"concertina" poems
Stairs fly as straight as hawks;
Or else in spirals, curve out of curve, pausing
At a ledge to poise their wings before relaunching.
Stairs sway at the height of their flight
Like a melody in Tristan;
Or swoop to the ground with glad spread of their feathers
Before they close them.
They curiously investigate
The shells of buildings,
A hollow core,
Shell in a shell.
Useless to produce their path to infinity
Or turn it to a moral symbol,
For their flight is ambiguous, upwards or downwards as you please;
Their fountain is frozen,
Their concertina is silent.
4.1k
I
I learnt this week
that time and distance
can be friends to memory
their respective lengths
only wet and sharpen
the edge of love
but for us dear friend
we hold hard to hope
that we may
one day soon
share the present
and live each moment
in each other's heart.
II
Hearing you on Holkham beach
- whose soul is greater than the ocean
whose spirit stronger than the sea -
did I doubt for a moment
that you, though buffeted
by a cold east wind
would never age for me,
nor fade, nor die.
Nor you for me (she said)
Goodbye, my love,
a thousand times goodbye.
Write me well (she said)
and turned and ran.
III
The Reedham ferry was but a river's width
and yet I stood at the water's brink
and watched the reeds quiver in the wind,
watched the rain splatter on the puddled path.
All around to the human eye
this valley, a plain of grassland
broken only by reed-fringed pools,
was a gentle, unpeopled, easy place.
The absence of relief left
no fixed frame of reference.
Places apart from one another
would concertina and merge.
Tempted to cross I waved a no
to the ferryman in his quayside hut
then turned and walked quickly
back down the long, low road.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
In her closet next to a shirt
hangs a concertina pleated skirt
she slips it on with grace and ease
the tiny pleats are there to please
like a million shimmering crystal shards
all tightly pressed like a pack of cards
as she moves they sway and dance
upon her legs they tickle and prance
the feeling makes her smile and shiver
which makes the pleats start to quiver
they skim and flatter her hips and ***
like the majestic rays of a rising sun
such carnal delights found in a skirt
as she hangs it back next to the shirt.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
Hallelujah Simpkins, Syllogism Brown,
Wandered up to Barkingside to walk around the town.
Does it make you wonder, when they ring the bell,
How they press the ***** keys and sing along as well?
Syllogism wondered so he climbed the tower to see;
Hallelujah, Simpkins said, I know that I am free.
Hallelujah Simpkins, Pendlebury Jane,
Hurried to the hospital and hurried home again.
Does it make you wonder, when they run so fast,
How they know they'll ever reach the hospital at last?
Pendlebury wondered even though she couldn't run,
Hallelujah, Simpkins said, today I have a son.
Hallelujah Simpkins, Academic Smith,
Never et an orange if they couldn't eat the pith.
Does it make you wonder, if oranges can float,
Why they catch the Underground and never catch a boat?
Academic wondered so he went and caught the train;
Hallelujah, Simpkins said, and said it once again.
Hallelujah Simpkins, Concertina Flight,
Hear the song the angels sing in Dagenham tonight!
Does it make you wonder, climbing Heaven's stair,
How you'd speak to Hallelujah Simpkins, if he's there?
Simpkins only wondered whom he followed as he soared;
Hallelujah, Simpkins said, and glory to the Lord!
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 9:36 PM UTC
Handel
played on a concertina
in the dreamy hours
of a June night
spent
on the shores
of the far reaches
of Connemara
as we confessed
many sorrows
and ample joys
with a northern glint
in the sky.
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 5:08 AM UTC
**I
Found
The
Belladonna
In Nana’s bedside drawer
I slipped some in my pocket
To even up a score
Later
He came knocking
With that smirk upon his face
Yet another ****** night of being
Defiled
and
Debased**
*My
Lovely
I
Call
My wicked
Ways are always here
Taking you for granted
Having my way
Because
There is
Nothing
You
Can do*
**I set the scene
In such
An
Alluring
Seductive
Way**
Fool
**Thought I was finally coming out to play
Incense swayed
Candles burned
He drank the drink
Then
Tables turned
Vermillion visions slice through the stagnant air
Cleansing me of
Ignorance
Naivety
Despair**
*She doesn't know
That bottle of wine
That
We
Drink
That her
Glass
Holds
A Cyanide pill
So
This smile
She thinks
Is
For
seduction
Hides
The plans
In
My
Head*
**Something’s not quite right
I have a
Strange sensation
Why am I experiencing
Hell
Fire
&
Damnation
Evil starts to slither on my heated skin
Maybe he just slipped me a ***** Mickey Finn?
