"jottings" poems - Hello Poetry

This moment I share with the child just born somewhere taking its first breath wailing and my friend here in the hospital bed gasping out his last breath. His children chant the glory of Ram. The room resonates. Beyond the window the sky resonates. An eagle circles unhurried among the rainclouds. A duster over an old blackboard erases all jottings. The first rains of another monsoon come pouring down. Together we set paper boats sailing, over a pool in our backyard, away somewhere.

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Dec 31, 2015

Dec 31, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC

p-venugopal

Monsoon onset

This moment I share with the child just born somewhere taking its first breath wailing and my friend here in the hospital bed gasping out his last breath. His children chant the glory of Ram. The room resonates. Beyond the window the sky resonates. An eagle circles unhurried among the rainclouds. A duster over an old blackboard erases all jottings. The first rains of another monsoon come pouring down. Together we set paper boats sailing, over a pool in our backyard, away somewhere.

16

A plume should be a thing lovely and light dancing violet as it's fanned at the flanks of the blue bird-of-paradise who hangs limberly to solicit a mate It should curl blinding white at the back of the puffy Samoyed prancing fancy to please a master who also preens on the oval of a sawdust track It should flop red at the top of gold-painted tin helmet awry on the head of an aspiring actor who plays centurion for tips outside a mobbed Colosseum It should spray as clear and cooling drops out the copper mouth of a grass-snake green hose uncoiled by the sneaky dad who tickles giggles from sweaty kids It should flutter gray at the tail end of a quill bouncing to the frenzied jottings of an anachronistic frump who takes the pain to outfit himself far too seriously A plume should not be a thing of plague riding currents kissed by taint- sweet crude blasted from a wound gouged in the crust of a frigid deep to feed our shallow lust for eases It shouldn't choke It shouldn't muck It shouldn't tar It can't help poisoning that last pretense we cared about anything, be it plumed or not, but the finality of a bottom line

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May 31, 2010

May 31, 2010 at 6:54 AM UTC

francis-scudellari

Plumes

A plume should be a thing lovely and light dancing violet as it's fanned at the flanks of the blue bird-of-paradise who hangs limberly to solicit a mate It should curl blinding white at the back of the puffy Samoyed prancing fancy to please a master who also preens on the oval of a sawdust track It should flop red at the top of gold-painted tin helmet awry on the head of an aspiring actor who plays centurion for tips outside a mobbed Colosseum It should spray as clear and cooling drops out the copper mouth of a grass-snake green hose uncoiled by the sneaky dad who tickles giggles from sweaty kids It should flutter gray at the tail end of a quill bouncing to the frenzied jottings of an anachronistic frump who takes the pain to outfit himself far too seriously A plume should not be a thing of plague riding currents kissed by taint- sweet crude blasted from a wound gouged in the crust of a frigid deep to feed our shallow lust for eases It shouldn't choke It shouldn't muck It shouldn't tar It can't help poisoning that last pretense we cared about anything, be it plumed or not, but the finality of a bottom line

45

one thing i have noticed in my youthful years and jottings and observations is that people rarely band together in the times when we should when, for example, there is a delay on a plane a bus a train, we roll our eyes and groan in unison unison? really? in frustration in exhaustion and yet, when the Titanic was taking its plunge into the Ocean's merciless and deep belly brother turned on brother friend on friend drowing humans and enveloping their lives in water so that you may have a lifebelt Death once said 'i am haunted by humans' and i agree we are monsters.

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Aug 25, 2012

Aug 25, 2012 at 5:59 AM UTC

amanzi-lawrence

a recent observation

one thing i have noticed in my youthful years and jottings and observations is that people rarely band together in the times when we should when, for example, there is a delay on a plane a bus a train, we roll our eyes and groan in unison unison? really? in frustration in exhaustion and yet, when the Titanic was taking its plunge into the Ocean's merciless and deep belly brother turned on brother friend on friend drowing humans and enveloping their lives in water so that you may have a lifebelt Death once said 'i am haunted by humans' and i agree we are monsters.

25

partially due to the weather, state of the roads. these are not just closed due to snow, some as cars slide, cause a commotion. it is a steep hill, the crimea, some call it a mountain steeped in history. plans change, while the bus windows remain ***** sbm. nails #notes and jottings Esgidiau Meirw Boot Dump, Moel Bowydd Primary Reference Number (PRN) : 14626 Trust : Gwynedd Community : Ffestiniog NGR : SH69924845 Site Type (preferred type first) : Modern REFUSE DISPOSAL SITE Legal Protection : Description : A mound of slate waste covered to an unknown depth with the (?burnt) remains of thousands of hobnail boots, heel plates, nails, eyelets etc. Dimensions 40 x 30 x 2.5m. <1> A low mound about 35m in diameter lies to the east of the A470 (Plate 66). Its earliest phase consists of slate waste from a shallow linear working shown on the 1889 OS 25 map. This is almost entirely covered by a dump of waste boots. The upper layer consists entirely of heel plates, eyelets, nails, screws, sole shanks and occasional sole plates (Plate 67). Beneath this is a thick layer of ash, also containing metal fittings. Until quite recently there was a grave slab with a pair of boots incised on it along with the inscription Esgidiau Meirw (dead shoes). The stone now lies on the wall of PRN 14777 (Plate 68). It was probably moved by the land-owner for safe keeping after being daubed with paint. The dump is known locally as Tomen Sgidiau (boot dump) and dates from World Wall II. The boots are rejects from a factory that was set up in Blaenau Market Hall to recycle old boots and shoes for the army. (Hopewell, 2005) A low heap of slate waste lying to the east of the present main road. The tip is covered with the rusted metal fittings of a large number of hob nailed boots, and other small metal waste, including nuts and bolts. There is also a significant quantity of a fine silty material – possibly the residue of burnt and decayed leather. On top of the mound is a slate grave slab with a pair of boots incised upon it and the inscription “Esgidiau Meirw” (dead shoes). The feature is thought to be a World War II army boot dump. (Riley & Roberts, 1995) Sources : Riley, H. & Roberts, R. , 1995 , A470(T) Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement ( © GAT) Hopewell, D. , 2005 , A470 Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement Pt I & II ( © GAT) Hopewell, D. , 2000 , Upland Survey 2000 , <1> Events : 40503 : Gwynedd Upland Survey 1999-2000 Moel Bowydd (year : 2000) 43801 : A470 Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement: Archaeological Recording PtI&II; (year : 2005) 40295 : A470(T) Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement (year : 1995) see also boot dump incomplete blog https://sonjabenskinmesher.wordpress.com/2015/03/26/boot-dump-2/

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Jan 16, 2016

Jan 16, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC

sonja-benskin-mesher

. plans change .

partially due to the weather, state of the roads. these are not just closed due to snow, some as cars slide, cause a commotion. it is a steep hill, the crimea, some call it a mountain steeped in history. plans change, while the bus windows remain ***** sbm. nails #notes and jottings Esgidiau Meirw Boot Dump, Moel Bowydd Primary Reference Number (PRN) : 14626 Trust : Gwynedd Community : Ffestiniog NGR : SH69924845 Site Type (preferred type first) : Modern REFUSE DISPOSAL SITE Legal Protection : Description : A mound of slate waste covered to an unknown depth with the (?burnt) remains of thousands of hobnail boots, heel plates, nails, eyelets etc. Dimensions 40 x 30 x 2.5m. <1> A low mound about 35m in diameter lies to the east of the A470 (Plate 66). Its earliest phase consists of slate waste from a shallow linear working shown on the 1889 OS 25 map. This is almost entirely covered by a dump of waste boots. The upper layer consists entirely of heel plates, eyelets, nails, screws, sole shanks and occasional sole plates (Plate 67). Beneath this is a thick layer of ash, also containing metal fittings. Until quite recently there was a grave slab with a pair of boots incised on it along with the inscription Esgidiau Meirw (dead shoes). The stone now lies on the wall of PRN 14777 (Plate 68). It was probably moved by the land-owner for safe keeping after being daubed with paint. The dump is known locally as Tomen Sgidiau (boot dump) and dates from World Wall II. The boots are rejects from a factory that was set up in Blaenau Market Hall to recycle old boots and shoes for the army. (Hopewell, 2005) A low heap of slate waste lying to the east of the present main road. The tip is covered with the rusted metal fittings of a large number of hob nailed boots, and other small metal waste, including nuts and bolts. There is also a significant quantity of a fine silty material – possibly the residue of burnt and decayed leather. On top of the mound is a slate grave slab with a pair of boots incised upon it and the inscription “Esgidiau Meirw” (dead shoes). The feature is thought to be a World War II army boot dump. (Riley & Roberts, 1995) Sources : Riley, H. & Roberts, R. , 1995 , A470(T) Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement ( © GAT) Hopewell, D. , 2005 , A470 Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement Pt I & II ( © GAT) Hopewell, D. , 2000 , Upland Survey 2000 , <1> Events : 40503 : Gwynedd Upland Survey 1999-2000 Moel Bowydd (year : 2000) 43801 : A470 Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement: Archaeological Recording PtI&II; (year : 2005) 40295 : A470(T) Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement (year : 1995) see also boot dump incomplete blog https://sonjabenskinmesher.wordpress.com/2015/03/26/boot-dump-2/

17

Keyboard, implement of catharsis Punch you out, pa-pow, pa-pow-pow Requisitioning my power I’m your rough digit dancer Tapping it every hour Covered with my spit and juice Snack scraps all crumbly loose Betwixt your buttons of alpha bits Numbers and shift bar hits Massaged pain through my fingertips Into you and yes I have not been true Scribbling at bus stop with pens Jottings on journals or lunch bags But I love you Keyboard You must understand Can’t help myself when you’re not near All my fear pushed into you You have been so good to me Setting me free But Honey That “E” key It’s a little quirky And not wishing to be as jerky As I usually am Brought you some flowers Which I’ll sit right here next to you While I rub you down with Cotton swabs and sweet lavender soap Paying special attention to your “E” zone For you are my Keyboard Extraordinaire And yes, I care

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May 29, 2016

May 29, 2016 at 12:07 PM UTC

pj-poesy

Pamper Don’t Tamper

Keyboard, implement of catharsis Punch you out, pa-pow, pa-pow-pow Requisitioning my power I’m your rough digit dancer Tapping it every hour Covered with my spit and juice Snack scraps all crumbly loose Betwixt your buttons of alpha bits Numbers and shift bar hits Massaged pain through my fingertips Into you and yes I have not been true Scribbling at bus stop with pens Jottings on journals or lunch bags But I love you Keyboard You must understand Can’t help myself when you’re not near All my fear pushed into you You have been so good to me Setting me free But Honey That “E” key It’s a little quirky And not wishing to be as jerky As I usually am Brought you some flowers Which I’ll sit right here next to you While I rub you down with Cotton swabs and sweet lavender soap Paying special attention to your “E” zone For you are my Keyboard Extraordinaire And yes, I care

31

writer asks: Do you not care what is happening? POET replies: All is temporal. writer pleads: Have you no compassion? POET replies: Is fashion a spirit? Does vanity know the chasms of soul? writer whines: You, self serving, aggrandizer are final judgement? POET replies: Can leaf know tree? To rail with gust of wind is the province of comedy and drama. Has a speck ever envisioned a vast horizon? Does even a star shine in the vacuums of the cosmos? Dear poor writer, keep to jottings and fickle weathers and not worry yourself on any numina or contemplations.

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Feb 18, 2015

Feb 18, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC

ormond

writer vs POET

writer asks: Do you not care what is happening? POET replies: All is temporal. writer pleads: Have you no compassion? POET replies: Is fashion a spirit? Does vanity know the chasms of soul? writer whines: You, self serving, aggrandizer are final judgement? POET replies: Can leaf know tree? To rail with gust of wind is the province of comedy and drama. Has a speck ever envisioned a vast horizon? Does even a star shine in the vacuums of the cosmos? Dear poor writer, keep to jottings and fickle weathers and not worry yourself on any numina or contemplations.

12

writer asks: Do you not care what is happening? Poet replies: All is temporal. writer pleads: Have you no compassion? Poet replies: Is fashion a spirit? Does vanity know the chasms of soul? writer whines: You, self serving, aggrandizer are final judgement? Poet replies: Can leaf know tree? To rail with gust of wind is the province of comedy and drama. Has a speck ever envisioned a vast horizon? Does even a star shine in the vacuums of the cosmos? Dear poor writer, keep to jottings and fickle weathers and not worry yourself on any numina or contemplations.

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Feb 19, 2015

Feb 19, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC

ormond

Writer vs Poet ( reprise )

writer asks: Do you not care what is happening? Poet replies: All is temporal. writer pleads: Have you no compassion? Poet replies: Is fashion a spirit? Does vanity know the chasms of soul? writer whines: You, self serving, aggrandizer are final judgement? Poet replies: Can leaf know tree? To rail with gust of wind is the province of comedy and drama. Has a speck ever envisioned a vast horizon? Does even a star shine in the vacuums of the cosmos? Dear poor writer, keep to jottings and fickle weathers and not worry yourself on any numina or contemplations.

12

Jottings from the dog eared book Remind me how, I once mistook, That chance was that which forced the pace When chance, of course, was luck displaced. Counted realms of quick return Of lotto tickets I've seen burn? Traced the moments caste to wind Of failures, forced to fast rescind? Spat the bile of deep regret As fickle fortunes plummet, yet. Felt the panic coursing through To good advice, ignored, from you. Watched as good luck passed me by Knowing full well ... Pigs Might Fly! Sadly blind, to lessons learnt To stagger forth... To Bridges Burnt! [email protected]

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Dec 24, 2023

Dec 24, 2023 at 10:16 PM UTC

marshal-gebbie

Staggering to Bridges Burnt

Jottings from the dog eared book Remind me how, I once mistook, That chance was that which forced the pace When chance, of course, was luck displaced. Counted realms of quick return Of lotto tickets I've seen burn? Traced the moments caste to wind Of failures, forced to fast rescind? Spat the bile of deep regret As fickle fortunes plummet, yet. Felt the panic coursing through To good advice, ignored, from you. Watched as good luck passed me by Knowing full well ... Pigs Might Fly! Sadly blind, to lessons learnt To stagger forth... To Bridges Burnt! [email protected]

17

Whatever you write, make it memorable. Just as memorable as Ivan the Terrible. No need to be incredible Just make those words indelible From that mind of yours And also theirs of course. I used to think that rap Was not very good. Haha. But now I see Those rhymes so right for me, And even raps that scan. Yeah Man! There’s always time For a rhyme Sublime. Just let them chime. These rhymes they staple things to your brain To help you remember every refrain. Things passed on by word of mouth From Arctic regions right down to The South. Remember, remember That month of November. Something that sticks With each dying ember. Keep aware of the power of words, As musical as a flock of birds. Do give in to the urge to write, To make our day so gloriously bright. Paul Butters © PB 13\1\2020 (2). From jottings of 7\1.

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Jan 14, 2020

Jan 14, 2020 at 5:55 AM UTC

paul-butters

Memorable

Whatever you write, make it memorable. Just as memorable as Ivan the Terrible. No need to be incredible Just make those words indelible From that mind of yours And also theirs of course. I used to think that rap Was not very good. Haha. But now I see Those rhymes so right for me, And even raps that scan. Yeah Man! There’s always time For a rhyme Sublime. Just let them chime. These rhymes they staple things to your brain To help you remember every refrain. Things passed on by word of mouth From Arctic regions right down to The South. Remember, remember That month of November. Something that sticks With each dying ember. Keep aware of the power of words, As musical as a flock of birds. Do give in to the urge to write, To make our day so gloriously bright. Paul Butters © PB 13\1\2020 (2). From jottings of 7\1.

31