LORDS OF THE COSMOS

LORDS OF THE COSMOS (Monday 28th Feb 2011) - A poem about poetry... [418 words ]

Author’s Notes : This was one of the first pieces I wrote. In it I set myself the task of thinking about poetry in a general way and to lay down some ideas that I would need to return to from time to time.

What was it he said when he first spied her?

With what words did he declare, announce, woo and charm?  

And on what fruit and on what epic did he feast her?

With what wine dine and juice and caress imaginations chariots?

And on what benign ode did she sip, sup and quaffe with wonderment? 

For tis certain that with iambic pentameter and rhythmic meter he cooed, plyed and rose her.

Rhyme, Reason and Rhythm all queuing eager to greet and meet her & together conspire

Drumming out their whining, murmuring beat insistent bent on toning & tanning

Sometimes better sometimes missing the spot, perchance to stab on purpose & quicken the heart

With arrows from abandon’s quiver all soft, knitted as in the purling and quilted fine

Words they say are all we mere mortals own to take your heart away to horizons expanding

And like rumplestiliskin weave we pray the name of loves own on tablets that are not stone.

As coned islands exult, celebrate and emerge from mere consciousness

They sing to form as one roundelay in synch with the buzz of the jamboric madrigal

Line on line they the maidens say give us a cantata, go one gis a Ballard, a song you know

And with chanson a plenty and encomiums sonorously murmuring a frilly few

With nets of femion they tingle and turn castanets a swinging and swirling in

In the ballet and humming in the rhumba, even as foolish young boys grimace, snigger, and gurn

Who'er then is master of earthly twin triple tongue is lord of the cosmos too

Poetry you say, With roots, trunk, branches, leaves, bud, flower, fruit and seed a ripening

In the garden pastoral bucolic with leaves a lingulate and rhombic

With vine stalk that snake and root deep in subterranean passages and caves

And sing from there their sonnets that ripple and reverb and rubble in the underground

Echoing the coo cooing of maidens in bardic spring and the glad summer morning

Staccato its theme does punctuate and spine the whole thing through trunking its way to the canopy

Mesma, Amusma and Peone are muse three bringing creatures culled & teased from Mamara Sea

To entertain us, and cheer us with limerick, and spice us with nursery rhyme's archaic patterning 

Like an ocean shallow enough to dip the toes and to sample the warm warm water

As a body deep enough for where the wild things play leashed waiting to be unbound

Tis a place to test and stretch the edge of reason.        

NOW AND THEN

NOW AND THEN - About a constrained Relationship

We will not speak of what might have been, let us not talk of what, perhaps, we would have seen

Though it is a pleasant and disturbing phantom, and it charms us away from the present

Nor will we whisper of a future we cannot give but here and now hand in hand let us live

Even if the dawn is dark and the far distant is but a blank, even if the tree is stripped bare

And even if the life and the kernel is gone, let us be content, as drunken, with mere bark

We may not have tomorrow and hereafter but in the instant laughter and with rude impatience let us comfort and ease the solitude of one who remains not a stranger.

We will not dally and we will not stutter, come, look even now the fat is being taken away from the  slaughter. Let us laden our table with fine goods from China and let us command Egyptian dancing girls and pipers from Afghanistan. Pies to crunch, meat to chew and refined wine too. Drink now and drink deep for tomorrow is denied except for dormant, solitary slumber.

Even if the morning never wakes and the sun comes not near, even if the cistern runs dry. Though the  sentinels fail and the watchmen drift, let us be content as with parched lips, we slake our thirst with a passionate kiss. Hear our chattering guests as they gather banqueting. Hurry now  let us join them in the great hall of Ajalon and feast with them this day long. Here now take my hand and let us live.

OPTIONS UNDER FIRE : LIBYA

Author’s notes: Almost a month ago ( At Sat 23^rd April ) I published a piece called “North Africa in Crisis: Libya”. Here I present a kind of subjective, selective, distorted, poets eye view of the events from Feb 16^th to about 21^st April

                                                                                           

Bring Magic Machine and Fated Mortal Men.

