the edge of my sight
corridors haunted by echoes of our songs
a space where lost souls belong.
I sometimes see you smiling
https://youtu.be/V66iLuOzB6c?si=j2mEuG9icIKGOaJS
Oh, No! He’s Written Another Self-Referential Poem.
The Poem's nearly pinned upon the page
when suddenly it ups and runs away!
It hides where poems hide. It wants to play,
and squeaks, 'Come catch me! Put me in a cage,
and then I’ll be your poem for today.'
I like a challenge, so dash after it.
'You can't escape, my Poem friend!' I cry.
'Whatever cunning tricks that you may try,
I'll catch you quickly, bank on that! I'm fit,
I'l nab you, wheresoever you may fly.'
The Poem scoffs. 'Your pen's grown old and fat,
and I'm a whippersnapper, sleek and fast,
and if you really think you can outlast
my stamina, you're talking through your hat!
Your youthful writing days are clearly past.'
'I wouldn't be so sure, my Poem friend,'
I smile. ‘My fountain-pen will get you yet.
Within the next five minutes you can bet
your time of precious liberty will end
when I have caught you without breaking sweat.'
'Yeah, right!' the Poem sneers, but fails to see
it’s reached its final verse, its end is near.
I’ve almost caught it now. 'You're done!' I jeer,
then pin it to the page triumphantly,
and anyone who wants can read it here.
🙃
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ke9goUVikrc&list=OLAK5uy_kTBzhhbbqyav5qKnh5l0mFjRV3oh7zpng&index=5&pp=8AUB0gcJCX4JAYcqIYzv
☕🏝️
Ghostly Whispers
shadows creep and whispers stir
a secret to shared fingers on lips
creaking floor brings something near
as the ghostly crowds gather
clock strikes the hour without restrain
dance of departed souls remain
scents in dreams entertain
ghosts sing with owls' soft whine
there's nothing divine
in the dance of souls
lost in nature's orderly twine
wrapped in karma unpaid
https://youtu.be/sSlLNSWAXpo?si=nFVkOS9s9lcQM2qK
Cresting the Summit
This Poem is joyful and dancing with glee,
the happiest Poem you ever could see,
it bursts into song as it kicks up its feet,
and thinks the whole world is delightfully sweet.
So what is the reason for all of its bliss?
I'll tell you right now that the reason is this:
the fifteenth of April’s arrived, let us cheer!
For NAPO's half over; it's down hill from here!
Yay! 🙃
📝
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tua2ib9o134&list=PLRkE5-eyt9iVdPoRhfBWElJMxW7VOLceC&index=18&pp=iAQB8AUB0gcJCX4JAYcqIYzv
🏔️
Twinners
evil ensemble
there lies evil
mirrors of souls
dressed to kill
on sidewalks languid
dark unwholesome deeds
fantasy lie to feed
fertile furrow for seeds
Jack be nimble
she's quite dead
Jack be quick
leave her to bleed
https://youtu.be/uwtjL9UI4uQ?si=wtloqp9pm7nEJNyC
🌹☕🍷🎊
evil ensemble
there lies evil
mirrors of souls
dressed to kill
on sidewalks languid
dark unwholesome deeds
fantasy lie to feed
fertile furrow for seeds
Jack be nimble
she's quite dead
Jack be quick
leave her to bleed
https://youtu.be/uwtjL9UI4uQ?si=wtloqp9pm7nEJNyC
🌹☕🍷🎊
DU and Me
The end of an era
both yours DU, and mine.
Sometimes it’s best just to say goodbye
to close the door and not…hang on.
Urgently my fingers copy and paste my trove of poems
just to make sure…just to make sure I’ve got them all
before you close your doors.
Every now and then I read one and I'm
taken back to that space and time.
It’s like walking the yellow brick road in reverse
where life was lived, where joy was felt
where heartache reigned.
But more importantly - I see...I see
how I have grown...how I have changed.
So thank DU!
Without you I doubt...
I doubt it would have been the same.
The end of an era
both yours DU, and mine.
Sometimes it’s best just to say goodbye
to close the door and not…hang on.
Urgently my fingers copy and paste my trove of poems
just to make sure…just to make sure I’ve got them all
before you close your doors.
Every now and then I read one and I'm
taken back to that space and time.
It’s like walking the yellow brick road in reverse
where life was lived, where joy was felt
where heartache reigned.
But more importantly - I see...I see
how I have grown...how I have changed.
So thank DU!
Without you I doubt...
I doubt it would have been the same.
Dear Skin,
In different days, you gloved me firm and tight,
as if a tailor, with his sharpest shears,
had fashioned you, but now you're lined with years
of living, creased, no longer fitting right;
sartorially, not a pretty sight;
but every wrinkle has its tale to tell,
and when I hang you on that final hook,
if anyone should take the briefest look
they'll see you've known some heavens and a hell.
Dear Skin, I'd like to say you've worn me well.
Yours sincerely,
ajay 🙃
✂️
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_5lX0eMI7Hw&pp=ygUceW91IHdlYXIgaXQgd2VsbCByb2Qgc3Rld2FydA%3D%3D
☕🏝️
