"plod" poems
back home in the dire hope where the lens is unclean
but the sky is **** where the numb trust is broken
mostly from the rainfall lately
and the meager tools
are as useless
as a wink.
there. there i toil in the afterbirth
of a previous misadventure. censored and reduced to a miracle
that has no reason. There i plod the chaste road to wanton Elsewhere
and arrive most gone
from my seldom
yes.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
Hopping frog, hop here and be seen,
I'll not pelt you with stick or stone:
Your cap is laced and your coat is green;
Good bye, we'll let each other alone.
Plodding toad, plod here and be looked at,
You the finger of scorn is crooked at:
But though you're lumpish, you're harmless too;
You won't hurt me, and I won't hurt you.
9.8k
On the dry land,
By the wet sand,
Looking out at the sea,
From where I stand,
At the ocean blue,
So vast and true,
As my dog runs through,
The rock pools to,
A destination she never knew,
Existed until now
The gulls make their way,
Under skies of grey,
To far off shores,
And to distant bays,
As wind howls round,
And rain falls down,
To darken ground,
Of viridian green and earthy brown,
There's not a soul around,
Except us two
And so we walk,
My dog and me,
From the farm,
And to the sea,
Then back again up cliff and hill,
Up the road and up yet still,
We plod and trudge and make our way,
Back to base to plan our day,
Because after all the walking's done,
The morning's really only just begun.
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
Running amok black bellies of hail-clouds
divest their hard cargo
on near-ready harvest and thunder claps
in spiteful applause.
Scudding sails of racing white galleons
arrive to the rescue
and change weather's position as quiet
breaches gale's disorder.
Setting the sun throws magenta feathers
across dark horizon
and to settle the issue parades jade tints
as the landscape transforms.
Waiting small boats plod homewards in
fish-laden formation
while wives run to stoke hot-kettled fires
of ready bath water.
Lighting a pathway half-moon winks as
heavier catches in
hauled nets silver the harbour and men
start night's final performance.
Sating hunger with coming and going
sow-and-reap women know
the meaning of sharing male labour in
scaling and salting chores.
Fisher-folks' world begins and ends
with the vagaries and quirks of weather.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
Beat-Up Old Car
Vastly under-appreciated possession
In dull blue, a MK1, no less, with original rust
Inside lingering scents of Exchange and Mart
top-notes of WD-40 and miscellaneous mix tapes
A car like this gets into your life
in lumpy knuckle-barking unsubtle ways,
stays there in subtle ones
That long drive back to Yorkshire
in the quintessential exemplar
Clutch cable snaps.
****** and Crap.
Hardly helpful but can be accommodated
with enough thought
rough though it is
on starter motor
and nerves whenever
anticipatory powers inadequate
and we are forced
to a complete red-light stop
Brakes dodgier, exhaust noisier
than ideal or legal
Gender-ambiguous
elderly tyres flirt outrageously with slick tarmac
Showing their canvas underwear
and male-pattern baldness
Keeping this unstable, unsafe, unreliable
ultimately essential lump of metal
moving and on the road
is a fine art
Engaging, fluid and intense art;
The Clash and The Specials
Costello and The Cure in support
A distraction then
getting hauled over by plod
somewhere near Bury St. Edmunds
Thatcher's boys.
Tax? MoT? Insurance? ID?
No real interest shown
Any passengers in the back?
Clearly no. Pickets?
Pickets? What?
Please open the boot sir... Oh.
On your way lad. Drive carefully
I was, officer, I was
More than you will ever know
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horse strained at his clicking tongue.
An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck
Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.
I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.
I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm.
I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.
5k
When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I ****** my *** in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.
3.7k
In these dark days the bleak December sun,
rises tired, the more to lie down drear.
By rain, or snow, or chill we are undone
and plod towards the ending of the year.
We hope in the returning of the light;
that soon again there'll be another spring.
Another year is coming into sight;
with dreams and plans and fears that it may bring.
I wish, in every way my joys to share.
I hope for comfort in the times of pain.
In fear, let consolation be found here;
and let love live in all the world again.
To ponder all this, I am yearly cursed;
whenever it's December 31st.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 2:42 PM UTC
In the bleak December cold,
when the lights of Christmas have gone out,
a frozen emptiness gathers - poised above the lost and alone.
It seeps into the hearts of those who have taken vows
To the Holy Order of the Forsaken.
Witness the new "Holy Innocents" whose spirits walk the night.
Blithe spirits, who gave till their essence became too transparent.
Their proffered cups - now too airy to fill,
they cry into the wind for substantiality.
They walk towards the verge of the world and the old year turning.
Shall they plod on - or silently, simply, step off the edge?
My friends, - there is no life, where there is no love.
Mar 25, 2011
Mar 25, 2011 at 6:16 PM UTC
we are barren but not bare
to those who bother to stare
we are soaked in silent, sullen mist
but are simply happy to exist
in winter's cloaked passage of time
we speak softly in the fading light
of the fallen leaves, their plight
when strange souls plod on this sacred ground
we are careful to make no sound
save whimsical whispers in curious rhyme
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 5:27 PM UTC
Black bombs fly
religious people lie
sky scrapers cleric capers
THOSE!!!! archaic papers rise
here human dwelling must crumble
and masses must die.
WHERE ARE THEY GOING TO???????
in this barren space of Arabic land
feet aimlessly plod
the elderly pray
widows wail
orphans weep
and babies cry
on the order 1947
sacked from a place called heaven
waves in a sandstorm
40 nights and 40 more....
THOSE!!!! ghouls are rotten to the core
killing innocence
and much, much more....
Oct 17, 2023
Oct 17, 2023 at 3:15 PM UTC
I lay atop the grass with Cecily,
taking in the sun anew.
He calls down,
Come see what I've done now,
come see this new tattoo!
Eh.
I'm rather proud!
Not now cuz, I'm busy.
Oh come now, it's profound!
A portrait of Edgar Allen Poe!
Speaking of poets,
I'm quite in the middle
of an epic something...
DO YOU MIND?!
It's realllllly good though!
Oh, fine.
I plod my *** up the stairs
in the heat and reach the balcony.
I'm blown out of the water.
He's right, it's a masterpiece!
Edgar's soul ringing out
through skin to me!
Oh, wow.
You know,
he owns my favorite poem.
Which is that?
A dream within a dream.
Ah yes,
the canvas muses,
reciting a verse,
just like music.
Well isn't this canvas kindred!
The length of his cigarette
the duration of time we quip.
Back and forth, our own prose.
He says not to kiss your ***
but you are quite moving my soul.
You are inspiring me,
the way you tie emotions to paper,
in utter splendor.
Smoke break over,
to return to mechanical buzzing.
His eyes sincere,
I'd like to share,
hear more your words.
And I yours! I descend stairs,
with Godson in towe.
Are you of this town?
Yes, for now.
As am I, you should take my digits.
OK!
I'm still descending.
Oh, right..
pulling out my phone.
I'm a stickler for full names,
what are you called?
Oh, I'm Italian too!
Well, I'm Sicilian, it's quite a difference.
Oh is it now?
******* elitist.
Handsome though.
We'll see where this goes...
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
The eulogies resound in stentorian tones for the great,
those of prominence, those who have ascended to the pinnacle,
those who have known power, and who have changed worlds,
whose names fall from the lips of every man, who are offered
unencumbered embrace, a deferential half pace backward.
But what of the good man, without position, sans societal perch,
whose wealth is paltry, accomplishment meager,
yet whose effort is no less herculean, no less courageous,
whose heart is no less pure, the good man doomed to failure
through paucity of talent, or missed opportunity,
or plain bad fortune, yet who resolves to continue, plod foot after foot to anonymous end, and whose name will not be voiced in so much as a whisper for all eternity.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC
On having thought of the deeds I do
Day in, day out, and all through
Some I wish I hadn’t done
Though doing which was no fun
Slapping my own baby,
Hurting a daughter
For instance
I am no man, maybe
I reel, and I totter.
Often I repent, life’s force spent
Yet on living on, hell bent
Sometimes it’s just a thought I bore
Heart from heart, gut wrenching
Usually only a word that tore
Mouth’s bile, soul drenching
Doubt engulfs me unknowing
Words my own, self rending
Even I know when I am no match
For a conciliatory patch,
Plod on I must, myself to prove
I may yet find my gentle groove.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
Give me the sea and I'll drink it
all of it
Give me the sky and I'll blot it out
cut it out
leave the gaping earth barren of its liquid dressing
and leave the sky naked of its blue face
there is no compare
that is
not to say you are not enough for me
not at all
it is to say you are more than I could have desired
more
than I could have dreamed
and I do not tire of you
not in my darkest moments
when I'm stretched thin
and there is no longer
a devil-may-care draped about my addled mind
when my patience snaps
when my jaw clamps
my eyes droop
my brain thumps against my skull
not even then
with the last vestiges of civility held in grasp
not even then can I think to lash out at you
not even when you poke
or ****
plod about my sensibilities
maim my sensitivities
not even then
not even when you roll your eyes
give me that long 'hmmmm - really...'
