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Aug 2014 · 2.5k
Mowing the grass
nicholas ripley Aug 2014
After the devastation came recuperation.
New shoots had sprung with alacrity
enough to establish a presence
in that walled garden,
contained to a strip
barely big enough for date and citrus
to thrive.

The neighbour waited twenty one seasons,
and with each season saw
young shoots
replacing the old.
Imaging a future
where grass might escape the confines
of concrete and sea

neighbour chose to start the mower,
move beyond boundaries,
and mow and mow and mow.
It's been twenty three days now
and still blades whirr
day and night
each hour inducing fresh rubble

to deter shoots, new seeds, hope.
The neighbour will retreat soon,
beyond the wall,
being temporarily satiated
with reek and wreckage,
knowing a day shall arise to return
for the fruits of the land.
August 2014
Jul 2014 · 1.2k
The Operation
nicholas ripley Jul 2014
Folded into this numb-husk of unknowing,
undeveloped eyes, wrapped by distressed skin,
continue to peer, unseeing, accustomed
as they now are, to a feed of distant

Telegenically Dead. These short lives have been
socially shared and mocked,
as morgues overflow to floor;
impromptu fans recirculating mournings hot air.

There is little chance for grief on Day 13;
rage has to be spent like a brass cartridge
or slung stone, or drowned in red pools
mixed with the water of collective driblets.

Meanwhile a politician says something else.
July 2014
Jul 2014 · 1.0k
Storm
nicholas ripley Jul 2014
Sky hallucinates
a momentary purple;
silhouetting crowns
of the Sycamores hitherto
melded in tenebrous night.
July 2014
Jul 2014 · 614
First Day Of The Occupation
nicholas ripley Jul 2014
Low-slung sun of October
caught and embraced those gathered,
on steps, hemmed by fountain,
and Victorian revived Roman.

There are statues amongst the passers-by,
rooted by makeshift placards
fashioned from discarded cardboard
with chalk marked ironies.

Tank girl, hair part shaven and
dyed flame red, is slender and strong
holds, 'This is a sign' on the reverse,
in bold print, it read FRAGILE.
June 2014
nicholas ripley Jul 2014
Having skipped through fresh bloomings of
Lesser Celandine, feet numb to their shiny hearts;

one-foot-spanned the wild River Beal,
the other missed, trailed, became sodden.

Green eyes scanned, surveyed the horizon, with its path
to Gallows hill, so with one foot cold he ascended;

Tarmac pounded his heart, as words,
from god-knows-where, flushed synapses.

Perhaps it was the discord of former chains
ratting in the bleakness, crimes of dependencies

crying for release that swept his attention on the wind,
or a lapse into timeless genetics, coursing naturally.

He died up there, left a ghost on a former gibbet,
then descended to the Beal's banks of Yellow Flag Iris.

June 2014
Jul 2014 · 2.5k
Onion Sopa
nicholas ripley Jul 2014
Rake-thin Humble hoes subsistence soil
Planting green-topped onion bulbs,
Camino divides the field forcing Humble's Husband

To till distantly, he works slower, and is of bulbous girth,
A red Reebok shirt adorns his back whilst she
Wears the hand-me-downs her grandmother had worn.

Their house is built of stone like bone,
Ground-sewn and dug fresh centuries before,
No siestas punctuate their endeavors.

Passing pilgrims groan under weight of sack -
Whilst Humble counts the years before her bones
Are interned in preparation to shelter future generations.
From the collection 'Songs From The Camino 2009
Jul 2014 · 1.7k
Starlings
nicholas ripley Jul 2014
Looking out of the window;
a ribbon of duck-egg-blue sky,
fringed by the sun's late light,
is sandwiched by grey cumulus.

It frames Sycamore tree tops,
red tiled pyramids with their expectant aerials
pointing West, littering clean lines.

It is a mute view;
serried bins wait for the mornings collection,
cars sit dumb, curbed,
their daily commute completed.

Two starlings flit, silent,
and in the far distance a high contrail is picked out
in gold as a thread in blue silk.

For five years this view remains changeably the same;
unspoilt by the entropy of new perspectives.
This is the summer of un-broadcast malcontents,
pacified in Brazilian spectacle. Days simmer here and there.

Soap operas filter through,
made to massage the message
of consume and discard, of holidays and pistons.

And in the mornings, that never come,
we abandon the cars that cannot diverge
from work-honed routes,
taking to the air from Sycamores as Starlings.

June 2014
Jul 2014 · 794
Emily
nicholas ripley Jul 2014
In this hour of lead;
within walls that have
contained the seepage
of a families turbulence,
I swipe a light finger
over her former belongings,
leaving a trail in dust
to mark a temporary presence.
Oct 2010 · 2.5k
Stress
nicholas ripley Oct 2010
grey fleece matches skin;
reeks of stagnant tobacco,
ingested in fear
#haiku
Sep 2010 · 684
unsense
nicholas ripley Sep 2010
When you chose to un
pick the un you chose too to
ravel derstanding
(C) 2010 N. Ripley, #haiku
Jun 2010 · 2.1k
prayer wheels?
nicholas ripley Jun 2010
What rotates the wheel?
Consider kinematics
And not kinetics
The axis is the still point
Rejoice in the revolving
(C) 2010 N Ripley #Tanka
Jun 2010 · 975
icelands
nicholas ripley Jun 2010
the consequences
of opposing pressures have
inevitable
results; fire capped by ice
fallout, covers all in ash
(C) N Ripley 2010
Jun 2010 · 579
codification
nicholas ripley Jun 2010
(



  Blank Verse

    

    

)
N Ripley (C) 2010
Jun 2010 · 1.1k
Tanka for Ted II
nicholas ripley Jun 2010
Thought-fox slinks this night

nosing through the days *******

seeking substinance -

she spoke in a staccato

plenty of nouns and no paws.
(C) N RIpley 2010
May 2010 · 1.2k
Spiked
nicholas ripley May 2010
That a difference exists is remarked upon,
voiced in the peripheral  stare
the quizzical arched brow
and so remains unremarkable itself
until  given the distinction of breath;
'Poetry is a bit heavy for the morning isn't it?'
The rhetoric is followed without pause by
lines from Spike that rhyme from tongue
as a ***** ballad might punctuate the air between
rounds of Stella. Whist I might despair
at constrained definitions there is a concurrency
of  acknowledgement with slight smile
at some appreciation of verse, a remark of difference.
I close a leaf and see the possibilities
of Sycamore and wordpecker.
N Ripley (C) 2010
May 2010 · 754
dances with muse
nicholas ripley May 2010
It is in this space
Where thoughts can dance unconstrained
Of the concessions
To jealousy and stricture
Where tangos are passionate
N Ripley  (C) 2010
May 2010 · 1.1k
init
nicholas ripley May 2010
So instinctively
A working class classicist
That his shopping lists,
Though composed as ottava
Rima's, always contained slang
(c) N. Ripley 2010
May 2010 · 851
Hermitage
nicholas ripley May 2010
Echoes, not retorts;
sound reverberates from walls
that constrain the singular,
curtailing the enthusiasms
gained from conversation;
increasingly concerns
remain unrequited
yet laughter repeats
reflecting mocking repetitions
N Ripley 2010
May 2010 · 673
SMS
nicholas ripley May 2010
SMS
It will be by TXT
That you will impart your worst,
At a safe distance,
Not from fear of violence -
Guilt is lighter without eyes
(C) N Ripley 2010
Apr 2010 · 2.8k
acorn
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
Compressed into this
Tiny space are the future
Boughs, leaves and flowers,
Random determinism,
Forrests from a single seed
(C) N. Ripley 2010
Apr 2010 · 813
blink
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
Blink and you miss it
Time is a somnambulist,
Travelling without
Realisation of the
Destination or purpose
(c) N Ripley 2010
Apr 2010 · 993
1.DIVIDING OF PARTS
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
To-day we have dividing of parts. Yesterday,
We had arguing. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after separating. But to-day,
To-day we have dividing of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighbouring gardens,
     And to-day we have dividing of parts.

This is the book I was given. And this
Is a present from Aunty, whose use you will see,
When you have departed. To be shared with a new partner
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
     Which in your case you have not got.

This is the video, which is way outdated
But will play memories. You can do it quite easy
If you only read the manual. You can watch
Our daughter on the beach with the waves. The pages
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
     Any sentimental reminiscence.

And this you can see is the album. The purpose of which
Was to record our joys, as you see. The pages
Have not been filled since the advent of digital: you call this
Shameful neglect. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
     They call this shameful neglect.

They call this shameful neglect: it is perfectly easy
If you only read the manual: like the albums
And the tapes, and the pictures, and the shame
Which in your case you have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
     For to-day we have dividing of parts.
with apologies to Henry Reed (C) N. Ripley (& H Reed) 2010
Apr 2010 · 711
Chorus
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
Tender Juliet;
To breathe such vows as lovers
use to swear, to meet
her new be-loved anywhere -
never tempering extremes
Act II Romeo and Juliet, PROLOGUE, (C) Bill & Nick
Apr 2010 · 1.4k
Ted
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
Ted
I still hear that voice
Telling anicdotes of zoo's
Of the pacing cat
Prior to reading Jaguar
Vowels as gruff as grit stone
(C) N. Ripley 2010, in memory of a laureate
Apr 2010 · 1.8k
Vernal Equinox
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
Now the days dark ends
begin to stretch out giving
greenery room to
expand expending too the
suspension of flowers
(C) N Ripley 2010
Apr 2010 · 1.6k
Laurence Mashup
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
Violent delights

Have violent ends so as

They kiss they consume

The sweetest loathsome honey

Confounding the appetite.
Act II Scene IV, The Tragedy of Romeo & Juliet, suchtweet
Apr 2010 · 631
prologue
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
When civil blood makes

Civil hands unclean even

The affections of

Lovers makes for piteous

Continuance of blood rage
#suchtweet  ACT, I, PROLOGUE #Tanka
Apr 2010 · 833
Church Going
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
I breach the oak doors
Odiferous damp confronts
Mixes with incense
Serried box pews patiently
Wait for sermon or Larkin
#Tanka (Some rights reserved Creative Commons) Nicholas Ripley
Apr 2010 · 673
Electioneering agendas
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
This is a good time
To secrete bad news when the
Gaze of reporters
Is diverted; politics
Induces self interest.
#Tanka Creative Commons, some rights reserved, Nicholas Ripley
Apr 2010 · 2.0k
gothic
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
there are no haunted places;
just people that are haunted
by their past and presences,
by their longing to hold
memories and perceptions
of those loved and dead,
hanging on to the comfort
to the pathos amidst the chaos
of grief and mourning,
as if retaining the empty hurt
will assist in refraining from
the departure of treasured  
thoughts, which is all that
remains, Pacman like
following, ready to pounce
Apr 2010 · 697
four seasons
nicholas ripley Apr 2010
a short sample of Vivaldi is looped
and played down the phone
whilst on hold for a crisis loan;
this quandary is not calmed
by strings and eventual voice
proffers no reassurance
that I will emerge from this Spring
April 2010 (c) Nicholas Ripley
Mar 2010 · 3.0k
Coventry Cathedral
nicholas ripley Mar 2010
I’m walking up hilltop, two men pass, one says,
'**** the French, they never have the bottle for a fight’.

To have got here they passed the old Cathedral.
Did they glimpse it as a relic - exploded by incendiary,
ostracised in dubiety, seen fit to feature
only in the focus and snap of foreign tourists?

It is two days before Ramadan. Tonight Tornados
will tear between the Euphrates and Tigris
to illuminate Babylon... live on CNN.

At the top of the hill I pause,
staring at stained glass fragments
still suspended in the apex of frames
and view snacking office workers,
seated upon the benches that have replaced the pews.
(C) Nicholas Ripley December 1998
Mar 2010 · 664
Break of days
nicholas ripley Mar 2010
Light cracks open the comfort of somnolence,
Eyes are prised apart with Thought For The Day
As distributed by Pure DAB, words, in part,
Punctuate consciousness; something about foregiveness,
Some parable or other from some comfortable priest
Trying to be comforting to those
That will be work bound in short order,
That will be departing with a packed kiss
With their lunch. I throw off the double duvet
And try to distract thoughts from single-mindedly
Reiterating her recent cruelties, or from pondering
Upon my secluded anger which breaks my peace,
Hunger will dissipate this tendency as I crave to break my fast,
Consider the longs days stretch without hint of incentive.
Nicholas Ripley March 2010
Mar 2010 · 1.1k
The feel of
nicholas ripley Mar 2010
the languid liquidity of linseed-eased pigment
as the bow of brush stroke sweeps a new hue
over the layer of vermilion,
this feel of silken resistance,
this quality of vividity,
this aroma that countless painters encounter
whilst abstracting sunflower or sunset
is what gives pleasure to my paint.
Copyright Nicholas Ripley, 2009, from the book Factors of Cultural Production, produced after my Artist in Residency at the Herbert Art Gallery.
Mar 2010 · 2.3k
Memo following the takeover
nicholas ripley Mar 2010
It was considered expedient
To change the unit of measure
To change scale,
To make redundant all
That could be wasted,
Naturally.

Internal communications
Will contrive suitable verbs
To conceal the brutality of profit
To provide surety as required
To the senior management team
As for the rest:

To those whose insecurities
Are relied upon, whose
Middles have expanded, aged
Receded, human resources
Will issue notice of packages
And opportunities of relocation.

The restructure will require
The recruitment of some
Of the hungry young;
Fresh graduates on the newly
Introduced basic scales.
What of your work you enquire?

Those value added strategies
Of differentiation
Of corporate responsibilities,
Family friendly policies?
In this age of austerity
Such approaches, old man,

Are as relevant as a hard drive,
Or hard copy, this is a cloud
Sourced post-crunch
Twitterverse we inhabit,
This is a time for new prospects
This is cloud cuckoo land.
Copyright Nicholas Ripley, March 2010. Written today to mark my joining this community.

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