Paul Hansford

Paul Hansford May 2016

Looking into your pale eyes
I seem to see shadows,
phantoms of your history,
a history written in a language
I cannot understand.

Looking into your liquid eyes
I seem to see to the depths
of an ocean
into which I could sink
and never come up again.

Looking into your magical eyes
I seem to see a future
where things are changed,
where life as we know it now
would not even be history.

Paul Hansford May 2016

Sleepless Night - "last words" sonnet *

The last words of the lines of this sonnet are the same as those of a sonnet by Edna St Vincent Millay, "What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why...". There is no other connection between the two poems.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I cannot sleep tonight, and you know why.
You know how many weary hours I've lain
upon my bed and listened to the rain
lashing the window, and the mournful sigh
the wind makes. You have heard mine in reply.
I know you know the reason for my pain.
I know you know why, over and again,
I've wept out loud. I know you saw me cry
as I remembered carving on that tree
your name and mine. You were the only one
I needed then. You know, just as before,
how much I need you yet, but you have gone.
Only your spirit now still lives in me,
and I can never hope for any more.

Audio recording of this poem read by myself is available on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRZx5oNwt70&feature;=youtu.be

#audio

Paul Hansford May 2016

Unknown River *

The first cold letters, alone on the page.
A quick pencil found them,
and the lively and beautiful syllables blossomed.
The pale book felt the pencil
as the terrifying, hot words entered.
The lines grew, living and sensitive,
gleaming as never before,
and I knew the unheard lines!

First, a tiny and unselfconscious sound.
A noun struggled to appear among overpowering words.
A strong, golden adjective ran out,
a short, fragrant adjective, beautiful in the early spring.
A young verb grew among tiny blue conjunctions,
and a fortuitous adverb understood, instinctively.

The first sentence dreamed of trees, and a sad cloud.
It dreamed a grey rain,
and the tall trees felt the rain.
There was a first and unknown river,
imagined, inconsequential, like snow in summer.
A red bird glided beyond reach,
as if it had never happened.
The soft sounds fitted the lines,
and the quick bird cried,
Remember the short rain!
Remember the sad poem!

An audio recording of myself reading this poem is available on www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ekk3bu5uSI

Paul Hansford May 2016

My Poetic Alphabet

Here are some subjects of which I have written
in blank verse, or free, or in rhyme.
I've tabulated twenty-six or so,
but might think of more, given time.

Arts and music show our humanity,
but Birds and Beasts also have passions.
Celebrations of joy, or Death and grief,
Events of all kinds inspire Emotions.

F tells of Friends and Family;
G and H, Garden and Home;
and I is Inspiration,
sometimes slow to come.

Jokes and humour entertain us,
or may have the power to move;
and K could be the Key to all secrets
of Language, Life and Love.

Metamorphosis and Magic can change our lives,
and the Natural world can surprise.
Objects of all kinds may inspire,
and Places we visit can open our eyes.

Quirky poems may be Quaint,
though Religion is generally serious.
Scenery and landscape surround us,
but Time is deeply mysterious.

Unfortunately my index doesn't include
any subjects beginning with U;
but I do have Verse-forms of various kinds,
Villanelle, sonnet, décima, haiku ...

Weather and seasons influence us,
and pastiches (by X) may be fun.
Youth and age come to us all in time,
and Z shows a poem's a fantasy one.

As you see, I've forced into an alphabet
some subjects I've treated in verse,
and if this is not one of my best poems,
at least I can console myself by thinking that if I had maybe written it differently
it could have been an awful lot worse.

#abecedarian

Paul Hansford May 2016

DSBPLWDG challenge

I set myself a challenge to base a poem on eight letters taken at random - D-S-B-P-L-W-D-G. My original idea was to use the letters as the initials of eight words that would form the start of a poem, to continue in any way at all. I would be pleased if anyone would like to try my original idea, by writing the first eight words of a poem with those initials, and continue it in any way they please.

What I ended up doing was to write five sentences that I thought could each make a possible first line of a poem, but, having got that far, I realised that those five sentences could form a poem of their own.

If anyone feels like using those letters in their own way, I'd love to hear from them, either as a comment here or by private message.

*"Down some black places, look what dimly glows.
Diamonds sparkle bright, produce light where darkness grew.
Don't stop believing. Perhaps love will do good.
Day shall break peacefully, light will disperse gently.
Dreams spread beauty, perfect love when darkness goes."

Paul Hansford May 2016

Pantoum -- "I hate pantoums . . ."

(I don't really hate pantoums, but once, when I wrote about the rules for repeating forms like pantoums and villanelles, one girl commented "I hate pantoums and villanelles. I guess I get bored easily." But this only provoked me to write a Pantoum using her words, just a little edited.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hate pantoums and villanelles
because I'm very easily bored
when a poem goes on and on, and tells
the things that have been said before.

Because I'm very easily bored,
I get impatient for lots of stuff.
The things that have been said before
don't need repeating. Once is enough.

I get impatient, for lots of stuff
I get to hear throughout the day
don't need repeating. Once is enough
to understand what you have to say.

I get to hear throughout the day
the same old news again and again.
To understand what you have to say
should not be hard. Intelligent men

and women don't need those extra lines
when a poem goes on and on, and tells
what it's said before, too many times.
I hate pantoums – and villanelles!

#villanelle #pantoum

May 2016

Tom Balch

Couplets of War And Peace

1

I journeyed through valleys and over hills
I travelled my whole life searching for thrills.

I walked through forests and followed the star
from my humble doorstep I’ve wandered far.

I‘ve seen sunsets on fire that light the sky
white sand beaches where the palms grow so high.

I’ve seen the wild stag in dawn’s early light
dew covered flora magnificent sight.

I’ve crossed over deserts in scorching heat
sailed the world’s oceans and would not be beat.

Climbed snow covered mountains pack on my back
lived off the land there was nothing I lacked.

I followed the rivers and followed streams
the journey I’ve taken fulfilled my dreams.

2

The valleys were battlefields soaked in blood
nothing but horror souls drowned in the mud.

The forest was burning smoke filled the sky
I couldn’t see stars to be guided by.

My home is now rubble raised to the ground
I wander searching but peace can´t be found.

Red sunsets replaced with smoke blackened skies
war ravaged beaches where young men just die.

Oceans and deserts, just warships and tanks
guns on the high ground fire down on the ranks.

Rivers polluted fish dead from disease
they’ve killed all the wildlife cut down the trees.

This journey’s a nightmare of blood and screams,
War! So evil, it’s for peace that I dream.

3

I cast my eyes back from their autumn days
journey is over but memories stay.

I retrace and relive the sights I’ve seen
back through the forest as though in a dream.

Back to my home where I wish I had stayed
back to the junction where my choice was made.

Back with nature embraced in her splendour
choosing a path without any detour.

We all have a choice which path should we choose
we all choose the one with nothing to lose.

I chose goodwill, love and peace for mankind
t’was not the easiest path I could find.

The other path showed me what would have been
this second path war-torn, and so obscene.