I don't give in to the nagging,
nigh satisfying itch to shake with rage
and curse everything that stems from the womb
I am cool as a cucumber
placid as a windless lake
I roll my shoulders
flutter my eyelashes
look you up and down
say,
'My... my... tired aren't you?'
Your shoulders slump
Your efforts to topple me abate
You nod your head
curl up on my lap
isn't it
funny
how comforted we become
when we are offered solace
in exchange for an argument
that neither of us
would win?
Jun 18, 2022
Jun 18, 2022 at 4:06 AM UTC
When I was dead, my spirit turned
To seek the much-frequented house
I passed the door, and saw my friends
Feasting beneath green orange-boughs;
From hand to hand they pushed the wine,
They ****** the pulp of plum and peach;
They sang, they jested, and they laughed,
For each was loved of each.
I listened to their honest chat:
Said one: "To-morrow we shall be
Plod plod along the featureless sands,
And coasting miles and miles of sea."
Said one: "Before the turn of tide
We will achieve the eyrie-seat."
Said one: "To-morrow shall be like
To-day, but much more sweet."
"To-morrow," said they, strong with hope,
And dwelt upon the pleasant way:
"To-morrow," cried they, one and all,
While no one spoke of yesterday.
Their life stood full at blessed noon;
I, only I, had passed away:
"To-morrow and to-day," they cried;
I was of yesterday.
I shivered comfortless, but cast
No chill across the table-cloth;
I, all-forgotten, shivered, sad
To stay, and yet to part how loth:
I passed from the familiar room,
I who from love had passed away,
Like the remembrance of a guest
That tarrieth but a day.
2.1k
smiling
listening
talking
kissing.
screaming
anger
harsh words
a danger.
fights
rows
the plod
and crowds.
upstairs
bathing
voices
calling.
shouting
pleading
me
not listening.
downstairs
robed
beneath
unclothed.
voices
loud
echoing
yells.
running
tripping
almost
slipping.
crying
wailing
screeching
swaying.
blood
mark
mark
blood.
falling
crashing
his head
smashing.
ambulance
sirens
blue
and flashing.
then my life went black.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 3:06 AM UTC
It doesn't take much, for me to be late in the morning
A bad nights sleep, another day at work, it can be oh so boring
20 minutes, does it really matter, in the grand scheme of things
Jump in the car, radio on,
Same DJ with the X-Factor wannabes wearing their bling
Its a short trip but can still be delayed once more
Further down the road by a woman who makes my head sore....
Hitting the roundabout 2 miles from anywhere
The traffic backs up to give us all a timely scare
What on Earth could delay us on this trip to a place of ethical sanction
As without work our lives would halt without function
Bills to pay and food to buy, we need the income from some money tree
What is holding me up as already late,
Maybe set my alarm earlier but hey, what will be will be
The slow jaunt on the bumper to bumper ride
Its only 10 minutes more but time is not on my side.....
And there she is,
My delay
Luminous in stature holding the road like shes some traffic God
Chatting away to the ladies as if she's PC Plod
Holding that lollipop on her black and yellow stick
She's really starting to get on my wick
Some of us have places to be old lady like she even cares
Kids crossing the road, go play Chicken, like they'd even dare
Really, all in all, she is doing a good job
And there's me rushing and acting like a bit of a......wally!
As if I did knock a child over I'd forever be sorry
Even when it rains she puts up her brolly
Stop the parent and kids from always getting wet
I suppose in the end she is the safer bet
Maybe I will always be late but nothing I can't sort with a brew,
Instead of getting,
Lollipop Lady Blues
JJB
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 7:08 AM UTC
The morning world in mist dissolves and under,
Towed to heaven, we, a plod below the death
Of clouds, sing mute, where they trumpet-glide
Flashing into peace. Three-toed slabs, parched
Of orange, web the stars over the wine
Dark seas and chalk the churn and twining earth
Into gloaming. In rapt stillness they,
Are import and income, parables,
Echoes of the innocent song sung to a spire,
Gilded hutches, to those who heap on brightness
Swans are brighter even more with blackest
Eyes, they pierce the silent shroud all starry.
I wish that we were like two swans my love,
Neck of nape, embracing without touch.
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
I would have gone; God bade me stay:
I would have worked; God bade me rest.
He broke my will from day to day,
He read my yearnings unexpressed,
And said them nay.
Now I would stay; God bids me go:
Now I would rest; God bids me work.
He breaks my heart tossed to and fro,
My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk
And vex it so.
I go, Lord, where Thou sendest me;
Day after day I plod and moil:
But, Christ my God, when will it be
That I may let alone my toil
And rest with Thee?
2k
Three stars and a sun, in one sky, so high,
I live and die and die will I for my
Motherland this is the land of my birth,
No purse is worth the price of this earth
Can we rise, can we all, hell no!,
Or should we all just take the fall?
Bless the man if his heart and his land are one
...3 stars & a sun!
3 stars & a sun! I'm ready to defend the 3 stars & a sun!
Omission to a mission, transport for the brain,
Packed w/ stacks of tracks built for a train,
I eat lead, but I never let it be said,
"He said, she said," it makes me see red
''cause I don't take ******** & I'm 'a pack it and push it,
And hit you w/ the full clip
Switch to mode lock-'n'-load in the land of Juan
...the 3 stars & a sun!
3 stars & a sun! I'm ready to defend the 3 stars & a sun!
"Bahay kubo kahit munti, may pula,
Bughaw, dilaw, atsaka puti"
There is a need to sow the seed,
Toil the soil and plod until your hands bleed
''cause this land is sacred,
Many a battle have been fought with hatred
Don't tell me that you understand,
It's been 4 hundred years of tears
For the brown man,
Still and all the fight has just begun
...3 stars & a sun!
3 stars & a sun! I'm ready to defend the 3 stars & a sun!
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:41 AM UTC
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw,
No cypress, sombre on the snow;
Snap not from the bitter yew
His leaves that live December through;
Break no rosemary, bright with rime
And sparkling to the cruel clime;
Nor plod the winter land to look
For willows in the icy brook
To cast them leafless round him: bring
No spray that ever buds in spring.
But if the Christmas field has kept
Awns the last gleaner overstept,
Or shrivelled flax, whose flower is blue
A single season, never two;
Or if one haulm whose year is o'er
Shivers on the upland frore,
--Oh, bring from hill and stream and plain
Whatever will not flower again,
To give him comfort: he and those
Shall bide eternal bedfellows
Where low upon the couch he lies
Whence he never shall arise.
1.9k
O Captain, my Captain
I am sick of being a Pioneer
I am sick of having my body being sung electric
I am sick of these lilacs always blooming in my door-yard
O Captain, my Captain
I don't want to walk along with Him
I don't want to be a Gnostic
I don't want to be divine
O Captain, my Captain
Let me be free of this dreadful uniqueness
Let me plod along life, uninhibited by aspirations to greatness
Let me be the million, not the one
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:46 AM UTC
Tap Thud Crunch Swish
an endless, fruitless search for that one word
the perfect onomatopoeia
to express the sound of footfalls on a mountain trail
But perhaps that is right
it is not a sound
it is a sound, a feeling, a smell, a thought
indistinguishable
United
United by lightness
Rapid sound of trainers touching earth
Feeling of strength, speed
Smell of sweat and crushed pine needles
Thought of invincibility, thought of lightness
Gone
The legs don't beat
they plod
muscles play games, giving a taste of lightness
just to show what you're missing
then pain. sick and slowly building
ball and chain
slowing
weighting
Stop.
But I need the lightness
need it more than air
more than water
more than food
more than food
Maybe, if they had less weight to carry
The legs would work again?
But who am I kidding
They'll never work
they don't deserve the fuel
the food
can't control the muscles
can't control the pain
can't regain the lightness
Need to find the lightness
won't eat until I do
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
Left helpless by my inability to help you,
What good
is talking about something that's on your mind,
What good
is me providing an ear,
Shedding with you a useless tear,
Your words ignite anger,
and together we burn in a crazy hatred filled blaze.
High on hurt and intolerable pain,
Lusting on scenarios to exact our blood, thirsty,
unrealistic revenge.
What we'd do if we had the means,
If you had the money to escape,
And could write your own fate,
You problems would abate.
Hearing your sobs turn dry,
Shaking, left shattered, broken and weak.
The cycle begins once again,
You pick yourself up and leave,
Unable to turn the other cheek.
Till next time then,
so farewell,
It kills me knowing that when it comes around,
I'll be with you reliving this cruel truth,
But alas together we'll hopelessly plod through.
As you return to your prison,
Problems unresolved,
I sit with a heavy heart,
Fearing your safety,
Saddest of all; not from all the problems,
But the dread of what will happen if you lost yourself.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC