Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson 1850–1894

Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me;
"Here he lies where he longed to be,
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill."



I've been waiting a long time to post this poem - but because it's so morbid (kind of) I thought I'd better be pretty happy when I posted it just so that people wouldn't get the wrong idea.  It's just... heck read the poem - I have dozens of times, and it never seems to get old.

An exciting week or so and I've been nominated for a Vogel award - which is absolutely awesome.  My children's story "Frankie and the Netball Clone" somehow made the list.  And I'm hoping to be able to release some more exciting news soon, I'm just not sure when....  

Have a great week everybody and don't forget to check out the Tuesday Poem where a certain Zireaux has injected his own brand of humour into the main post - and of course there are so many fantastic poems and more (such as such as Catty Rox's Nuts and Bolts entry about the realities of professional writing) - right here.

Cheers,

A.J.

 A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Father William by Lewis Carroll

'You are old, father William,' the young man said,
'And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head -
Do you think, at your age, it is right?'

'In my youth,' father William replied to his son,
'I feared it would injure the brain;
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.'

'You are old,' said the youth, 'as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door -
Pray, what is the reason of that?'

'In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
'I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment - one shilling the box -
Allow me to sell you a couple.'

'You are old,' said the youth, 'and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak -
Pray, how did you manage to do it?'

'In my youth,' said his father, 'I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.'

'You are old,' said the youth; one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose -
What made you so awfully clever?'

'I have answered three questions, and that is enough,'
Said his father; 'don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!'


Such a  fun - stupid - and feckless poem - so Lewis Carroll - and I'm sorry this wasn't up earlier folks, had a bit of a sore throat turn yesterday - but feeling so much better today, probably just been burning the candle a bit heavily at both ends so spending the day in bed settled things down a bit.

A.J. Ponder 

 A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores
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Tuesday, April 10, 2012

And so for the Realisation of Dreams 2


F#@k poetry is a wastrel
to sit and stare
at a mere morsel,
until horses are wishes
and castles made of air.

Surely,
somewhere,
beggars will ride the wind,
dashing out to dine
on castles
of concrete

A.J. Ponder

Quite late this week - but it is still Tuesday it's not all bad.  Fortunately I've been keeping this little number up my sleeve for a while - emergencies you know.  Anyway - I'm hoping everyone has a fantastic week and is enjoying the slowly developing poem up on the Tuesday blog with all the fantastic poets who contribute every Tuesday down the side :)

The pics are kind of relevant, but not especially I would have loved a picture of an awesome castle with a beggar riding a horse in front - but as they say beggars can't be choosers and besides - "Castle in the Air" is an awesome story, by one of my favourite authors and I kept the ice one because, well that's a slant to the poem I didn't quite intend, but it's kind of sad and cool at the same time - apologies for the pun.


 













A.J. Ponder 

 A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Monday, April 2, 2012

The Owl and the Pussy Cat, by Edward Lear

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
    In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
    Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
    And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
      What a beautiful Pussy you are,
          You are,
          You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!'

Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
    How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
    But what shall we do for a ring?'
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
    To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
    With a ring at the end of his nose,
          His nose,
          His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
    Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.'
So they took it away, and were married next day
    By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
    Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
    They danced by the light of the moon,
          The moon,
          The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.




 No surprises this week, except perhaps the rather seventies cover - and ok fine, my memory might well be playing tricks on me but I swear we had a battered copy of this exact book when we were kids.   So awesome to see it again.

Anyway, once again have a fantastic week, and for more literary and poetic stimulation don't forget to visit the other fantastic people that make up the Tuesday hub here where for the next two weeks a poem will unfold - my sub is happening late on Good Friday - hopefully.
Yes, it is, and I've added my line "...Demeter's heart strung low against the blue note sky." in an attempt to marry the themes of music and harvest.  Tim Jones' line is next.  I'm absolutely fascinated to see where he'll go with it.

A.J. Ponder 

 A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores