Tuesday Poem: Eating Pyramids in the Desert

Warning:

This government document contains food advice -

Take with a pinch of salt

and maybe a grain of sugar

then make sure the lie is big enough

so you, the consumer

can swallow it whole.

 Oops - food pyramids - FYI never show me one of those things, they only upset me - but this picture in particular ticked me off on so many levels.

So, yes, I was going to do a nice beachy poem - after all as I walked around the bays today there was a traffic cone perched jauntily upon a rock - maybe I thought, Neptune needs a party hat, but he was kind enough to place it upon the shore later in the day.  


So here's a nice picture of the beach instead.  Unfortunately I didn't have my camera with me so it is sans party cone.  For more Tuesday poems visit the hub - here.   My government and food lobby dis-approved suggestion is to search out "chocolate as a form of antidote.  Personally I rather like the smooth "Ode to Chocolate" by Barbara Cooker.

Tuesday Poem: The Eagle by Lord Alfred Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls. 

 

 

The analysis of this poem is both plentiful and varied.   I have nothing really to add except I happen to like it - the rhythm within the poem is quite beautiful but the ambiguous decisiveness of the last line is masterful.  :)

The picture is Bruegel's Landscape with the Fall of Icarus (ca. 1558) - I was really looking for a closer pic of Icarus - but this seemed most relevant.

As usual keep your eyes peeled for more great poetry on the Tuesday Hub

Tuesday Poem - Unborn

This dead year

Yearning

Thorns longer than

Leaves

Before they fall

No apples this year

Just the promise of spring

In pink and white

Blowing away in the sour autumn wind 

A cheery poem today. ;)  It's another on the spot deal - partly because I'm doing most of my writing on the laptop and am too lazy to transfer it.  

So busy.  Still my front door looks cool :)  Not quite verdigris green with a wrought iron lamp just to the right - I feel that at any moment a steam car will chug into my new driveway.   But to truly transport yourself to another world - why not try the world of the Tuesday poem?  it's right here.  I'll be visiting, too. 

Tuesday Poem - for sale

I'm afraid my Tuesday Poem is a little belated today-
my only excuse is that -
somewhere in the world I am sure it is still Tuesday
and next week it will be Tuesday again
but I'll still have the pile of ironing
striving for the ceiling
I'll still have the floor
needing to be swept
only so much debris can go under the rug
The only difference is that - hopefully
there'll be a for sale sign
advertising the only slightly grimy exterior
and the newly hacked green
enticing newcomers
all the way down the garden path...


I don't know what you'd call this - an extemporised poem I guess.  All because it's so hard to get into the Tuesday Poem headspace when there's so much to do and I'm running around like a headless chicken - off to iron curtains now - sigh.  I'll try to pop in on all the Tuesday poets tonight - it's always so refreshing to see what everyone else is up to :)

Cheers, and apologies again for being so late. 


A.J.

Tuesday Poem: Hunting the Wild Goose

Remember,

the road to hell is paved with poems,

First, catch your poem,

entice it with sweetmeats and chicken,

watch carefully,

a feral poem may turn on you at any instant,

metaphors - extended

personification about to bite

A kittenish sense of humour

will tickle you into a fisherman's arms

or tear you to shreds with good intentions,

so it's best to use armour piercing bullets

to ensure you are the hunter and not the hunted.

Caged, a wild poem is practically worthless,

so why should our intrepid poet

sludging through mud and malaria

to bring back only death and decay.

Truth is, it's hard to say,

maybe it’s the beat of the jungle

the breathy wild entrancing lies

Maybe it's the thrill of the chase

or the trophy hung upon the wall

Or maybe

just maybe,

its none of these things at all.

 Alicia Ponder

Trawling through lots of old poems - and thought this feels like a beginning of the year poem - so it's quite appropriate to post it on the official beginning of the Tuesday Poem Blog for 2012.  

Now of course there are plenty of other lovely poets and poems up on the Tuesday Poem blog, and it's so exciting for everybody to be up and running again I know I'll be dropping in to see what's happening.  But only very quickly because with all the story organising and house painting, tree felling...  I'm kind of exhausted.  :)  Have a great week everybody. 

Down on the Shore by William Allingham

Down on the shore, on the sunny shore!
Where the salt smell cheers the land;
Where the tide moves bright under boundless light,
And the surge on the glittering strand;
Where the children wade in the shallow pools,
Or run from the froth in play;
Where the swift little boats with milk-white wings
Are crossing the sapphire bay,
And the ship in full sail, with a fortunate gale,
Holds proudy on her way;
Where the nets are spread on the grass to dry,
And asleep, hard by, the fishermen lie,
Under the tent of the warm blue sky,
With the hushing wave on its golden floor
To sing their lullaby.

Down on the shore, on the stormy shore!
Beset by a growling sea,
Whose mad waves leap on the rocky steep
Like wolves up a traveller's tree;
Where the foam flies wide, and an angry blast
Blows the curlew off, with a screech;
Where the brown sea-wrack, torn up by the roots,
Is flung out of fishes' reach;
And the tall ship rolls on the hidden shoals,
And scatters her planks on the beach;
Where slate and straw through the village spin,
And a cottage fronts the fiercest din
With a sailor's wife sitting sad within,
Hearkening the wind and the water's roar,
Till at last her tears begin. 

Idly looking for fairy poems for my Fairy Portal - and poems about the beach -  after all it is that kind of weather.  This poem seems so perfect, although it doesn't have fairies at all - but it is by William Allingham and that's magical enough.  I just love the way the poem seems so sweet - and ends on a storm.



The picture is of a boat at Days Bay in lovely weather.  I hope everyone is enjoying the New Year as much as I have been - still it's back to work.  So much to do.   Enjoy!

Tuesday Poem: The Witness

 

Nose up to the window,

noises in the night

- a catch of breath -

a curtain draws

your face

it's hard as any wall

lies are caught in promises

with no words at all.

And if you did see mischief

dark pools within more dark

play it dumb

is smart, my sweet

-now-

don't turn on the light

when you count up all the numbers

and learn the plates by heart

and forget those pesky faces

lest you forget your part.

Nose under the covers,

silence in the night

a curtain call before your face

as hard as any wall

lies are caught in silencers

there are no words at all.

A.J. Ponder


This was rather inspired by Robert Louis Stevenson's The Smuggler's Song - here - which just happens to be an all-time favourite of mine.   Same theme, but modernised and with catches of breath in amongst the meter.  Anyway it was fun to write - thanks Mary M. And a real !$@##$%^$# as well because of the balancing act between rhyme, metre and tone. 

The picture is Jared Diamond's Guns Germs and Steel, which on the face of it isn't particularly relevant - and then on second thoughts isn't particularly relevant.  But I saw it and immediately thought  - what a great book that was, almost as good as his "Collapse"  which has to be a must for any apocalyptic writer. :)  And besides if you are reading this I'm sure you have enough imagination to fill in the blanks.   And I'll keep an eye out for something more appropriate... but in the meantime I have so much writing to do. 

:)

Cheers everyone, here's to the beginning of 2012 - now up and running....