Register them all near Pandemonium’s Portal.

Bring Oil and Bring Blood and the Apothecary’s Art.

Allow the Blood Flow, let it Start.

Bring Human Rights declared Universal & True.

Fathi Terbil, let him be recalled, friend.

And let him, when the hubbub’s Done,

In Libya’s annals green, be mentioned.

Bring solidarity and protest in the streets. 

Initiate a tour of duty patriotic, for loves contest.  

And in the virtual Brave new avenue of Babylon,

Play on Ytube the widow’s pain once more.

Let it be emailed and copied and forwarded

And let those at distance sigh and wonder Why.

Aspire to martyrdom and reject, for the next,

This world’s ignorance of paradise’s lost reward.

Recall the day of rage and those whose lives blazed no more.               

Never forget the fire which fell on mourners in Benghazi.

Never forget the fire tumbling as they mourned brethren.

Power is in the hands of the people, that’s what I said.

From here to eternity, from there to anarchy.

Never to leave my darling dressed in Black, green and Red.  

Bring tanks again in the Night.

Let Thanos reign down its death Shelling expected                

Bring abductions on the outskirts of the city

And no news of the departed.                                                                                             

Prevent farmers from seeding, their fields a fallow.

And in Tripoli’s place fresh wine on the table. 

Bring bone smashed and seared broke.

And the crimson washed aroma of scorched, jellied flesh.

Bring death, destruction, agony, and show no pity.

We struggle for Right, for Liberty

For the world, for out country, for our children,

For hope, for the very heart of the City. 

We shall fight them in the Polis and in the suburbs.

We will never surrender we will never leave; with Right’s 

Aid we continue to harass the infidel until at last they yield. 

Kill everyone who shadow like flits. Anyone whose face does not fit.        

And in the virtual and brave new avenues of Babylon,

Let the Orphan’s cry be ignored.

Bring the Battle tanks and daub them with the slogans of Liberation.

Sons and Daughters sing their blood for the soul of a Nation.

Spring the Multiple rocket launcher and let it ripple its barraging effects.  

Let Qatar our brother be first to match word with Mirage jets.                                 

From United Arab Emirates a full horn’s complement came.

More “Fighting Falcons” & Mirage planes – 12 in all named.

Launch Attack Wind and assault with Apache and Exocet missiles

Release Storm Shadow and payload its missiles armed to the enemy’s chest.

Stir The Hornet and sting superior with front line multi- role fighter.

Awake The “Sea Sparrow and anti- ship harpoon missiles”:

Bring the Sea King chopping copter and enlist the Wartog.

Bring them now and let us go together up to Mount Whitney.

Bring mutilation and blinding white light, bring wailing in the night.

Bring mourning and death.

And before the scurry is done its message telegraphed far and wide.

Many will flee, even Mercenaries and hardened paid men of war,

From below the great desert and the near neighbours of Kemet.

Bring a safe distance and let us observe from a far

Let us be numb to it for after all it’s just another bloody war.

Let our allies and friends know that if they will help us kick

Out Ghadaffi then the whole world will live in Peace. Just as Lennon said.

Let our allies know that friendly fire, well the dead are getting higher.

Release from gun barrel Liberty’s freedom’s flower.

Let the African Union know and understand that Revolution and not

Reform is what the blood on our streets whispers beneath our boots.

Strengthen rather our arm in this dread fight 

Rather than prop the arm of the Colonel’s economic might                                  

In the night it comes with its soothing song telling us it won’t be long.        

VARIATIONS ON A 'G' STRING

Author’s Notes: Inspired by Bach’s “Air on a G String”

I know just where, just where to go, when ere I,      

When ere I am feeling really cold, and rather low.

I go there for sweet comfort only you really know.

For my love you really care, and comfort me there.

Just by where calm springs and clean water flows,

In your healing embrace I now repose and recline.

For you really can mend this fevered heart of mine.

You really comfort me my love. And I know dear  

Just where I’m to go, I go where the healing spring,

Where waters refreshing, divine and free do flow.          

In your embrace’s healing I now would rest and recline

I know where, just where, to lay this weary heart of mine

I know where to go for true love that’s mine. For my dear 

You really comfort me right there, just where the spring clear waters flow              

For you really mend again this hot fevered heart of mine.

Your closeness and care-song they’re dearly sweet to me.

You’ll be there, right there, right near to me,                                      

Right by where the spring water runs fresh

And clear again ever renewed by you love.

In the morning walk I really know my soul restored

I feel so new whenever I’m with you 

On moonlight walk you keep me company

For I know just where to go,

I go where still n’deep waters they gently ever flow

From your face I see that smile again it shines

It spreads its wings high and covers me with love

I’m feeling strong again my love just by where

The still sweet spring waters cascade love’s divine heart flow.

               

HAIKU CLUTCH

Author’s notes: Live and Learn we say! Live and Learn!  Near the time of his death the Japanese Master poet ‘Basho’ gave what has become known as ‘The Death Poem” …..

“Still on my journey - / dreams roam / parched moors”…..at about the same time he also gave another which now has only the second and third part preserved…

“ …………../ roaming still / my dreaming mind”. Intriguing! This piece assumes that since he was giving these two together they are in some way connected as is suggested by the words used in each.  I have pursued this thought and produced three Haiku’s to be clutched together as one…

Today’s renewer -                                                      

Urging morning’s chorus song  

Once more ancient path

 

With you my songbird

Across enigmatic land - 

Arise and journey 

When birdsong ceases  

Then louder our fabric heard -

Drink sweet tea with me

                       

HAIKU'S METACOUP : Basho - The Poet of the Banana Tree Hut

Author’s Notes: Wishing to return the 'favour' of a review I visited one poet's page to find it was all ‘Haiku’! - A quick bit of research was called for. The website “In the Moonlight a worm” was a

particularly helpful and informative website. Especially helpful with many examples given from Basho himself.   - That done - and assuming I understand the basic idea – I composed and published my first ‘deliberate’ Haiku...Having digested the “data” a bit more I thought  I would makes some notes in poet form... They may be of use to someone thinking about Haiku but like me ‘knows nothing”…Thanks also to Jane Reichhold for her extremely lucid and informative article “Metaphor in Basho’s Haiku” (ahapoetry.com)...

                                          

Recently I had pause to consider in brief the Basho pattern poem 

Home in the East and from the hand of Japan’s Master poet man.

Banyan tree rooted by students kind, in front yard of his cabin built

So he would have a place to stay and not be obliged to pay any rent.

And he became by popular consent, The poet of the banana tree Hut.

A keen observer of Nature’s bounty he lacquered it with respect right deep

Up to the very day of his death. Many of his works do ‘focus’ on Gaia’s

Turning seasons. Autumn in particular, seems to have been a favourite of

This character and other things, dragon flies, crickets sour chestnuts,

Worms and spider’s crying in the wind.

His expressions intent was to distil,

And snap the existential moment and convey facsimiles part to the

Skin, eye, ear, heart and hand. Instructive in layered ways, their

Underlying structure universal, cross culture clearly they do span.

That’s ‘Haiku’ to you and to me. Its bipolar tripartite pattern clear for all to see.  

Its intricacies, as in the Western mind, part contributed by the reader,

Can surprise, inform and comment on the condition of man, and delight

With the delicacies of reflection’s crucibled titration eased on the heart.

And, as with Poetry tree in the West there’s talk of forms, oft conceived

As antithetical, the ‘strict’ and the ‘free’. Some even sail on to speak of

What is eyed upon and of what is Best. Nevertheless, ‘Classically’

Seventeen syllables are embroidered in sections and apportioned out in lots of three.

Five and Five equal either side of the Seven in balancing swing

Usually written in Kanji the language of Japan, and patterned apiece after every

Day warp and woof of folk’s speech; one might be forgiven for thinking that, for

Them it’s much easier to understand.

Seventeen syllables then, cut in two sections.

As to where the cut or break occurs, for that

A signal clear such as a comma, exclamation mark, dash, etcetera.   

As for the works of Basho its said an early one concerned, not the early bird,

But instead the evening rain and how of it, it was the basho who was first to say

Said by some to be his most famous it might be called the crow, its metaphorical power magnificent.

It illustrates well the power of spiralled, reversed, double speak.

Of how crow alighting on autumn’s branch at dusk settles lightly calling to the night.

At the passing of the day into the Winter nights of Seth

Basho’s poem is there by popular behest.

It’s called the Poem of Death. What composure!

It speaks of dreams roaming on his Journey across parched moors of last breath.

And another, spoken just after, and more Intriguing still,

echoes the dreaming and the roaming of the moors and there it just ends!

Basho now under, Own Cherry Blossom Tree would, I think be pleased there.

FISHING : ARCHAIC HAIKU

Author’s Notes: I have a couple of friends who spends long stretches of time “fishing” on a variety of virtual fishing spots. They are quick to emphasis the “authenticity” of the spots and talk of the ‘bite rate’ in statistical terms. It all seems very ‘weird’ to me, nevertheless, beyond the appearance there does seem to be ‘something else’. In this piece, I have tried, as an outsider, to describe some features of that “something else”….

On reflections edge, in solitude’s bliss

Where Summer Sky meets Earth Green.  

Beauty Smiles mirrored in silence,

To the sound of the Cuckoo’s spinal tap.  

Clouds far fluffed wonderings drift white, 

Existenz cascades tingle sound surround

Rest melting on expansive consciousness.  

Quintessential buzz blue electric eddies

Twi Twi Tweet echo high, reverberates  

Lemon grass green calm flushed through,

And tips into underground cooled cisterns,  

Casting contentment’s call, circled deep,

To inner souls tension breathing peace.

WRITTEN IN THE STARS

Authors Note’s : All my life I’ve scorned “Astrology” as a pile of fecund rot. And the idle chit chat of the addled and the vain. As the vague talk of Knaves and the deceived. Now I am a man I have come to understand there’s more to it and in this as in many other aspects I’ve been a twit too. Why even Bob Marley sings of a  natural mystic ‘flowing through the hills’. The intent here  is to soon sketch the general outlines of the ‘Archaic Haiku’ pattern and make it plain…This is the first verse…

Nothing’s new under the Sun and Soul Man says,

This astrological Matrix it’s not pristine.

Not nouveau, It is an ancient one.

Anchored on times shores it stretches,

From Nimrod’s Babylon and Before.

The twelve Part Pattern And the Sun,

Who their steps each day faithfully retraces and runs. 

Springing Newborn each time and through Summer,

Becoming The Most High at Noon.

And from there Falling into the Underworld,          

And the Winter Nights of Seth.

Soon ascending with Daystar anew.

The Pattern Triune and Clear for All to See.

Destiny through a glass Dark and shrouded in ermine.

There’s none so blind as this heated heart of mine.

The vines that tie and the branches that break.         

Birth, Maturity and Descent.

It Appears that All is but Cyclical event.

With this mortals have to contend. 

And at last Breath the Crossing,

And Passing of the Day its death.

STRIPPER HEADLINES : Derranged Haiku.

Author’s Notes : Probably all readers will have read tragic headlines – which include

Descriptions of the Victim – if the person is ‘young’, very often there is reference to their

Bright futures which are now ruined. Often also there is the ghastly inclusion of their ‘beauty’. Maybe there is some ‘Natural reason’ for this, yet it makes me uneasy…

I’m never a rebel

Stripper Headlines  

Say victim ugly no times  

Its always a worry

When outward beauty equation tips  

It makes me so mad I could spit.  

That’’s the lot.

FLEETING GLANCES

Author’s Notes : I expect we’ve all had the fleeting experience of catching a strangers eye for a second or two…People we do not speak to…conversations we never have..except… 

As I rounded the bend there you were with a group of friends, sat chatting.

Dark haired girl in the Park we did not speak not even with smile and yet

For a little while a fleeting time it seem our souls did commune in a beat          

You asked how I was I said fine. I was out of range and did not quite hear…

Kid hanging free your blonded head out of that car window the cheeky grin

We shared showed that you knew how envious I was of you in the moment.

Then you were gone. Leaving me to wonder on alone…

You looked a right treat when I passed you in the street a few minutes before.

It almost felt like fate when, in the store, I bumped into you again in the queue.

But though our eyes caught we did not speak. I watched you go out the door

As my thoughts trailed off…

Grey haired old man, you looked worn, you blinked at me from the bus window.

I imagined you going home and preparing a microwaved meal for you dinner.

You seemed, for reasons I cannot divine, to be aggressive, as if violence was

On your mind. On the pavement we passed and eyed with suspicions gait…

All of you brief tenants in the apartment of my mind’s booming, buzzing,

Sensationalised tenement. I wonder…

Did I even register on the tapestry of your consciousness?  

FOUND in TRANSLATION : The SEA OF CHI

Author’s Notes : I have a friend who is proficient in martial arts – After listening to him accompany his set pieces of movements ( Kata – Dance – Sequence ) with the verbal descriptions of the movements and with the Eastern Tang of Haiku still fresh in my mind…

Speak

Basho

Zens could touch 

The mind’s highway

Through the temple doors 

Go as high as you may

Interaction’s traction track 

The eye of one who sees 

Transcendental gate 

Magic’s good dash 

The high way 

Dojo  

Chi  

ME HEAR SEH DEM BAN DE AFRICAN.

Author’s Notes : It seems like a long time ago now. On the 13^th March I published “The African”  in part response to a couple of publication rejections based on the idea that many of the words in the rejected pieces were ‘ungrammatical’…I have been meaning to write another more ‘playful’ response for what seems like ages…This piece is imagined ( as explicitly indicated below) as a wave of three voices used in three different ways….

Talking Voice : Female - Jamaican Female Poet Style – In residual African Style

Singing Voice :  Male - Deep / Gravelly: Mid and High range

Toasting Voice :  I Roy style / U Roy style

Ridim: To be added by my musician brother

VERSE ONE: Me Hear Seh dem ban de African

Talk : Me hear seh dem ban de African.                   

Sing : Seh dem no warne no Rastaman.

Toast : And some men interpret nine memos – Say its an Enigma.

Toast : Bam biddley Bam Biddley and we don’t know where it goes.

Sing : Seh dem nuh warne we ina Babylon.

Talk : Me hear seh dem ban the African.

Toast : In days of old when Black was invented from Cairo to Kazghekistan.

Talk : Weh bout Mary Seacole and Nanny a de Maroons.

Sing  : Seh we warne we warne goa we yard.

                  

VERSE TWO: Oh lay a wallaby baby ball away

Sing : Away away over yonder calling still.

Talk : Free up yuh mine from babylon system.

Sing : Come away come away the daughter’s of Israel are singing.

Toast : Oh lay a wallaby baby ball away.

Toast : In fourteen hundred and ninety- two Christopher Columbus sailed the Ocean Blue.

Sing : Seh we wanrn we wanrn we wanrn go home.

Talk : Time fe we pass we culture class.

Toast : And mix a maxim wid bird rib.

Talk : Beating to de sound of boding bodiako de niah man.

VERSE THREE: Me Hear seh dem ban de European

Talk : Me hear tell seh dem ban de European.

Sing : Set me free ina me madda land.

Talk : But a time fe we pass we culture class.

Toast : And buy no more from the red Nevada Vendor. 

Toast : In twelve hundred BC Black Olmec carved heads on the pages of history.

Sing : Seh dem nuh warne no Rastaman.

Talk : Responding to the drum drum drumming.

Sing : Seh we warne we warne go home a we yard.

Toast : And won’t lovers now revolt and say now sir a war is won.

…Drifts into singing and laughter at end

SMORGASBORD

Author’s Notes: I’ve always wanted to use the word “smorgasboard”…At last! According to Wikipeda  … “Smörgåsbord became internationally known as Smorgasbord at the 1939 New York World Fair when it was offered at the Swedish Pavilion's "Three Crowns Restaurant." It is typically a celebratory meal and guests can help themselves from a range of dishes laid out for their choice…In an extended sense, the word is used to refer to any situation which invites patrons to select whatever they wish among lots of pleasant things, such as the smorgasbord of university courses, books in a bookstore, etc.”

 

Found about am I          

A rounder Horizon’s mouth               

Four Candles mark it           

                             

       

A ME A DE REAL AFRICAN!

Author’s Notes : I just don’t seem to have the same attitude and ‘tolerance’ for certain things I did when I was younger…Recently I heard for the umpteenth time how thought being a ‘Blackman’ I was

Ignorant of ‘commonsense’ knowledge/culture available to the ‘real African’. For the first time I spoke my mind to the two ‘Africans’  present. They seemed to listen with a mixture of curiosity, acknowledgement, and disdain! Neither made any verbal response to what I said. They just went on with the conversation as if I was not there! …Still, I felt better..Therapy and Poetry hmmm…

But starrap! A Nuh me a de real African ?

Wen me check it, me see it clear 

Spewing from my pew an stirring me stew me see it!

Mek me tell yuh dis… 

There is a certain kind of people under the sun 

Who seem to belive that their view

Of the universe is the only one                                                                         

And with apparent astonishment

Respond when anyone is ‘deviant’

Even over things seemingly trivial

Such as a stretchy piece of cloth used as loofah                        

Or over the Knowledge and use of Yam 

Especially if you are supposedly from Africa

Well, mek me tell yuh dis…Me a de real African          

Taken on ship and flung to deep

If life drained and the body within quit

Seared and nailed whipped and worked dry

An abused and dying expendable flesh tool    

Somehow I survived and am I now to hear & feel    

Your absuse & your ignorant spilling blades too?

You may sneer bout how yuh maada tongue

Was not ripped from its nest and join

The Overseer in condescension’s groove.

Still the language of survival courses through

Veins which have been pumped full

Of hell and yet survive…stamped in African

Your water may be wetter ,

Your wine sweeter, 

Your blood maybe blacker…

But it cant Blacker than the flagons I spilt

And juiced and clotted in the great Maafa

Stop yuh obfuscating rap though it be spoken

With eloquent and disdainful skill

Cause a me a de real African!        

EINSTEIN

Author’s notes: This piece “Einstein” in some sense builds on an earlier piece – “Copernicus”         

And continues the same appeal set out there for life and against death...

And won’t lovers now revolt

Against rebels who laminate pet animals & drag the ringed nosed downward.

And fossilise and cram and pray evil odes or prose do live large in Matristan.

We freer few will not murder for a jar of red rum or lay on no dial calibrated.  

O Niagara, O roar again even as Edith, cold – eyed, doth grimly eye loch tide.

For now is poetry tree, East and West, pollarded, straightened and dried all to be?

Does strategy get art?

No, it is opposed; Art sees Trade’s bellied prone position in shades park   

See high demonstrates, yet arts no crimped medieval puppet Midas can know.

No, it never propagates ere a detection gap on elf’s key gate is the nametag.

Forward then we are drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to a new era’s vista.

Better to repel evil as a live leper than red root put up to order and purchase it

Still from the red Nevada vendor.                            

And won’t lovers now let loose their flow

Incrementing voice with passioned discontent

And say, Rise, morning is red, there’s no wonder sign in Rome, sir.

Neither then nor now saw ye mosses or foam, or aroma of roses there.              

And won’t lovers now revolt against Norah’s foes, billeted in the armour of

Passion And order the red rose of Sharon and sprinkle mountain head with

Love’s refrain echoing once again and say, Now sir, at last the war is won. 

TRIPOD : UNITARY HAIKU

Author’s Notes : This piece pushes the ‘Classical Haiku’ pattern to near its limits of abstraction.

It reminds me somewhat of the scheme of cognitive development ‘outlined’ by Jean Piaget... 

Accomodation 

Conceptualisation

Equilibrium

CELEBRATING POLYSYLLABISM

Author’s Notes : A celebration of four, five six and seven syllable words

Most often viewed as cloistered and clossetted

In the banks of those designated ivory towered  

Words Carpeted Containing syllables four to seven 

Thought by some to be high powered and up market  

Though it’s clear the stretch of words telleth not 

The Quantity Neither yet the Quality of semantics 

Contained either within or without, in context.

For the length of an utterance correlates imperfectly 

With its meaning, its intent, its rhythm, its rhyme, its symmetry 

Still, economy of pack in principle does without doubt, Recommend. 

And duty sterling these words do; In the tappestry their part displayed 

Pleased am I to call them acquaintance if not intimate friend.

In gereral, enabling abstraction, chrystallisation, telegraphication  

And all manner of propogation’s garments and newly crafted appartments. 

ARCHAIC PATTERNING

Author’s notes : In this piece I explore some of  the ‘archaic patterns’ which have come down to us in the form of nursery rhymes. The first and last verses are based on a rhyming, beating chant I used to make as a child – The words are

“Mosquito One, …( 4 syllables/beats )

Mosquito two… ( 4 syllables/beats )

Mosquito jump ina hat Callaloo” ( 10 syllables/beats )

Clearly the surface intellectual content, is quickly exhausted, yet to this day the rhythm, beated out to the words holds a ridiculous fascination…

                          

Muscat be sweet – muscat be Quick. 

Muscat be done, with fire’s dancing stick. 

Time to play, time to drift, in times stream,

Reflecting wide, spaced on tardis deck.

  

Blow the horn,blow the horn, preacher’s man.

Make way fast,  for love train to Matristan.                          

Stack it and stuff  it, furnish it deep and true.

Usher it then to dreamland for me and you.     

All commers too can hitch a ride.

Any Mr Y and any Mrs X can join the Eastward flow.

Why even You and I can, join the caravan,

To touch the grail of laughter.

And dream a while on the upper deck.

                                   

There wonders will we see,  myriads to view.

Opportunity’s  locks let’s now seize,we’ve no time to loose 

Let’s skip and match and mix a maxim with bird rib.     

And lift the lid off a daffodil like the old woman did.

We’ll ride a beam thought to Zanzibar’s crest, 

To taste honey finer and feast on the best.

With wings on our images and highways clear, 

Wherever we go beauty will always be near.

Together let’s dance this merry cantata.

Let’s be there, let’s be here, playmates laughter.  

Tomorrow renewed tis more the merrier.

Chant it’s echo from rooftop and gladened rafters.

Muscat be Quick – Muscat be Sweet.

Muscat be done – with Fire’s dancing beat.

Time to play, time to go, return oh do,

And again away from the hubbub and the hullaballoo

To shade aside and away from midday heat.

SLACKER'S CORNER

Author’s notes : In August 2009 I was in Jamaica again for the first time in 40 years. In many ways I fellt completely at home…comfortable…It was not just the pleasant countryside type environment that my soul responded to with deep echoed sigh but the way of the the elders and those most influenced by them…There are many intersting ‘gathering spots’ in the country and in the towns…            

There’s a little place in Jamaica, it’s in Danver’s Pen St Thomas

At the bottom of the house she built. Slacker’s corner she explicitly dubbed it.      

At the foot of the grey rise to her foundation in the soil where her days begun.

A quaint spot sporting ancient tradition.

A terminal where the men, women and children

Stop to rest, exchange chat and watch the range of a certain few people go by.

A point to swop mid morning greetings  and early evening pleasantries.  

She once sat there with her sister dear reminiscing on halcyon days agone

And dusting off pleasures in common and trophying anew sorority’s alliances  

Sit at this site and sooner or later all pass and you say how di doo to the lot…

From the wise and foolish to the familiar and the little less so, though not strange

Diligence and industriousness her constant watchwords not much time

Given to just sitting and at Slacker’s bench. But in truth that station many

Parts of the community glued and kept stitched as the old ways die daily.

                

THE SMILE

Author’s Note : At last!...On Weds 23^rd of March 2011 I read “Siren’s of Alarm” by Jediallday. In his “Authors Notes” he wrote “Someone please put a smile upon my face” …That got me thinking about ‘Smiles” …Eventually I’ve got round to pinning something down on paper…I found it more challenging than I initially thought it would be to write about this using the voice of poetry…

                                                            

Its origins original, some say from without, others from within             

Still more others say a little closer home from just above the chin.

On presentation’s stage, fleeting a moment’s dance and play in time 

And dashing leave imprints splashing play of sunlight roaming,

Journeying still, working its way along nerves red, orange and lime

Quite unlike a predator, not like tyrannosaurus rex or a velocaraptor          

Still, it starts with a narrow eyed creep and slides at end with a dash.

Its quarry it would catch, its prey in the end it beams at with a grin

Not red in tooth at Nature’s design and claw nor seeking raw meet

Its Intent relievingly warm and benign, friendly feelings is the sign!

The smile itself elusive and unused to being sketched and snapped

This creature continues to evade and awaits Orion to make capture.

Types of smile there are two,

We know which is the biz and real.

There’s the manicured Pan Am Splash, 

Being merely polite and beguiling for cash.

From seven till five thirty we understand

These honeys are part of the crew,

Beaming towards the lovely money. 

On demand, busily that’s what they do.                   

Then there’s the smile that’s not phoney, that’s genuine

Duchene it’s called after him

Who said it showed real spontaneous emotion

Produced by Obicu- laris Oris in Symphony

With the Zygomatics Major band in Harmony.

What?! Seriously! I kid you not. It augurs well…Let’s see how it turns out 

“Zygomatics Major” and “Obicularis Oris”then,

The two groups of facial muscles around the eyes and the mouth

They collaborate producing a smile that’s real,

The one felt under skin, no phoney face cracker,

It’s the bona fide McCoy a proper dream heart felt

Its rays radiating high from cheeks puffed at the treasure

Words of greeeting cueing with Jack Horner’s plum

And attending their briefing on curled mouth corners

While crows alight with Smiling eyes.

Bands in Concert - rippling fine, radiating                 

Reaching out across - the stranger line

Dispelling Cumulo Nimbus with a puff

And driving with arches of raiment’s emotions

Rays and Fair-weather clouds and days of Sunburst       

Gleaming in splendid garments and apparelled against grey   

Adorning Laughter, Love, Pleasure, Amusement & sibling Hysteria!

Universal language, it’s true, along with Sadness,

Anger, Disgust, Fear, Surprise, and Happiness’s glue

All there bulwarked in their shades, permutations and hues   

Smile and the whole world refractions angled back at you!         

Muscles in Melody flowing strong conducting energy 

Touching the embrace of friends & lovers inside the gate

There’s a time and place for everything

Yet the smiling season’s nearly always in. 

Before the flash of the reaper perhaps grim

Lets contest and rival to see who can stretch the most!

There’s plenty of places to practice stretching our faces!

For maybe when we are gone

Our smile Cheshire like still hangs lingering

And whispering whistfully in the air whence 

We once gleamed…

Orchestra’s in Rhythm pulling full convecting love’s wine

Circling within the greener bays of the the family mansion 

Maybe over a brew to mend the bruise and drink from reunion’s cup

In the raucous moments of a shared joke from laughter’s platter

In the teasing that only they know how to tweak and worry so!

Counter currents in Symphony pulling full wide

Searching inside lights private musings

Popsicles in reflective or in pregnant mood

Showering bliss in solitudes’s inward canopy

Frozen in photo or lightly in Stone curled          

They endure but the smile I like to see       

Best of all is yours.

Though all out door storms and rages, your smile can

Inner fears and doubts assuage. When I see it I know

The lighthouse of Pharos stands calm within its glow.  

One modern Commenter has Sagely opined

Smiling is the cheapest form of Charity

Point taken in context and in this let it be said

I want you to keep smiling at me till I am dead!

PS : Meaning not to tease, dear reader if you please,

If you think my feeble attempts at wit and to sketch the smile,

Are not quite it, though in part I am inclined to agree, 

Then along with Frankie Howard I, with pouted mouth

And head tilted to a high degree, disdainfully reply, then

Please yourselves, please yourseves!