Feeling now bedeviled
I take another sip of wine
Bachus sits there laughing
Regal and divine**
*Where did this migraine come from?
But I am here laughing
As she drinks her fall
**** I feel sleepy
Could she have?
No!
She wouldn't be that shrewd
Women can't out think a man
So she smiles with me
Rubbing her eyes
I ask her to dance
It will be her last dance*
**I sense strong arms caress me
Music fills the air
Fluidity of movement
Lays my soul stark bare
I beseech the cold dark eyes of this man that I abhor
As
We
Slowly
Slowly
Slowly
.
.
.
Concertina to the floor**
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 6:25 AM UTC
Arms at her sides
Hangin' like a noose loop
Radio music sporadic static
Choking on some air waves
Her heart is locked up
She keeps it in the bottom drawer
Her house is surrounded by chain-link
Concertina wire
Shes too good for you
She has a picnic alone
Feeding crumbs to the ants
Sympathetic
So grown up and independent
I thinks its just chemical imbalance
Are you still waking up
To the shotgun blast alarm clock
Sleeping in the pitch black
Washing dishes burning matches
Watching television addict
Too young
To have it all figured out
Halfway through
You'll choke on the pieces
******
Dog on a short chain
Too good for me
She's too busy curing cancer
And feeling sorry for herself
Someone told me what you said
I was a piece of **** hick
Drug addict rat
Because you know me?
I've got a strong chin
Been hit harder than that
There's the door
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
Red jagged rocks are mirrored by a calming lake,
A boy stands there, restless, shrouded in a woolly jumper,
Above his head brooding clouds echo his unsettled mood,
They roll and roar across the sky, no purpose, no restraint,
Then, a moment of clarity—peace to the madness,
It flickers,
Then it falls,
Let it fall,
A perfect pure snow flake,
Winter’s first,
Swirling, curling….buffeted by cruel winds,
The boy now subdued, enchanted by this concertina of beauty,
In the scene’s ephemeral light he sees his desires,
This charming flake will quell his smouldering fires.
Now a drink fuelled room of pent-up angst and dumb excess,
The boy in the jumper observes a hedonistic scene,
Red eyes gleam, full of passion and lust,
But in this room full of people; just one caught his sight,
A brown curled beauty of the cold New Zealand night,
The boy, subdued now, in her eyes glimpses something,
Her brimming brown orbs flicker,
He falls,
Let him fall,
Deep within he sees his reflection,
A boy in a woolly jumper looks back,
In HER eyes he sees it again,
Snow’s first flake, pure and right,
He is content.
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 12:39 PM UTC
the light tore through her eyes
as she rolled in the green grass
laughing through her tears
as she watched the sun’s demise
and seeing the sky turn from arctic to indigo
she lifted herself from the earthen bed
rosy cheeks aglow
tumbling drunkenly down cobbled ground
hearing the concertina player’s refrain
the air cradling the forte of the sound
and the breeze thickened with the cool evening veil
so she walked
past the mosaic homes,
sleeping in their wake,
somewhat yearning for the mundane
and her heart begins to ache
for she slept
not in the cotton sheets of a sun-warmed bed
nor in the arms of another
because her eyes streamed storms
and she belonged to the wild
waltzing between cities that she had long forgotten
gently removing the bandages of long-healed wounds
bright unsure eyes like a child
and though her hair was held in beautiful black drapes
and her body clothed in a flowing white dress
her curiosity like a little boy’s traipse
her heart roared fires
spitting with ash and flame
her mind like a tiger
no man could tame
she was a living breathing storm
calm on its surface
fickle to transform
so as she rolled through the grass
watching the sun’s demise
golden fires blazed in her eyes.
May 4, 2021
May 4, 2021 at 4:26 PM UTC
Time and distance has conspired
to make our love brave concertina wire,
while this may be an over statement of our case,
nonetheless, you and I have the wounds to prove it.
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 9:21 AM UTC
The crab scuttles along the sand,
The tide scuttles over the shore,
A lifeless jellyfish washed up by waves,
In its seaside grave, forevermore.
Dolphins jumping out of the the water,
Over the read sun
Under blue blankets of waves,
On the bed of its horizon.
The seagulls look on and laugh,
The fishes listen and smile,
We will swim in the shallow sea,
And then walk for a while.
Watching the ships return from their voyage,
As they sail slowly into the marina,
The sailors walk by us - nodding-
Into the café brimming with sounds of a concertina.
We stay there 'till the sun's daily death,
In the crowed café under the moon,
And over the skull session, you asked in my ear;
'Shall we leave later or soon?'
It doesn't really matter much to me,
I ask you what do you think,
Taking the endmost of wealth from my pocket,
It is enough for one last drink.
Now, the sea-turtles are gone to bed,
The seagulls, away they have flown,
Drink to health and stub out that cigarette,
For it is time to go home.
-Jamie F. Nugent
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 6:51 PM UTC
~ for Paul Eluard
This prison isn't so bad.
Though the nights are cold,
tree roots break in to warm him.
The guards hum Mozart arias
which are profoundly comforting
and the food drives away
all expectations of hunger.
The sun is black but reassuring;
the moon has gone missing.
The books he doesn't have pass the time.
The caresses of absent women soothe his body.
Many birds choose not to sing
but invisible cats purr delightfully.
Often he is offered parole,
but can't imagine a better situation
and chooses to remain in his comfy cell.
Solitude sings sweet remembered songs
and all the trenches are far away.
Sometimes he misses the smells of flowers
but that soon passes and anyway
grass sprouts in the yard
surrounded by concertina wire.
Sometimes butterflies light upon it,
deliciously anomalous.
Nothing occupies him every day;
He is comfortable here and plans to stay.
- mce
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
I bit in to it.
Explode,
Gunpowder in a cherry stone.
The flavours fit together like a jigsaw, then drifted apart like countries on an ocean;
Heat from old coals on a young tongue that hadn't tasted the world.
Fluid concertina accordion flavour -too many colours spoil the canvas.
It's a short sentence but I've never said it.
Let something like that drop and it goes on long after it stops.
The ripples spread beyond their little puddle confines
The echoes ricochet through the fullest of minds
The gravity of the sentiment is enough to tug the moon from the sky.
Or cause the vessels of hope I've come to know as my eyes to change.
Fill up.
Martini glasses left out in the rain.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
icy breath sends neck hairs
to attention
frozen bleakness takes the shape of
crystalized dew
speckling the wall
twenty feet high solid concrete
concertina wire decorations
‘tis the season –
holiday bliss as reminiscent prisoners
wax nostalgic
and shift sad eyes when discussing
dry turkey
with beaten and battered cranberries
logistically, the state could not afford
all the trimmings for 3000
so donated feast materials
get the highest of praise –
raising toasts
to over-bearing guards
as the time of year
transcends fear and mere hatred
together they spend another Christmas
inmates and officer
blessed in an un-holy union –
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
I rolled into that city
sometime after midnight,
had been fighting
my peepers from closing
since sunset.
I wore shades to hide my eyes,
sixteen hours on the interstate
had made me feel like toast,
less than human,
a bit comatose
& I needed a room.
My pointed boots
accented my slim jeans
& I moved through
the lobby with ease,
as if I were a ghost.
I could feel the disease
in that place,
bars were in the windows
& hookers glanced
around nervously.
The concertina wire
should have been a clue.
And without a sound,
I slithered back
to my spaceship
& moved southward,
onward toward El Paso.
With one more to go,
I floored myself
into hyperspace,
had to get
out of that place
fast,
vroom vroom.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
purple Lupines
create a foreground effect
below glistening concertina wire
as the morning sun shines down
the prison in April blooms forth
despite itself –
goslings, tan with black spots
stop traffic
forcing recognition of nature
in a place void of hope
springtime blessing the groundskeepers
and those fortunate enough to have been given yard time
blue skies only corrupted by chemical spray –
laughing inmates break my concentration as a pigeon lands on
barred windows
a cool breeze creeps in diluting the stale air
education floor buzzes with activity
as forgotten men seek to become more
better
different
I sit encouraged by light bulbs –
crackling radio signals the line movement
round two of handshakes and polite jokes
another hour and twenty minutes of magic
I quietly sit back and smile at the scene laid before me
no student has more fire for education
than a man who thought himself less than nothing
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
wire coils with evenly spaced teeth,
shredded the clothing from beneath,
experience is a teacher, tangled and torn,
out,
getting no where, so no point to seethe,
fabric strips draped on a concertina wreath,
technique is a quality, better used and worn-
out!
lost!, lose!, loose!, free the beast, free the beast!,
into the rabble, into the pen of fractured plates,
***** the grey, matters not, just find that ten per-
cent!
wounded heart, bent aging knees, cannot rise,
to run away uphill against the wind, no surprise
no one will answer, the silent cry, or the loud sh-
out!
empty places, empty faces, reflected sour silhouettes,
every fifth bullet traces and arcs in the night sky,
why can't violence be allowed the right to die
out-
right? Left, right left, get in step with techno sounds,
dance all night, while the para-military do the rounds,
around the wire obstacles, to keep her away, keep her
out!
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
morning sunlight danced across the concertina
diamonds glittering along the edge
of the prison walls
the prison walls
yellow finches played in the weight pile
chipping and bouncing
among the sweat and grime
sweat and grime
voices echoed down the corridor, shouts and whoops
yard will definitely be open today
all day on the track
on the track
rows of men in blue endlessly circling
some go home, new ones join the march
incarceration as industry
incarceration as industry
the inmates enter the education building and smile
for a few hours a day they are students not numbers
I use their first names
their first names
the sunlight brightens everyone’s mood
as it is the bringer of life
shining down on all of us equally
all of us equally –
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
I met you for the first time
Rather unexpectedly
On a Thursday night
An upstairs gig in town
Hadn't been in quite some while
And you, no never before
I arrive before the show
A lone man and concertina
Play a weeping lament
For the lost children of Aran
And the hopes they carried
To the devil of a western sea
It was standing room only
Save a few lonely seats
At occupied and chattering tables
For which i dared not tread
So I slunk to the shadows
To a half wall
Left side of the bar
And watched it all
As another now enters
I swear he's wearing my coat
He's younger but shorter than me
My soul knows that i wear it better
Yet it is he that unifies tables
That I but watch from afar
As introductions are made
Strangers transform
To like minded souls
No more lonely seats remain
Only lonely half walls
And half sentences of the mind
As once again,
I don't want to be
Who it is
I am left to be
Of who it is
I am meant to be
The show commences
And it does not take long
For the singer to introduce you
Through words and through song
Violet Gibson as Irish as can be
But it is to Rome
In a year long gone
That you go
To leave your mark
And to a fascist dictator
You fired your shot
Grazing Mussolini's' miserable snout
You aimed to ****
But it was not your day
As the crowds howl
They lead you away
Mad as a box of frogs and old rags
That is what they say
As they expel you back
To dear old blighty
Our old colonial foe
Not ten years since
Your country rose to be free
You find yourself back
Incarcerated in an asylum
For life and for death
A window
A blackbird
A rose garden
All that you are left to possess
For you never get to go free
Unrepentant and unbowed
A violet not a rose
As once again,
You remain steadfastly proud
Of who it is
You were left to be
Who it is
You were meant to be
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 12:46 PM UTC
I rumbled
around Folsom prison
today
& watched the water
tumble over the dam.
I saw the concertina
wrapped tightly
at the top
of the fences
& wondered if
the armed boys in the tower
would shoot me
if I took off my boots
to swim
in the cool
refreshing waters.
Then I thought to myself,
"Naw, I'd better not,
think I'll swim a mile
or two away,
it's safer that way!"
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
arise
in small steps go up in cadence
go higher in volume raise intensity feel
the growth tap a foot fast then faster soft then
louder tap tap tap beat against the floor keep pace call out
my name I am
the maestro you are a prima donna
this concertina is playing this our heart strings plucked sweetness and sound growing in volume in density I scream hear your bravo!!!
I return, Bellissimo!!!
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
It ended before it began
Time is of the essence
I knew this wasn’t true
“I’ll always be there for you.”
Words from a man, a creature with cornucopias
The chaser of red flags 🚩
I’m twenty now, still, I am chasing to be
grown! if my concertina memory serves me right
I was happier younger, when I was acting
depressed and had no bills.
I got therapy and love, now.
Unfortunately, I must go,
The clock is ticking.
The end of my childhood has arrived.
Sep 26, 2023
Sep 26, 2023 at 12:18 AM UTC
The ideas percolate,
in minutes, or hours,
maybe Days, Weeks, Even
years.
But in the moment,
they pour,
in the moment,
they are,
the moment,
voiced.
Choices like razor wire,
concentration becomes concertina,
frustrated silencers take the sound
from the words that explode, that explode
like a flocking group of birds,
and take flight,
in the air around,
the turbulence surround you,
their number dumfound you and the head
above the watery tears,
go ahead give into your fears,
go speak in rhymes,
write with a right legged limp while
your head pivots and swivels without focus,
pop the pills and mainline, you bought the hocus pocus,
the revelation describes things in numbers swarming locusts,
you been seeing that trip
across the desert for hours,
how does it feel to be in charge of the powerless?
Instead of plugging into power lines with power cords, looking for out-
lets,
use **** up white lines,
you pretend to be an energized bunny
this isn't funny.
In the moment straight and sane
in the moment sobered by pain,
In the moment stinking thinking
takes
a
back
seat,
you have a friend you ignore,
you keep the lifestyle and hit
repeat,
you are after all, in control, right up until your last breath.
you are after all............................................your last breath.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC