An Affliction of Poetry

Tuesday Poem - Unborn

2012-01-31T08:30:00.000+13:00

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

2012-01-25T09:47:00.001+13:00

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

2012-01-17T08:00:00.000+13:00

Remember,

the road tohell is paved with poems,

First,catch your poem,

entice itwith sweetmeats and chicken,

watchcarefully,

a feralpoem may turn on you at any instant,

metaphors -extended

personificationabout to bite

A kittenishsense of humour

will tickleyou into a fisherman's arms

or tear youto shreds with good intentions,

so it'sbest to use armour piercing bullets

to ensureyou are the hunter and not the hunted.

Caged, awild poem is practically worthless,

so why should our intrepid poet

sludgingthrough mud and malaria

to bringback only death and decay.

Truth is,it's hard to say,

maybe it’sthe beat of the jungle

the breathywild entrancing lies

Maybe it'sthe thrill of the chase

or thetrophy hung upon the wall

Or maybe

just maybe,

its none ofthese 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

2012-01-10T08:00:00.000+13:00

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

2012-01-03T08:00:00.000+13:00

Nose up tothe window,

noises inthe night

- a catchof breath -

a curtaindraws

your face

it's hardas any wall

lies arecaught in promises

with nowords at all.

And if youdid see mischief

dark poolswithin more dark

play itdumb

is smart,my sweet

-now-

don't turnon the light

when youcount up all the numbers

and learnthe plates by heart

and forgetthose pesky faces

lest youforget your part.

Nose underthe covers,

silence inthe night

a curtaincall before your face

as hard asany wall

lies arecaught in silencers

there areno 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....

Ring in the New Year

2011-12-31T23:30:00.000+13:00

It's been a strange old year, full of stuff.

Good and Bad. But lets face it, in the bigger scheme of things with earthquakes and the bite of recession, it all makes my life look damned good.   Should be grateful.

Professionally this was a reasonable year with a number of publications in Australia and New Zealand, but it's always the fish that gets away that disappoints after all it was, "...that big!"

Never mind, every set back is an opportunity, and I'm hoping to publish by Christmas next year. So that's the new year's resolution, and I'm trying to assemble the pictures for it now.   The formal announcement will be later in the year when everything is ready to go :)

As for poetry. It's been a light year for actually writing poetry, but the blog has somewhat taken off. I've tripled my readership...and proved somewhat obliquely that sex really does sell. So having comfortably passed the 10,000 views threshold the aim for 2012 is 20,000 and to maybe rack up a little spending money.   After all poetry isn't really pulling it's weight given the amount of time I waste writing the stuff ;) If only it wasn't so fun!

So there we have it.

Another year over. And I'm kind of pleased that it is. Let's hope that 2012 will be a good year for everyone. Happy New Year! :)

Tuesday Poem: Running away with a Christmas Sonnet

2011-12-20T08:00:00.000+13:00

Go kiss your prince below the mistletoe

And hang those stockings high above the hearth

For Christmas is the one day you can show

The greatest love of all and peace on earth

Still, I wish you would take your Christmas cheer,

Pack the day with bows and loving care

And bundle it so far away from here

And don't you mention Grinches, don’t you dare.

For while the thought of presents makes some sing

And has the children dancing round the tree

Christmas makes me wish more than anything

That I could wash my hands and be set free-

Just wander off, enjoy the sunny beach

forget the rules, and

lie

in the

sun-drenched

sand.

And that was the plan this Christmas. No stress. Go to the beach.

Yeah right.

ok the picture isn't of sun drenched sand, - but that fin in the water is an orca whale :)

Anyway Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas and all that, love to see you in the New Year. In the meantime I am sure all the Tuesday Poets are putting on their Christmas/Holiday best, enjoy them all at http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/

Tuesday Poem: An appreciation of action soundtracks in suburbia.

2011-12-13T08:00:00.000+13:00

The car is

carrying an orchestra

out

on a mission.

Excitementtumbles by

on the beach

on the beleaguered wharf

in the air -

even the birds find new purpose

as they strike

into the clouds

eyes peeled

in wonder

as even the sea is

ruffled,

nervous,

opaque,

unsure

with impending danger.

Across the harbour

buildings

hide

behind cloud,

planesdisappear

and reappear

as we drive

in time

to heroically

face

danger

every vital

second

until the

final triumphant overtones

transport us

                        all the way
                                          to
                                             Wellington.

Tuesday Poem: Authors and Poets

2011-12-06T08:30:00.000+13:00

Busy week, there's lots to do in the build up to Christmas - there's the obligatory making of Christmas Cakes and scramble to tidy the house and the garden, not to mention all those social event - books, writing, books and more books - in my case ;)

And like most people these days I'm also working - although some of it is fun - Rona Gallery is putting on "The Santa Trap" (One of Peter Friend's and my School Journal Plays) for Christmas. Not to mention the Christmas exhibition itself - and all the advertising.... so

So for a change I'm putting up about twenty favourite authors - and in as few words as possible why they are so fab. Feel free to contribute, I'm sure I've missed more than a few!

JRR Tolkein

for historical fiction that went the extra mythological mile

JohnWyndham

for disconcerting and surprising children

A A Milne

a bear however hard he tries grows tubby without exercise,

he gets what exercise he can by falling off the ottoman --

and yet other authors seem to lack a certain good willed knack

of finding love in little things, in toys and chairs - and crackpot kings.

FrancesHardinger

the newest inductee. Not for the prizewinning "Fly by Night,"

but the bottomless well that is Verdigris Deep

C. J. Cherryh

Down Below Station - Enough said

Andre Norton

The lady of science fiction herself

HelenCresswell

There was winter, and there was birds --

but I although I read the same words I could never read the same story twice

Roald Dahl

Danny the Champion of the World, not to mention an abiding love of chocolate.

CS Lewis

For opening the wardrobe door.

TerryPratchett

for raising a smile, and adding footnotes.

E.B White

Thankyou for Charlotte, and your even more endearing mute swansong.

Diana WynneJones

Ged

Mary Norton

For making little people big.

AstridLindgren

Two strong arms, plaits and an indomitable personality.

Ursula K LeGuin

Ged - and more recently the little known Lavinia.

LewisCarrol

A glimpse into madness,

Maurice Sendak

One night Max made mischief - and the rest is history involving a boat and some very cute monsters.

Dr Seuss

And the song of the swomee-swans rang out in space

Douglas Adams (both really I guess, but this one in particular)

Got towel - can travel. Don't panic.

HG Wells

For travelling back in time to get there first.

To enjoy the other Tuesday poets, click here for the Tuesday Poem blog.

Tuesday Poem: Under the Misty Mountains by JRR Tolkein (The Hobbit)

2011-11-29T08:00:00.000+13:00

The Hobbit will be coming out at some point, and the thing is - ever since I can remember, I've had these opening credits running through my brain - Smaug devastating the dwarven keep, and flying off down river - his flames turning the water to gold. Of course this would be accompanied by rousing chanting/singing possibly by the Samoan choir they used in LOTR, and using lyrics from Tolkein's Under the Misty Mountain. (& preferably not the popular dwarven chant "Gold")

Of course much of this backstory is actually told later in the book, long after the poem - but in a movie it's surely better off upfront with the credits rolling after the fire hits the screen in full tacky 3D. (Of course I never envisioned that - I mean back in the day 3D was the tackiest, I think my young self would have had an appoplexy ;) Possibly, though, with the fact that the Hobbit will actually be two movies, maybe they'll leave Smaug's devastation until part two. I guess so long as that Dale burns, the river turns to golden fire and Smaug looks like he belongs up in the air, dangerous, terrifying and almost elemental - then I'll be happy.

In fact talking about it, I realise some of the details of my little movie are blurring - what a shame, I'll just have to read the book again before I watch the movie. It's been a long time since my children were seven and "The Hobbit" was the bed-time book of choice, and we were quoting vast chunks of "here am I, naughty little fly..." Now the bed time reading is serious alone time featuring things like George RR Martin and Brandon Sanderson, and other such unwieldy epics (ignoring the cute little cat books and the devastatingly off-putting reading logs). So it will be sweet to get back to my favourite book of all time.

I am so looking forward to the movie. The LOTR people may bee playing with my favourite book for over thirty years... but they played LOTR pretty well, and even when I thought their choices were wrong it was still obvious that Tolkien's books had been treated with love and respect. So bring on the movie. And bring on the dragon, enter top right screen, turn toward us up the river and let those flames erupt!

And don't forget to read Under the Misty Mountains, it has to be amongst Tolkein's best poems, not that I'm biased or anything. The book cover shown is the same copy I read to my children when they were smaller, illustrated by Alan Lee it is quite charming and has survived a lot of reading!

For more poems check out the other Tuesday poets at the Tuesday hub here.

Tuesday Poem: Wynken Blynken and Nod by Eugene Field

2011-11-22T09:12:00.001+13:00

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
   Sailed off in a wooden shoe---
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
   Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
   The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
   That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
                     Said Wynken,
                     Blynken,
                     And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
   As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
   Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
   That lived in that beautiful sea---
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish---
   Never afeard are we;"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
                     Wynken,
                     Blynken,
                     And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
   To the stars in the twinkling foam---
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
   Bringing the fishermen home;
'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
   As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they 'd dreamed
   Of sailing that beautiful sea---
   But I shall name you the fishermen three:
                     Wynken,
                     Blynken,
                     And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
   And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
   Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
   Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
   As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
                     Wynken,
                     Blynken,
                     And Nod.

I was cleaning out the house and going through the bookcase when I found a beautifully illustrated book of a poem I have loved since my childhood. So of course I rushed to the net to see if there was much variation. Apparently not. Nobody seems to be able to better the original, and I would have to agree, it is truly beautiful. The edition above was published when my daughter was born. So of course, just like her - it's extra special :)

The poem has such a lovely rhythm and tone and contains truly beautiful fantastic elements that it's hard to believe it was written over a century ago.   Originally published under the title "Dutch Lullaby" - presumably because of the shoe.

Have a lovely week people and don't forget all the other lovely poems on the Tuesday Poem Blog roll here.

Tuesday Poem: Spider

2011-11-15T08:00:00.000+13:00

Obviously I can't see you

dangling like a tiny stick

lurching

twirling

not spinning as such

vibrating upon the invisible thread

around and around

Obviously you're not really there

as you drop onto pages

vast as football fields

hiding in the subtext

Obviously

Now spiders should always understand subtext. After all I'm sure Charlotte did. Which is possibly why they do so well at hiding in it. This spider (a cute little katipo) isn't bothering to hide, but I can assure you the little house spider that dropped onto my page the other day, sure did.

If you like, check out the Tuesday Poem hub for more poems.

Tuesday Poem: Dancing with the Devil to the tune of Lord of the Dance.

2011-11-08T08:30:00.000+13:00

If this poem/song stops in a strange place - you're not seeing all of it, just click on the title.

I ran tothe devil

And thedevil did sing

Take thispen

Sign on the dotted line

So I tookthat pen

And Isigned my name

Now nothingwill ever be the same

I asked forpeace

And he gaveme blood

For thedead don't fight

And they donot hold a grudge.

I asked formoney

And I askedfor fame

Now I don'twant either

I'velost more than I've gained

I ran tothe devil

and thedevil did sing

take thispen and this parchment fine

So I tookthat pen

And Isigned my name

Now nothingwill ever be the same

I asked forjewels

And he gaveme those

But in theland where he dug them

Nothingever grows

I asked forappliances

More thanmy share

Now myhouse is flooded

I canhardly breathe the air

So I ran tothe devil

and thedevil did sing

take thispen and this parchment fine

sign youname in blood right here

So I tookthat pen

And crossed out my name

Now, this time
Nothingwill ever be the same

Don't playwith the devil

He doesn'tcare enough

Take yoursoul

And investin other stuff

Don't signyour name

On thedotted line

For dancingwith the devil

It will getyou every time

Don't singto the devil

With thedevil don't dance

Take yoursoul

While youstill have the chance

Don't signyour name

On thedotted line

For dancingwith the devil

It will getyou every time

Yes,dancing with the devil

will getyou every time.

A.J. Ponder

Alright so it's not a "real" poem this week, just a bit of fun. I haven't actually tried it with the music yet. Must have a go sometime to see how close it is. :)

For more poems, why don't you check out the Tuesday Blog? There's always a poem up for the week, and some fantastic award winning poets on the side bar to check out.

Have a great week.

Home on All Hallows Eve

2011-10-31T22:39:00.000+13:00

ImpendingDoom comes all too soon

As thelight of the day draws old

And thecurtains here are pulled in near

To shelterus all from the cold

For this isthe day where evil plays

And theyoung are found on the street

To becarried away for a night and a day

By therotting allure of the sweet.

The doorsare locked and the hearth is chill

Black catshide on the windowsill

ButJack-o'-spooks with toothless grins

Are dancingdown in the graveyard still

Now theycome with a rat-a-tat-tat

A trick ortreat and a tip of the hat

Demandingsweets and all of that

While thecobwebs swing from the door

You are notmy nightmares fair

Justbattering chattering ghosts

So takeyour tithe and skip away

Wonderingwho's bagged the most.

ImpendingDoom comes back so late

As thelight of the day draws old

As finallythey stumble in

Littlenightmares shivering from cold

Their bonesare bright and their eyes are dim

And the endof the night is wearing thin

At leastnow they're back you'll know where they've been

Makingtrouble on Halloween

A.J.Ponder

Quickly wrote this today after Halloweening with the young ones. Well, when I say young - I mean my (cough) teenagers, and when I say Halloweening, I mean going out with friends and having a nice time waiting for the trick and treating to finish. It seemed so civilised. So much better than waiting at home wondering when they're finally going to get back or traipsing up and down Muritai Rd with teens whose best excuse for trick or treating is that they're "looking after" the young ones. Hmmm.

Anyway - I hope everyone had fun and you're not left at home with more sweets than you know what do with. Until next year :)

This little piece of trouble has allowed me to use her photograph. Thank you Illyria from Angel, you look awesome!

Tuesday Poem - Winds and Time by Keith Westwater

2011-10-25T08:30:00.000+13:00

Throughout our lives blow many winds and gales.

Tomorrow’s forecast is for dangerous gales.

Loved ones and their dreams are drowned at sea

when storms cause ships on shoals to sail.

At night, the moon is lashed by trees

while men go mad from days of nor’west gales.

Wind on sand makes seas of crescent moons

and sand on winds of time all life assails.

Take my hand, Margret my love, we’ll climb the tops

lean forward, yell, push back tomorrow’s gales.

Keith Westwater

I have always had a soft spot for Keith Westwater's poetry ever since I saw this very poem "Winds and Time", I remember being so excited - and especially by the last two lines. So excited it was easy to choose them for a favourite painting on Richard Ponder's Caught on Canvas. I was so excited to find the perfect fit - his words just resonated. Now the poem has been updated, and I am find I am still drawn to his use of language throughout the poem with such beautiful lines as - "Wind on sand makes seas of crescent moons."

Although my favourite lines are - even after all this time, and a little tweaking you might not quite see - those two final lines, they are so powerful they still make my soul sing. So thank you Keith and congratulations on winning Interactive Publications' 2011 IP Picks Best First Book prize for "Tongues of Ash."

"Keith Westwater's poetry arises from his appreciation and love of the New Zealand landscape. Well-travelled throughout the land, the poet evokes memories as he revisits places invested with emotion, history and spirituality."

So that is why I'm particularly looking forward to Keith 's book launch at Rona Gallery - where he is going to be launching "Tongues of Ash" alongside "Men Briefly Explained" by the accomplished writer and poet and winner of the 2010 NZSA Janet Frame Memorial Award for Literature - Tim Jones. Tim Jones' book "Men Briefly Explained" has been described, and rightfully so as - "Thought-provoking, impertinent, irreverent, witty, startling, this collection will have you mesmerised from start to finish."

To see more of Keith's work visit here for his blog - http://www.keithwestwater.com
To see more of Tim's work visit here for his Shetland Ponies Haast Beach, and here for his blog

If you can't make it to Rona Gallery because you live in another part of the country this facebook site has a list of the venues.

Enjoy your week, I know I will and why not drop back here to the Tuesday Poem blog and check out some of our great poets.

Tuesday Poem: Whitewash

2011-10-18T07:30:00.000+13:00

Please note this is a shape poem so it shows up weirdly when squished so please click on the title.

We all heard

Humpty take his fall

Shattering glass shell everywhere

Yolk busting out and wise men bustling.

All those regal horses rather got in the way

So that when I tried to put him back together

All that was left of the man was a fat catlicking

the ground where he'd fallen,

and smashed shards

gleaming white in the sun.

Dutifully I fixed the cracks

Humpty is now

Held together

With glue

And money

And yet when I peek inside

The yolk is gone.

Alicia Ponder

Not being much of one for analysis, make of this as you will. Updating Humpty Dumpty with modern adhesives has worked a treat - after all I think it's a bit outdated to be relying on King's horses and King's men to do our dirty work.

For more Tuesday poems check out the Tuesday Blog here.

Tuesday Poem: Out Hunting with Google (and the Lorax)

2011-10-11T07:00:00.000+13:00

I wenthunting along the great plains

In thegrasslands of google

where thegooglebeast roams.

Deep, deepin the network

Of binarycode

the googlewas playing

andbringing me things

such asFacebook and elephants

tied upwith string -

A bunch ofbananas some shoes I don't need

And don'tforget that marvellous thneed

Yes, thegoogle will bring you old clothes by the dozens

Enough foryour aunties and uncles and cousins

Just watchwhen you are searching out on the plains

The googleis useful, it can even be nice

But keepyour eyes peeled it can change in a trice

Its colourswill alter at the flick of switch

one day itsyour best friend

And thenext it’s a bitch

(a not verypolite one that bites

and crapson the carpet

and refusesto rhyme)

Damn thatgooglebeast, fickle by chance

Leading meon this circular dance

I can'tfind a website with the stuff that I want

And so mydear friend I will give you the grot

The liesand the falsehoods the truth and the tales

The arcthat was built without any nails

The hidesof the google are not to be found

And whenit's mischievous it will go to ground

And infectyou with bugs that will turn you around.

Yes, it'sas useful as poison put out for the mice

But still,it is free - and well worth the price

And whenyou are searching where else can you go -

Well, Iguess that is something only the Yahoo suits know.

Look there- now I'll stop moaning, and set all of you free

For I'vefound what I wanted - yes, finally

Some party night potions, an explicit DVD

and the site selling little blue pills -illegally.

A.J. Ponder

ok this poem has to be posted with apologies to the late, great Dr Seuss. I wrote it awhile ago and it's probably going to be one of those poems that is never quite right - at least not in my head because it tracks off - wherever it damn well feels like it - and eventually had to be holed up into a corner and shot - just to behave even slightly.

For poets whose poems behave nicely you may want to visit the Tuesday poem blog here.

Tuesday Poem: The Google Beast

2011-10-04T07:30:00.000+13:00

Youintrepid hunter

Youfearless prey

I'm led through your alleyways

By thenose,

Wrong waystreets collapse without danger.

Timewasting

That'swhere it's at -

Did youknow?

Or was itmerely a fancy passing

A J Ponder

This poem may or may not be completed - it's relatively recent - but having spent an entire day meeting teachers etc... and trying to figure out NCEA and topic choices for my two darlings for 2012 I'm not entirely sure of anything. Even that Google isn't the biggest waste of time in my life is questionable. No, actually, thinking about it that would be facebook, hands down. And the two kittens. And ....

You'll have to forgive me people, it's been a hard week -- and kittens (you know who you are) no more getting into fights and getting septic paws - you hear? I'm trying to get on with the biggest gobbler of time I know - writing. It is fun though, and sometimes I even have a good excuse to search for just the right -- Google.

For more poems up on the Tuesday Poetry Hub and its sidebar follow the yellow brick road....or this linky thing here.

P.S. There are some pretty cool "Google Beast "logos out there - but I'm pretty sure I don't have the rights for them. Personally I'm rather fond of the Spaghetti Monster Logo. Also the Muppet logo was fun:)

Tuesday Poem: Spring Melt

2011-09-27T07:00:00.000+13:00

The windtells me

there'ssnow on the grey hills

behind themisty morning fog

it's briskand ever so fresh

out wherethe mountain daisies are pushing up from the crags.

Close youreyes,

listen;

there'swind in the snow in the crags on the mountains

calling,

past theocean's divide

past theCanterbury plains

up theperilous slopes -

to the topof the world

wherespring

struggles

against thewind and the snow in the crags on the mountains -

listen well

beforespring dies

in the warmwinds

of change.

A.J. Ponder

It's been a busy week. Lots of writing. Lots of walking out by the waterfront and feeling spring in the air. Of course it's always nice to the mountain peaks of the South island, especially when there's a bit of snow on them - but that isn't always possible. Even so - I can see them in my mind's eye - calling out across the harbour. I hope everybody is enjoying the change of season.

For more poetry why not check out the Tuesday blog here - and its fantastic blog roll on the side bar. So many wonderful poems. So many awesome writers - it's always such a joy to drop by and see what they've all been up to.

Alicia's World of Warcraft Poem

2011-09-20T07:00:00.000+12:00

It seems acertain game

requires

you bringmy poem

past thedangers

of war

throughdeath and

throughdanger

to completeyour quest

in a world

unreal.

This is notthe truth.

I require

only that

you wendyour way

through myreality

along thestony path

past thetroll

of misunderstandings

to themountain of disbelief.

If youstand there

upon thetip of your toes

you'll seethe world

as it neverwas.

This is notthe truth

For in myworld realities sail

bright asships on a shining sea -

onlyslightly beyond the pixelated

blood,sweat and tears

ofconformity.

So takethose words back -

if you can-

past the horrors of war

throughdeath and

throughdanger

to completeyour quest

in a world

as real as

you.

A.J. Ponder

It has come to my attention (P.S. never google your name and poem - it can be a pretty hair raising experience) that there is a certain quest in Warcraft that requires taking "Alicia's Poem" from somewhere to somewhere else. Presumably.

-- I had to include this - in my comments Tim Jones outlined the true origin of the World of Warcraft poem - it's such a touching story, the death of a player inspired writers of the game to create this quest - and the poem to go with it - the real "Alicia's Poem" can be found here. Try not to cry.

And I thought, as any poet might (at least after the initial dicombobulation), that there had to be an actual poem in there...somewhere. Enjoy, have fun, and don't forget there are more worlds of poetry waiting for you on the Tuesday Poetry blog here.

Ode to the World Cup while doing the Washing

2011-09-13T06:30:00.000+12:00

Let the menkick pigskin.

For what isit about life

that cannotbe learnt

out on thefield?

Takeit on the chin

after all everyone wants a knock-out.

Showno mercy

it's always in short supply.

Takethe opposition down -

gofor the legs:

Below thebelt is always the bestway

to trip someone up.

Kiss butt

and team together,

run with the pack

or geteaten

I meanbeaten.

With shadesof running into a brick wall - and stringing it wide

Let thegames begin

Let the AllBlacks win

Let the menkick-

pigskin.

A.J. Ponder

I was in fact doing the washing, and in my own terribly unpatriotic way, not particularly looking forward to the world cup - sorry, and yes, for non-New Zealanders, that's the rugby world cup - when some rugby phrases popped into my head. You can't live here without hearing them.

So then I started thinking about what those phrases might mean and what the broader impact of rugby in the community might be, in a more than slightly unfair way - because where's the impact in being fair? Besides otherwise I would have mentioned "play hard, play fair" and all the positive features of hosting a world cup. Like gosh, wasn't Wales v. South Africa a great match? And all the wonderful visitors dropping in from all around the world. OK fine. I hope everyone has a great time, enjoys the rugby, and remembers that taking it on the chin is actually a great expression - so long as some idiot (sorry, that was me) doesn't decide to take it literally.

So have fun, and remember the best way to watch the word cup is from another room ;) - Preferably with the computer set to check out the poems on the Tuesday hub, look out for the posts on the right hand side with "Tuesday Poem-..." you never know what gems you'll find.

The Sleeping Beauty, by Sir Alfred Tennyson

2011-09-06T08:53:00.001+12:00

Year after year unto her feet,
She lying on her couch alone,
Across the purpled coverlet,
The maiden's jet-black hair has grown,
On either side her tranced form
Forth streaming from a braid of pearl:
The slumbrous light is rich and warm,
And moves not on the rounded curl.

The silk star-broider'd coverlid
Unto her limbs itself doth mould
Languidly ever; and, amid
Her full black ringlets downward roll'd,
Glows forth each softly-shadow'd arm,
With bracelets of the diamond bright:
Her constant beauty doth inform
Stillness with love, and day with light.

She sleeps: her breathings are not heard
In palace chambers far apart.
The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd
That lie upon her charmed heart.
She sleeps: on either hand upswells
The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest:
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells
A perfect form in perfect rest.

Another Fairy Tale poem, boy am I a sucker for the old-fashioned stuff! The way it rolls off the tongue, its beautiful (apparent) simplicity. And of course as a fairy tale cover, it will be a lovely addition to my Fairy Tale portal.

For more Tuesday Poems follow this link, and enjoy discovering what the Tuesday poets have been up to. I know I will.

Ozymandius by Shelley

2011-08-29T13:08:00.005+12:00

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert... Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away"

I just love this poem, and the vastness of it, the overwhelming image of the great and mighty thrown into dust. I only hope Helen can forgive me because she posted it up not so long ago.

Interestingly enough this poem was written in 1817 in a friendly competition with fellow poet, Horace Smith. (Isn't Wiki useful? - although poem shape was endlessly more interesting from a writing point of view with an analysis of each poem (even if the conclusions were a little pedantic). And although I agree Shelley's Ozymandius is far and away the better poem, I rather like Horace Smith's last few lines -

The last lines of Horace Smith's
Ozymandius

Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He (the hunter) meets some fragments huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.

I think it works better at a remove from Ozymandius the statue - not only because Smith's vision compares poorly to Shelley's - but because the two images in Smith's poem are clashing. The green image of London turned to forest sits badly against desolation and desert, so that instead of enhancing the feeling of waste, the reference diminishes it - and yet I still find the possibilities of a wild London rather inspiring and I wonder that Smith didn't forget the whole desert motif and truly move onto the wild green pastures that he hints at :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that. There are more wonderful poems up on the Tuesday Poem hub, enjoy!

Burning

2011-08-23T00:12:00.003+12:00

A flame

small

lost.

The wind grabs it

and it shivers -

come close,

protect it with your hands.

A flame...

a fire...

an inferno.

You gotta respect that

from a distance.

A.J. Ponder

There's all sorts of burning happening over the last few weeks - mostly peoples money going up in power bills. And the mash up - fire with book - not quite appropriate, but I saw the "Catching Fire" title and I thought wouldn't it be fun if I could mash it up as a book catching on fire. It might not be perfect, but I think its worked well enough, after all I'm not exactly known for my art so there's not much of a reputation there to lose. Besides, Suzanne Collins is a great author, lots of fun.

I hope everyone is having a great week. And to make it even more exciting you may want to visit the Tuesday Poem hub here, or my review for A Dance with Dragons/Game of Thrones at the Rona Gallery blog here.

The Face of Beau

2011-08-15T23:59:00.003+12:00

It's beauty

pageant season.

Every profile

a revelation

make believe

dressed to display

smiling faces

plastered into -

shoehorned into -

the perfect dress

glittery

slinky

devil may care.

It's beauty pageant season

what the hell should I wear?

Alicia Ponder

Winter has decided to hit hard, power cuts in this weather seem rather excessive hardship, and yet Wellington is full of smiles. The wonder of snow right outside the door. On the hills by the sea. It is like we have all been transported to somewhere else. It seems, finally Wellington has found a number it enjoys wearing - but for how long?

For more poems check out the Tuesday Poems here, or click on the quill in the sidebar.

Surf Security

2011-08-09T00:12:00.003+12:00

Surf Security doesn't like my words

Red circled exclamation marks

Proclaim to all

The unsafe nature of this text

Seeing fit to warn you

Of its revealing nature

After all

Poetry is for the mad,

The troubled,

The ghosts who lock themselves within galleons adrift

Never straying into in sight of

The breathy sea of swimming beaches

Choosing instead to listen to the

echo

Of reality booming

And the shrill cry of seagulls

So now you must choose

To fly far to distant lands

Far, far away from this uncertain brig

Where I lie

My breath thrown

higgledy-piggledy around me

In uncertain

indecency

or turn your wings to the distant lands

to whence lies the unknown

the unknowable

the distant shore-

Or return to your cell.

Alicia Ponder

An exciting weekend because I was lucky enough to have my poem, "The Trouble with Time Machines" published in "Eye to the Telescope," . Check out in particular "Rapunzel," by Mary Victoria but there are also some great poems by people like Helen Rickerby (first up), Janis Freeguard, Peter Friend my oft partner in crime, and the surprising Joe Dolce, (better known for songs such as "Shaddup you Face" than his poetry). Edited by the redoubtable Tim Jones its well worth a look - because as Tim says, 'Whether you love poetry, you love SF, fantasy, and horror, or you just want to find out what on earth speculative poetry is, there is something for you in "Eye To The Telescope 2".'

Also received my contributors copy of Challenge magazine, with "Survival" co written with Peter Friend. Of course it's not Frankie, as my kids are quick to point out. Thanks guys - but the magazine is absolutely awesome and I'm so proud to have been a part of it. :) I even bought some extra copies from Australia because I knew it would be popular and I'm already running out! They're mine. All mine.

Have a great week people and don't forget the Tuesday hub is right here. And as always, I'm sure it will take you to many exciting places. Only this week everything might seem a little bigger :)

Robbin' Hood Meets the Land of Free Speech

2011-08-02T09:24:00.004+12:00

Hood Robbers - Hood Robbin'

They took from the poor

And they gave to the rich

Sold everyone's rights

Then fed us a pitch

So now we eat slogans

With clay for our bed

And watch the sky glowing

far over our heads

Hood Robbers - Hood Robbin'

'cause money is power

And money is speech

But I've got no money

So-

Unfortunately American Politics has been rather big news this week. And maybe I'd be almost as oblivious of it all if it wasn't for a certain program - (turns to camera) Damn You Colbert! So what's new? Politics, power and corruption are a world-wide phenomenon. Of course, like NZ Americans have free speech and equal rights but it seems "some people are more equal than others". Here Colbert explains how corporations' free speech is infringed, so I guess its lucky a certain decision went their way.

Here in little old NZ I don't think many people believe such a thing could never happen after all money and politics is relatively closely regulated, but we are buffeted by what is happening overseas. And of course our system isn't perfect - which is why NZ, we need our own political comedy. How else am I expected to have any idea about what is happening in the outside world? After all the news is too depressing, and parliament is enough to induce catatonia. Besides, surely in this economic climate laughter is the best medicine :)

More poems can be found here at the rather a wesome Tuesday Poem Blog. This week's poem is Wild Bees by John Griffin, but wait there's more, visit the side bar to the right to find the blogs of many wonderful NZ poets and authors. Enjoy

Stop Thief

2011-07-26T02:18:00.003+12:00

Tomorrow will be here

any moment.

Tiptoeing

inchwise

into your life

A thief,

murderous

in the night.

Intent on nothing more

than the perishables

The fruit in the bowl

the paint on the
walls,

the beds,

and the hearts

that lie sleeping within.

It's been a busy week for poetry, lovely meet-ups in places with lots of books, and many wonderful poets, you know who you are - and quite a few of you can be found here at the wonderful Tuesday Poem blog. So of course, I've spent all night scrounging through all my work, and decided it needs, well more work - but I did find this little piece which is - I don't know what it is, but it's not completely terrible, at least I hope not. Enjoy your week, people.

It's New Zealand Poetry Day! But I'm not celebrating until Sunday.

2011-07-22T12:20:00.006+12:00

It's New Zealand Poetry day and so quite a few of the New Zealand Poets have blogged on the Tuesday Poem blog , also Booksellers has got a great site for poetry events - there's all sorts of things going on, it's amazing, Beattie's site mentions an Auckland event, almost everyone seems to have joined in on the fun. Of course I'm laying low today, no poetry on my mind at all except for the Rona Gallery Writers on Sunday Event, this Sunday because it is with the wonderful Jo Thorpe and some of our wonderful Wellington and Eastbourne, poets, authors and writers. See the event here
at Eventfinder - which also has a number of other Poetry events over the country, both today and over the weekend - so enjoy the day everybody with a song in your heart and a poem in your head. also I found this great tongue in cheek blog, really bad poetry with critiques and rating systems for poems where F is run of the mill bad and A+ is terrifyingly bad - I'm sure if I look hard enough I can find at least some B-'s amongst my slush! Maybe some A+'s ...

Yes, there was a poem here, but it was in construction and now has been taken down. Cheers.

The Whatever's Wife

2011-07-19T07:40:00.025+12:00

Somebody's wife
lived within a shadow of meaning

because as everybody knows

a woman's profession

is subsumed by

that of her husband.

His wife smiled as she wrapped on

the apron

the chains to the oven

and kicked off her shoes

So she could best enjoy

the shade

with a book.

No, wife!

Cried the author.

Don't sit down

the book you clasp,

its pages ragged,

it is not meant to be opened on the beach

those umbrella words

are meant to remind you

there's a place

for women such as you

in the shelter of the kitchen

and in the low-beamed workforce

caring,

minding,

working,

and wrapped in

someone else's

identity.

I wrote this back in the beginning of the year - when it seemed every book came out as "The (insert male dominated profession here)'s Wife." It seemed to be that these apparently worthy books were perhaps inadvertently sending us all a message with their titles, that a woman can only be seen reflected in her man. Is it any surprise that in such circumstances women are paid less, it is pocket money after all, and any mention of dependants certainly doesn't illicit more money - just the opposite, less money, less prospects, and for solo mothers a battle between putting food on the table and being able to spend any time with their children.

Young girls are told they can have it all, but they are never told that having it all equates to the work, not the money. And before you say - that's sexist, guys get a rubbish deal too, I agree, but it's a different rubbish deal, and I would suggest that being the husband of an equitably paid wife, or a boy whose mother can afford to put food on the table is unlikely to make the situation worse.

Personally I'm looking forward to a new run of titles "The stewardess' husband," "The Prime-Minister's Husband" etc. etc.

Click here f or more poetry, back at the Tuesday Poem hub: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/ and enjoy :)

Lullaby for Zombies I

2011-07-12T08:20:00.004+12:00

Lullaby for Zombies I
Rock ye

Sleep thee

Lay ye down

And close thine heart

Close thy mind
so torn apart

Rock ye

Sleep thee

Dreams of death

Bring softest sighs

Rock ye

Sleep thee

Lullabyes

Rock ye

Sleep thee

The earth

will never keep ye
The sky will

never slake thee

Rock ye

Sleep thee

Lullabye

Yet another Zombie lullaby -
As if we can ever have enough lullabies for Zombies? I know I certainly can't. This one riffs on - but doesn't really follow Mary Poppin's "Stay Awake," and is actually the first one I wrote. The others came later, fed by Brahms and the idea that every mythical creature should have its own lullabye. Fairies I guess should be next!

(The picture is from the book "Pride Prejudice and Zombies" by Jane Austin and Seth Graeme-Smith. And in the interests of copyright fairness I should say it was alot of fun - mostly because I hated the characters and the idea that they might be turned into zombies or killed at any moment made them almost sufferable :)

Click here for more poetry, back at the Tuesday Poem hub: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/
Well, I say "more poetry" in a loose kind of sense because this isn't exactly poetry - but it's close enough :)
For more Zombies, I have also written Lullaby Little Zombie, to Brahms and the short and sweet, Zombie's Lament.

Tuesday Poem: Someone is telling you something, but who can you trust in Wonderland?

2011-07-05T09:55:00.005+12:00

I measured out my poison

And baked a loaf of bread

I sat it on the windowsill -

But I didn't eat it.

I spooned brown sugar

And I broke the loaf of bread

Then I took a cup of poison -

But I didn't drink it

I boiled my cup of poison

Eggs made it fine and silky smooth

Added sugar and broken bread -

And then I froze it

So now I have my poison

Set at minus ten degrees

Grab yourself a spoon

Have a helping if you please.

But don't say I never told you

My words are clear as day

- Eat me - Drink me -

In curiously large letters.

Pictures by, Sir John Tenniel,1865 for 1890 Nursery Version.

It's kind of a shame - I really wanted a picture of little red hen in there - but the only ones I could find either weren't red, or looked far too recent to be out of copyright. Apologies for not posting earlier, was too sick to post last night and all because I couldn't resist a bit of cream. In my defence I had been able to eat it until recently. Damn my severe allergies :/ By the way, I'd love to hold you by the hand and weave you through the truly improbable bits of this poem, but that would be too unbelievable is somewhat of an understatement, and so I leave you only with this most curious of warnings and the image of little red hen, baking.

Click here for more poetry, back at the Tuesday Poem hub: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/

For Whome the Bell Tolls, the old and the new.

2011-06-28T07:19:00.008+12:00

Devotions on Emergent Occasions by John Donne
Now, this bell tolling for another, says to me, thou must die

...No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe;

every man is a peece of the Continent,

a part of the maine;

if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea,

Europe is the lesse,

as well as if a Promontorie were,

as well as if a Mannor of thy friends

or of thine owne were;

any mans death diminishes me,

because I am involved in Mankinde;

And therefore never send to know

for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee...

Not originally written as a poem but part of a longer segment of prose, this scholarly piece of religious writing has taken on a life of its own. It's hard to think of it as anything other than a poem, although of course it has spawned more literary writing than could possibly be searched on google. It of course spawned the very famous book For Whom the Bell Tolls (Ernest Hemingway 1940) about Robert Jordan, a young American in the Spanish Civil War. Which of course led to another piece of "poetry" one that is even more famous than the other two, if google is to be believed.

But wait. First - how did I find out about these pieces of writing? I'm poorly educated in literature, after all school taught me literature is boring, there's no plot, and quite frankly honest I have the attention span best suited to children's books. The answer is of course, Metallica. I knew nothing about Bells or tolling until I heard their song and in fact I dare say most people my age or younger would be the same.

So here I am, about to be subversive. I've heard that poets are. Let's say that Metallica not only write poetry, but they are bloody good at it. Almost undoubtedly the "real" Metallica fans would run screaming from the idea of poetry. And to be fair, poets would run screaming from the idea of Metallica. So now that I've annoyed pretty much everyone, and you're the only person reading, hopefully nobody will mind if I post a wee section of the lyrics up --

"...all is gone

except the will to be
Now they see what will be,

blinded eyes to see

For whom the Bell Tolls..."

Burton, Clifford Lee; Hetfield, James Alan; Ulrich, Lars

If you want more, then google is your friend - although non metal-heads beware there's about two and a half minutes of guitar before the lyrics actually kick in. Which is ok if you like that sort of thing. And I do. Enough to go to their concert last year and be blown away by everybody from grannies to children exposed to lyrics that had a good deal of literary input. In fact why don't I annoy a few more people and say Metallica are a bit like Shakespeare in terms of coalescing well known fragments of literature into a new whole designed entirely for the masses.

So all these people are being exposed to fragments of literature including a religious devotion whose essence was that when one person dies, we are the lesser; the importance of trust and following one's heart in "Nothing Else Matters," the complex lullabye "Enter Sandman" (I particularly love the Never Never Land reference, but the lyrics also encompass an old fashioned prayer, and use it in a delightfully sinister way.) Magical is it not? And these fragments are bound together by someone who has the ability to play with language at a level that is far more than skin deep. This is the essence of poetry, is it not? Albeit poetry produced with a sense of drama I as a writer have not even aspired to -- the music, the special effects, the sense of occasion, millions of fans pouring over the words to gather meaning, to find solace in their lives, deal with addiction, and identify with the emotions. In fact I decided I should follow their example, and so for my next poetry reading there will be...

lasers and jets of fire...

It'll be great.

So there we have it, I dare you to take my hand...off to Never Never Land. Peter Pan, Captain Hook and all the back Metallica tee-shirted lost-boys are probably still there, in the mosh pit almost a year later, and they're unlikely to come back either. They had too much fun - with... poetry - and unabashed showmanship. It might not be pretty, it might not be the best literature ever, but it is exciting. And I dare say For Whom the Bell Tolls will inspire many others to read, write, listen and enjoy.

If you love poetry, try out the Tuesday Poem hub http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/

Cheers,
Alicia

(and yes this is a re-hash from something I wrote last year so I hope it's not too disjointed, but I'm always fascinated by how ideas move through different mediums, and how different shape and form can bring new meaning while still, to some extent, holding onto the old. It also turned into a rather interesting conversation where - desperate to prove me wrong - Michael started naming Metallica songs he thought wouldn't be very poetical. He had to stop himself - twice - before getting to a couple which we all agreed had no poetical merit - but by then he had rather proved the point.)

The Piano Twins

2011-06-21T07:45:00.013+12:00

The pitter-patter of tiny skid missiles in the
morning

Black and white heads at the door.

Waking is easy

With this music

Ringing my ears.

No such thing as pianissimo -

Allegro and

Asleep

Alicia Ponder

It's been one of those weeks, like running into a locomotive and finding two kittens inside. Amelia has thoughtfully given them one of my last intact squares of felt - a particularly nice blue and white piece. Sigh.

Anyway I cannot judge the quality of the poem, it was written this morning on not enough sleep, and the sound of something not unlike a herd of tiny elephants, tinkling across the wooden floorboards of Michael's room. The two have rather taken to Michael, and having refused to let him sleep, have been reassigned to temporary quarters at the last minute tonight.

And the kitten's names? Amelia called the little black and white one Simon (yes, Firefly reference) and Michael decided his would be Sheldon (The Big Bang Theory), after all he's definitely pretty white and skinny. Although Amelia had the last laugh when she pointed out the actor who played Simon Tam also played Sheldon on Warehouse 13. Michael gave the kittens their other nickname S and S sharp, because, of course, the terms "ebony" and "ivory" are banned - we are after all keen conservationists here, even if we do consort with cats.

Lucy Sirvid

born? - 15/06/2011

To return to the Tuesday Poem hub press this link

Tuesday Poem: The Portal to Fairy Tale Poetry

2011-06-14T07:38:00.016+12:00

As a bit of a late birthday bash I decided to do a little Fairy Tale Poetry Portal this week - So here are a few links to Fairy Tale poems, and the portal poem is below.

The Sleeping Beauty by Sir Alfred Tennyson, telegraphic really.
A sweet image of Aurora sleeping.

Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf, by Roald Dahl:
A famously twisted Little Red Riding Hood tale.

Fairy Tale, by Katherine Mansfeild

I'm not entirely sure how to describe this poem, but it's worth a visit. Even though I'm not sure I've managed to wrap my brain around what exactly she was thinking when she wrote it.

The Fair Folk/The Fairies, by William Allingham
Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen... need I say more?

Not my Best Side: by U. A Fanthorpe
The Dragon the Princess, and the Warrior Saint all have a turn to talk in this witty poem.

The First Chorus: by Catherine Bateson
Inspired by the little mermaid

Tuesday: A Poem: by the Tuesday blog group
While some might argue it is not exactly a fairytale, it is a legend to celebrate Tyr, the Norse God of Tuesday, and left handed god of the sky. My lines were: "but the righteousness of battle; a sinister champion of single-armed combat, under the sky." - because of course, I couldn't resist the double meaning of the word "sinister" and was hoping like mad nobody else would put it in first.

Truths and Fairy Tales, by Alicia Ponder
Or should that be lies and fairy tales?

Stolen Time, by Alicia Ponder

...And twenty years, they rushed by

The night I passed that way...

This Way to Grandma's - by Alicia Ponder

The wolf is taking you up the garden path, run along now.

Jabberwocke, by Charles Dodgeson (Lewis Carol)
Absolute favourite. What can I say. Utterly charming and brutal.

Elegy for Jabber, by Alicia Ponder
Lewis Carol got it wrong... a science fiction take on the original fantasy.

Fairy Land, by William Shakespeare; If You See a Fairies Ring (Anon); and I'd Love to be a Fairy's Child by Robert Graves.
"Usborne" Fairy Poems site, also contains Robert Loius Stevenson. Cute place for kids Fairy Poems.

To me fairy tale and fantasy are almost synonymous, although of course the traditional legends and fairy tales are of marked importance because they have survived, and they have survived for a reason. They say something about life that is important, so important that it is best couched in metaphor, or in an enhanced setting. There is a romance attached to these pieces, but more than that they speak to the soul in a way that facts and reality so rarely do.

The Portal

I hold the world in my hands

A portal to forgotten lands

Where prince and princess

Kind and able

Welcome the pauper to their table

Where Knights are brave and true and free

And lies are guilded falsity

Come open your Window

Of links and code

To discover a long forgotten Ode

A palace great and glittering

A magic bird upon the wing

And dare to stride

the forest dim

To save all that was lost within

Go now, I say, while you are able

Enjoy the rhyme or hate the fable

See pics and pixels,

Take my hand,

And come explore this wondrous land.

Alicia Ponder

Tuesday Poem: Lament - otherwise known as Brains on Toast

2011-06-06T23:30:00.002+12:00

Since I've been having rather a busy week - driving up to Auckland, meeting up with lots of writers and having fun here's a fun poem. Next week I plan to compile links to fairy-tale poems. I've got a couple in mind, but if anybody has any others that would be great.

The Zombie's Lament

Food

Brains

Toast

The Teenagers Lament

Food mumble

Brains mumble

Toast.

Under the Surface

2011-05-31T07:36:00.004+12:00

Deep,

deep
in the ocean

a story squirmed on a hook.

I tried to reel it in

struggling to the surface,

but my calamari twisted

just out of reach -

not yet ready to loosen its hold to life.

I wanted to taste the sea,

smell the sweetness

of lemons on fried fish,

I wanted most things

a writer wants

when an idea plays with them,

dangling wantonly,

before diving into the depths of the ocean.

In aggravation

I tried to pin it down with words

and pull it in,

my monster.

Its slippery skin

refused the invitation,

wriggling in meters,

drumming its eight legs to the beat of the ocean.

Squid, octopus, monster of the deep

it opened an enormous maw

and sucked me in,

until there was nothing left

but

teeth

and

inky paper

and stories

lurking

deep

deep in the ocean.

by Alicia Ponder

It seems Lorraine is right - I often cannot seem to help but want my poems to tell a story. And the sea is definitely a recurring theme. Maybe it's because it's so close, breathing in and out like an old friend, but more likely it is the fear - the "Here be Dragons" marked on the borders of maps; the giant squid, the octopus my father caught that tugged him around several bays in the sounds; the sharks; the stingrays, so silent and dark, like barbed shadows in the water... or maybe it is simply an inability to see clearly through to the sands and stones below. I'm leery of the "big-bath", have been since I was old enough to speak. Now don't get me wrong, I do sometimes go swimming, rational fears and irrational fears not being the same thing. But there is something enticing and frightening about the ocean, something almost alive, so that even if only the friendliest minnows lived inside, I think there would be the fear of not coming back. And still the catch fascinates us, we are happy to sit in boats all day with a line over the side, trying to catch the big one, the one that got away. For writers it is much the same, the patience, the work, the hope, the one that got away, and the deep dark fears that we tease out from as deep a water as we can find.

Click here for more poetry, back at the Tuesday Poem hub: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/

Tuesday Poem: Ouroboros

2011-05-24T08:00:00.004+12:00

Endings
Endings
Beginnings swallowed whole
Endings
Endings

A cheaty poem today. Having quite a busy week, lots of Rona Gallery things - including a great event at Rona Gallery, where we gathered in honour of Kate De Goldi and she talked about her book, "The Ten PM Question" and read from her new work, which was awesome - and I rather blithely having offered to put on a play was rushing around finding anybody brave enough (or gullible enough) to take on a part. And now there's an exhibition with advertising to go out, catalogues to do... not to mention a chapter to write, a book to crit... how do I get myself into these messes?

Tuesday Poem: Stolen Time

2011-05-17T07:51:00.031+12:00

In the forest late at night
As the moon was shining
I thought I saw a fair one

Out at midnight dining

A blanket and a basket

A wine of claret red

A bosom warm as dawn

On which to lay his head

I blinked and all t'was over

The night was sped away

And twenty years, they rushed by

The night I passed that way

The fair one he was restless

And jealous of the Day

And fair he held her close

And bid her come his way

She spoke her words so warm
And smiled like winter sun
And when she laughed it burned
Twenty years undone

Now in the forest late at night
When sister Moon is swollen
I beseech her there to free
The years that Day has stolen

But sweet Day, so young and fey
I do protest in vain
Though my bones turn ashen grey
I love you just the same

A blanket and a basket
A wine of claret red
Your bosom's far too warm
For a mortal's bed

Alicia Ponder

I love the classic fairy tales of lost time, the deadly romance of it all (mostly the deadly bit) and so this is my homage to those tales and poems (they had such a wonderful way with rhyme and metre) of my misspent youth. And talking about misspent youth - received "Tiny Trouble" in the mail - thanks to Pearson's Journal, "Comet" and it looks fab :) Also posted off the paperwork for "Legendary" (co-written with Peter Friend), which will be printed in their "Explore" magazine soonish.

If you love poetry, try out the Tuesday Poem hub http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/
or for more fairytale poetry click here to my Fairytale Poetry Hub

Cheers,
Alicia

Give me the boy and I will give you the Demon

2011-05-10T18:15:00.004+12:00

America created a tyrant -

and bayed for his blood

You might think that is the beginning

and the end -

but the middle?

Nothing more than one foot

after the other

over a trail

of bone and blood the size of a country

and slippery as oil.

A.J. Ponder

Something vaguely topical - and the carpet is metaphorically pulled from under my feet. Ironic huh? No picture this week, though. for more Tuesday poems click on the Tuesday Poem hub :)

My Blog Wont work - only the title. No seriously that's not the poem's name. My blog seems to be on permanent load - anybody else had this problem?

2011-05-10T11:35:00.001+12:00

Tuesday Poem: The Grand Design

2011-05-03T07:51:00.000+12:00

Rhetoric is a fine thing

Loud and brassy

And so full of

Self justifications

Travelling along the

Battered highway

Of truths

How frightened are we

standing at the crossroads?

To the Right: Swine flu

To the Left: Liberals.

Behind us: Nazis

And Ahead: The religious right

Look it's a shadow

Look it's a loaded shotgun

Look it's the world gone to hell in a hand basket

Look-

Beep-

OMG

(That was a bus)

Alicia Ponder

ok so the picture is more pleasant than the poem, I know, I'm just waiting for the flak. Even so, and even though I am dying to expose what the poem is about and explain it's importance, that's not what this site is about. At least not today, I make no promises for tomorrow or yesterday. If you wish to enjoy more poetry, may I suggest the current Tuesday Poem, at the Tuesday hub. Or perhaps try out the sidebar.

My Minion, almost in the style of A A Milne;s Market Square, by Alicia Ponder

2011-04-26T07:16:00.001+12:00

My Minion

Almost In the style of A.A.Milne, "Market Square"

I had a dollar

a brand new dollar.

Mum gave me a dollar

for cleaning the hall.

I took my dollar, my fine bright dollar,

straight to the book-shop, and asked them all.

"Have you got a minion, a slave, or a servant,

'cause I really am tired of cleaning the hall."

But they didn't have minions,

at least not real ones,

and story book minions

are no use at all.

So I took my dollar down to the bakers,

and showed them my dollar, and asked them all,

"Can you make me a minion, 'cause I really need a minion.

I need a minion to do my chores and all."

But the baker couldn't make minions,

at least not real ones,

and ginger-bread minions

are no use at all.

So I went to the shop where everything's a dollar

and said, "I need someone at my beck and call,"

but they wouldn't sell a minion, no matter how small,

they didn't have a minion -- not for any price at all.

I trudged home with my dollar,

and I slammed the door,

and I stomped to the kitchen

when I heard my mother call --

"Would you like a sandwich? A rainbow-sprinkle sandwich?

I've cut the crusts the way you like them most of all."

That's when I knew I had a minion, my very own minion,

I'd always had a minion, after all.

Alicia Ponder

This was a for a certain friend, who remains anonymous who was complaining there was not enough rhyming poetry. You know who you are :D

Tuesday Poem: Remember, Remember the Babes in the Wood

2011-04-19T07:46:00.009+12:00

I was busy murdering babies

As you do

The cherub grins

Gone.

The sapphire-eyed,

Dark skinned,

Beauties --

All dead.

It's enough to make a writer cry.

It's enough

To make

You throw away the pen

Tear apart the keyboard,

Key,

By stinking key

But,
my babies,

I loved your family

just enough

To see you die

Forgotten,

Unloved.

Your silent tears

Echoing through

To your brothers

And sisters,

As they hang their heads

Onto the bloodied page

And weep.

by Alicia Ponder

Tuesday Poem: The Circle of Life

2011-04-12T07:20:00.003+12:00

We have let the snakes

Into the hen house

Smoking cigars

And complaining

The eggs

Are not at all

To their satisfaction

"More would be

Better."

"Should we lose

One or two

Wait?"

You get the score

Better lay more

After all,

There's one thing tastier

than eggs...

by Alicia Ponder

Cheers to Ernie Ellis - just as I thought I'd never find an appropriate picture I come across this book-cover, and it's perfect. As for the poem, well I think it probably speaks for itself. And as always, the current Tuesday Poem is here, at the Tuesday hub.

Tuesday Poem: Caught in the Middle of Too much White Space

2011-04-05T09:21:00.007+12:00

Running

Off

And finding ideas spinning

Away

Past tightly packed Geraniums

With

No sign of stopping for breath

You

Cannot pull those threads together

Can't

Find the Coherency

You

See its lost in the blue ninety nines

See

I'm

Splitting apart

Nothing left now but Chrysanthemums

by Alicia Ponder

The tricky thing about this poem is that it's really three poems in one depending on how you read it, and of course (at least for rabid fans like me) this is in part a (very strange) homage to A A Milne's The Dormouse and the Doctor, which can be found here at http://www.poetryconnection.net/poets/A.A._Milne/14279 although I find myself that I'd prefer to wait until the official copyright is over. That's why I have the books :).

And don't forget to check out the Tuesday Poem -'Tuesday': an unfolding communal poem for a birthday

... all laughed except Tyr: he lost his hand: The Poetic Edda on the god Tyr hence Tuesday.

Tuesday Poem - Lullaby for Vampires

2011-03-29T07:21:00.002+13:00

Lullaby, little vampire

The sun it is shining

Go to sleep, don't you weep

Night will soon be nigh

Then you'll crawl from your crypt

And wind through the window

Free your fangs on your prey

And feed from their flesh

Lullaby, and good-day

Deathless vampires don't stray

From the cool clods of earth

In the light of the day

Let sleep, little wanton,

And dreams of destruction

Fill your head, little leech

'til the sun goes away

Lullaby and sleep tight

Knowing demons surround you

Around and about you

Above and below

Soon the sun it will fade

To a night dark and cloudy

And to humans we'll hum

This last lullaby

Lullaby and good night

Lullaby, my delight

Go to sleep, don't you weep

As through the night we creep

We've crawled from our coffins

And wound through your window

Freed our fangs, you're our prey

Now we'll feed from your flesh

by Alicia Ponder

Truth is there's no artistic merit to this one at all - it's only here to match the zombie lullaby, for as everyone knows where there are vampires, zombies soon follow - and vice versa. It was done with the urge to provide tasteless lullabies to go with a version of Brahms Lullaby I found, and to practise using a set cadence. After all - who isn't thoroughly sick of vampires yet? Lorraine?

Lullaby little Zombie (Lullaby for Zombies 2 - to Brahms)

2011-03-22T07:41:00.013+13:00

Lullaby, little Zombie

Don't cry out for brains

Never sigh, when they die

For all humans are the same

They will weep as they say

It was all for the money

They will sigh as they say

It was your fault anyway

Lullaby, little zombies

Don't you go and wake now

Or stop those who will take you

And bury you alive

Now there's something, little zombie

That you ought to know now

There's one thing, little Zombie,

If you wish to grow

You should run, little Zombie,

Run from the reaper

You should fear, little zombie,

Fear, fear itself.

Wont' you cry, little zombie,

And suffer forever

Touch the fire, little zombie

Let your skin burn and peel

Lullaby, little Zombie

Believe all the lies

Wrapped up tight in the night

And sung lullabies

Soft and warm in your bed

Don't cry out for brains

Never sigh, now you're dead

All humans are the same

A.J. Ponder

This is remarkably tasteless lullaby can be sung to Brahms - it was written on the 1st of August last year, and the points it makes are just as relevant as ever - and even more tasteless. An apparently simple zombie lullaby - kept on twisting itself a new purpose - highlighting the extent to which organisations are prepared to risk other people's well-being for their own gain, including their peace of mind.

Perspective

2011-03-15T07:15:00.009+13:00

I have a slight problem with reality

People keep telling me what it is

Who gave them the right

to frame the world
like a picture

drawing everyone into

a two dimensional nightmare -

a fantasy of realism

framed in guilt

How happy they must be

inside their golden borders

but

I do not like my cage

so I say 'no!'

The world is bigger,

higher, deeper, brighter,

more unfathomable

and dangerous

than you think.

And yes, there are monsters,

dark,

beneath the clear blue waters,

bright,

beneath the clouds.

So do not scoff

and press me like a flower

against your flat earth,
or the pages of unwanted books

for although I cannot see it all,

I clearly see you hanged

dead
against the wall.

by A.J. Ponder

Ok, it's international women's day - just a bit late - mostly because I don't stand for such things, preferring classier options, like for instance, international talk like a pirate day ;)

For more Tuesday Poems check out The Tuesday Poem Blog.

Tuesday Poem: Cross

2011-03-08T07:41:00.004+13:00

This

Day

I haven't had a single thought

That isn't cross

Heavy

Hard

Angry

Smile

There

Will

Poetry

This Day

by Alicia Ponder

I wrote this over a year ago now, March the fifth to be exact. Strange that it should echo back now so that it was the only poem I could think of for this week. Maybe it is because the cross is such a potent symbol -- it can mean so many things. And so I offer this cross, one of many, so that it may be shared.

For more Tuesday Poems check out The Tuesday Poem Blog.

Tuesday Poem: Kiwi Heroes

2011-03-01T07:00:00.004+13:00

As the world turns,

Past grieving mothers,

Fathers, daughters, sons,

Families torn apart -

People shine,

Students, heroes,

strangers,

All their hands

Full

Of spades, buckets, brooms

They mean to sweep destruction away

These bloody kiwi heroes

Even as they rail,

Even as they grieve,

Standing tall

Together

Against an Earth

That just wont stand still.

by Alicia Ponder

Yes, this is because of the Earthquake. I wanted to acknowledge all the heroism, large and small, of the people of Christchurch and the crews who came in to help. They are all kiwi heroes. And I hope that is of some comfort to everyone who has also been affected and feel so very much at a loss as to what to do. (PS I heard money is good, as usual be a little careful it is going to an organisation you can trust to get it to where it is needed most. See my previous post if you're really stuck :)

And as usual, for more Tuesday Poems have a look on the hub.

Tuesday Poem: I'm sorry, there can be no poem on a day like today.

2011-02-23T00:50:00.003+13:00

I have no poem this week.
There was a poem all scheduled to go - and it never showed up for which I am grateful because after the events of today, technically yesterday, my only thoughts are that the rescue efforts in Christchurch go well, and that all the people who are affected by this terrible event at least find some solace in each other.

Hopefully I will find a site of links for donations - but the one I found earlier was for 2010 and it might not still be relevant. I'll put it up later, right now all I can think about - all anybody can think about is the human impact.

Bless you all. May your families be safe.

http://www.redcross.org.nz/donate

I-site - apparently is organising accommodation - but presumably you would have to ring your local one.

There are many others http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10708187&ref=facebookheadlines - these should be good - but do be very careful about any others because there are apparently already scammers out there trying to cash in on the disaster. - http://www.stuff.co.nz/business/money/4694565/Quake-donation-scam-surfaces.

Gypsy Girl

2011-02-15T07:07:00.006+13:00

Gypsy Girl

Once there was a gypsy girl

She ran among the beggars, oh.

Sang among the beggars, oh.

And danced on the street

Some would throw her coins, oh.

Some would throw her silver, oh.

Some would watch the coins

As they scattered at her feet

She danced among the coins, oh.

Spinning to the jingling, oh.

And jangling

At her feet.

Beggars threw their kisses, oh.

Ladies threw their glances, oh.

But suitors threw their hearts, oh.

And laid them at her feet.

Yet she cared nought for suitors, oh.

Never heard their sighs, oh.

Didn’t see the hearts,

That lay trampled on the street.

Don’t cry for the girl, oh.

The suitors as they sigh, oh.

The rags as they fly, oh.

Just listen to the song as they dance on down the street.

by Alicia Ponder

Ok so it's Valentines day, or so close to it you're still sneezing from the flower pollen, so here it is - probably my most romantic poem :)

Originally it was a shape poem - I've focussed more on the sound since then - but you can still just see the slim waist and a skirt that flies out as the girl spins around with abandon as she dances.

P.S. I found it particularly hard to find a decent uncopyrighted picture of dancing feet that looked right, and not all pigeon toed or ballet dancery - and then I tried to find a dancer that looked even vaguely right without infringing copyright and had to give up - but I did find those lovely painting of Cherie Knott's, and I know she won't mind that I'm using it.

Click here for more poetry, back at the Tuesday Poem hub: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/

It's a Wild Market

2011-02-08T05:38:00.002+13:00

The bears are cracking bones on the floors of power

With long claws

And longer tongues

To lick out the marrow

The wolves are howling through the streets

A pack so hungry

They'll raid bins

And howl to the moon

The sheep are bleating

They're complaining about the wolves

And the bears

As they're picked off

One

One.

by Alicia Ponder

Jabberwocky, from through the looking glass read by someone claiming to be Charles Dodgeson :)

2011-02-01T04:40:00.006+13:00

in case of video failure click here

Jabberwocky

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

What can I say? This is a beloved poem, and I've been biding my time for a whole year because last year somebody else pipped me to the post - but not with the dulcet tones of (someone imitating) Charles himself reading the poem (wrong - part of me is pleased because a couple of words I'd have pronounced differently - but part is annoyed - and embarrassed - but then it's a good lesson to remember that even when it doesn't really seem to matter - and there are no commercial interests involved - you should always check your facts on the internet) . Anyway -Now there can be plenty of arguments about pronunciation!

Not sure what makes this poem so beloved, but was so absolutely besotted had to take said poem and turn it on its head. Elegy for Jabber.
.

Truths and Fairy Tales

2011-02-01T01:33:00.002+13:00

Say all is right with the world:

It's such a beautiful lie,

Why should it not

Arrive

With pearly wings

And trumpets

From a blue, blue sky?

Say you know the truth:

It's such a fabulous lie,

Why should it not

Announce itself

With a sequined dress,

A coach,

And four footmen?

Say you didn't mean to:

Now that's just squalid,

Divine intervention and

Fairy tale splendour

Will not mask

The ugliness

Of that lizard.

Alicia Ponder

Click here for more poetry, back at the Tuesday Poem hub: or
or for more fairytale poetry click here to my Fairytale Poetry Hub

New Year's Day 2

2011-01-18T02:24:00.006+13:00

Where should all the days go

If they slip by

as fast as this one?

The sun never shone so lazily

in its bed of blue

watching over

Dunes and sand --

the sun-bleached bones of mountains

accumulated in the hectic tide

And should all my days

end in a tidal surge

on the briny surf

With seaweed at the ankles

and castles on the beach -

Let those castles be built high

Let them stand before

the endless tide

under the patient sun

Let there be

fantastical turrets

before all is washed away...

And the sun rushes off

to its liaison

with the other side of the world.

Alicia Ponder

Tuesday Poem. Can't see it

2011-01-11T01:56:00.004+13:00

When the world is black

and the colours you can see

are behind your eyelids

Bright as

Neurons

Flashing in the night -

signalling

a Bright and

dark beginning.

Reach out your arms

and feel the solid world

beneath your fingertips -

Rough and

real

Harsh in the soft

darkness -

Warm in the cold

night.

by Alicia Ponder

I keep on promising that I'll have cheerful poems. And maybe one day I will :) Like last week's "to the sea" I'm missing one of the poets that stood out at the Tuesday hub, Harvey McQueen . Anyway the Tuesday Poem hub is dedicated to him this week. "Reading Janet Frame" at the Tuesday Poem hub. And his blog stoatspring, is well worth reading as a "live memoir" of his poetry and his struggle with illness.

To the Sea

2011-01-04T00:06:00.004+13:00

To the Sea

Green Tears fall beneath the willow tree,

I lie beyond that veil of tears,

If you should look for me

The softest rain falls from above,

The river runs below,

Wherever it is running I will surely go

So look not to the cold hard earth,

The oceans they will hide me,

I will hold my true love's hand and she will walk beside me.

With the death over the Christmas break of noteable Tuesday poet Harvey McQueen, whose anthology "These I Have Loved," only came out this year. I felt there needed to be something appropriate so I have posted the poem I wrote at the funeral of my Grandfather. It seemed apposite. Harvey's bravery in the face of serious illness, and ability to work through reminded me rather of my grandfather, and the watery theme also seemed appropriate.

Best wishes for the new year everyone, and especially for all those who have lost loved ones over Christmas.

The Twelve Days of Christmas - revisited

2010-12-27T23:26:00.005+13:00

Sick of Christmas Cheer?
Stuck interminably in all twelve of the days of Christmas?
Maybe it's time for something new?

On the first day of Christmas an ET gave to me

A Suitcase from a pear tree

On the second day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Two Mutant Doves

and a

Suitcase from a pear tree

On the third day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Three Fallen Angels

Two Mutant Doves

and a

Suitcase from a pear tree

On the fourth day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Four eye-phones calling

Three Fallen Angels

Two Mutant Doves

and a

Suitcase from a pear tree

On the fifth day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Five wooden stakes

Four eye-phones calling

Three Fallen Angels

Two Mutant Doves

and a

Suitcase from a pear tree

On the sixth day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Six Sparkling vampires

Five wooden stakes

Four eye-phones calling

Three Fallen Angels

Two Mutant Doves

and a

Suitcase from a pear tree

On the seventh day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Seven Planets spinning

Six Sparkling vampires

Five wooden stakes

Four eye-phones calling

Three Fallen Angels

Two Mutant Doves

and a

Suitcase from a pear tree

On the eighth day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Eight Robot Slaves

Seven Planets spinning

Six Sparkling vampires

Five wooden stakes

Four eye-phones calling

Three Fallen Angels

Two Mutant Doves

and a

Suitcase from a pear tree

On the ninth day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Nine golden rings

Eight Robot Slaves

Seven Planets spinning

Six Sparkling vampires

Five wooden stakes

Four eye-phones calling

Three Fallen Angels

Two Mutant Doves

and a

Suitcase from a pear tree

On the tenth day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Ten Laser Guns

Nine golden rings

Eight Robot Slaves

Seven Planets spinning

Six Sparkling vampires

Five wooden stakes

Four eye-phones calling

Three Fallen Angels

Two Mutant Doves

and a

Suitcase from a pear tree

On the eleventh day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Eleven nuclear explosions

Ten Laser Guns

Nine golden rings

Eight Robot Slaves

Seven Planets spinning

Six Sparkling vampires

Five wooden stakes

Four eye-phones calling

Three Fallen Angels

Two Mutant Doves

and a

Suitcase from a pear tree

On the twelfth day of Christmas an ET gave to me

Twelve Spaceships Landing

On a world that's completely human free

The End

(Well, of course it is.)

Alicia Ponder

Maybe one day I'll do a somewhat tidier version of this. But it more was more a bit of nonsensical fun than anything else. Hope everyone is enjoying the festive season and having a bit of a break from work.

Cheers.

Tuesday Poem: Secret Santa: Christmas, Downtown Melbourne by Pamela Morrison

2010-12-21T11:52:00.002+13:00

Christmas, Downtown Melbourne

Ding dong

Ding

Dong

A man enters the post office

Ding dong

His knuckles are grey

Ding dong ding

He walks past the card stand

Dong ding

His feet are bare

Dong dong

He stops and bends down

Ding dong ding

His paper bag is ripped

Dong

He looks up at the roof

Ding dong

One eye is open, the other is half shut

Ding ding

He draws a deep breath

Ding

No-one sees him, no-one is looking

Dong

Now the man is starting to sing

The notes of Jerusalem

Are bold as a bell

They rise to the vault of the ceiling

Then descend

Every space is filled

Every person is still

The last note has landed

Shoppers and postal workers stomp and clap

Ding dong dong ding dong dong ding ding dong

Ding dong dong ding dong ding dong dong dong ding

A person in uniform walks to the man

Turns him, takes him away.

Pamela Morrison

Pam wrote this poem about a pre-Christmas experience she had several years ago. It seems rather sad that it ends the way it does - as she captures the magic and finally the pathos of the incident.

A Dunedin based poet, Pam is an ex-journalist who has had "the odd poem published." Now in a completely different line of work, she's enjoying having no deadlines, and not having to write other people’s stories. She loves sharing her work with others, and she is a fantastic part of the Tuesday Poetry blog group and an avid blogger - more of her poems can be found here at her blog site where she continues to explore the world with words.

So cheers Pam and all the other poets on the Tuesday Poem site for making this a memorable year in poetry.

This Way to Grandma's

2010-12-14T01:11:00.005+13:00

You think you are

standing on the path

just talking

but your words give you away

they sell your loved ones,

and murder your future.

If I was not a wolf

your inevitable betrayal would make me cry

but I am what I am

so I lick my lips

and lean with

an affectation of slothfulness

swaggering in my certainty

that while you see me

you cannot see through to

the wolf inside

How could you?

So be a lamb

And talk your way to the table.

Alicia Ponder

Some poems can be moments of inspiration and some can take a little more -- encouragement. This is one of those poems. But while it hasn't been particularly obliging in itself, it has spawned at least two other poems so far, including: "fairy tale conventions."

To read the featured poem on the Tuesday Poem Blog—and link to other Tuesday Poets posting around NZ and the world—either click here or on the Quill icon in the sidebar.
(Also for anyone who likes a slightly twisted Little Red Riding Hood - Roald Dahl's version is here , I rediscovered it after I posted this.) or for more fairytale poetry click here to my Fairytale Poetry Hub

Eulogy to battles lost

2010-12-07T06:00:00.040+13:00

As requested this is a little homage to Firefly/Serenity (written 23rd November 2010). Although if you don't like such things, I still believe the last verse to be worth reading. And yes there is deliberately no full stop at the end, for hope should never end with such finality.

Take my love

You cannot miss

Slipping into space

On rickety engines

Tied together with

Chewing gum

Take my land

There's power in the verse

Even as heroes

Fall to wayside robbery

To survive, to get even,

To hide the truth of

A world

A universe

Bought and sold

Take me where I cannot stand

Malcontents

Hanging on a thread

Doctors, preachers, thieves

Breaking bread

Hiding chocolate

Toting guns

Retorting hot as fire

And cold as reckoning

Fools staking out a claim

to what they cannot hold

I don't care

So long as I'm flying

The inevitable betrayal

Should not hurt

So very much

Mere boulders knocked downstream.

River

Waterfall quick

Tumbles into madness

And away

I'm still free

A pretence as deep and wide

As the sky itself

Bound with

foolish reason

Cut through with civility

You can't take the sky from me

Bereft,

the rooms

entwined with flowers

lie empty

a memorial to

those who died

A testament to hope

Alicia Ponder (of course the highlighted lines are from Joss Whedon - I hope he can forgive me, given this is a homage to his show)

Enjoy all the other Tuesday poems at the hub click here or on the Quill icon in the sidebar.

Sex Sells

2010-11-30T07:45:00.056+13:00

Sex sells

Lolling curvaceously over

The unnecessary

I want it

Primitive response

Higher order thinking subsumed in

How do I get it?

This thing

This curvaceous

Beauteous organ of desire

So even the smartest among us

Pull the wool out of their eyes,

Knit it into elaborate blindfolds

Embroider them in red
And smile at their cleverness

Donning the objectified

Wrapper
and

Wondering
How the world

Became so dark

by Alicia Ponder

We consume more than just things. Ideas and morality (I'm not so much thinking Victorian morality as the whole blurry and not so blurry good/evil thing), politics, these are part of the constructs we create, fed, as it were, by outside influences. Those influences are increasingly stereotyped and marketed with all the passion money can buy.

Anyway, that's enough of that. I think I'll leave my protesting to the poetry. Much better that way.

& for those who are interested,
John Horrocks', "Something in the Waters"

is being launched at Rona Gallery Sunday, December 12 at 3:30pm. I'll definitely try to make it. Should be fun.

To read the featured poem on the Tuesday Poem Blog—and link to other Tuesday Poets posting around NZ and the world—either click here or on the Quill icon in the sidebar

Murdering Poetry

2010-11-23T06:39:00.011+13:00

I would kill

for a voice that could read poetry

as finely honed as a boning knife

Plunged into the heart.

Incisive as fangs

sliced across arteries

spilling blood in fountains

onto the slavering faces

of howling wolves

My cheerful brogue slipping

into dark nightmares

and flourishing

as a bone deep canker

eating you away

from the inside

and slipping

the noose

tight
around your neck

until the air

kicking under your heels
was still.

The powdered words

no longer dry upon the page
arise

a poisoned ink

that flows

within your veins

and through your soul

until your heart

no longer pains

and your death is wholly
entertain'd.

Alicia Ponder

It always amazes me just where and how inspiration strikes. This poem has been brewing dormant for the best part of a year but it wasn't until Harvey commented on Rudyard Kipling that it hurried out faster than a smuggler with the redcoats after him.

Click here for more poetry, back at the Tuesday Poem hub: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/

Rudyard Kipling " A Smuggler's Song"

2010-11-16T06:53:00.008+13:00

(Don't watch this video - the animation isn't great - just listen!) Words below.

If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet,
Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street,
Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie.
Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by.
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark -
Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk.
Laces for a lady; letters for a spy,
Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by!
Running round the woodlump if you chance to find
Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,
Don't you shout to come and look, nor use 'em for your play.
Put the brishwood back again - and they'll be gone next day !
If you see the stable-door setting open wide;
If you see a tired horse lying down inside;
If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;
If the lining's wet and warm - don't you ask no more !
If you meet King George's men, dressed in blue and red,
You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.
If they call you " pretty maid," and chuck you 'neath the chin,
Don't you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one's been !
Knocks and footsteps round the house - whistles after dark -
You've no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
Trusty's here, and Pincher's here, and see how dumb they lie
They don't fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by !
'If You do as you've been told, 'likely there's a chance,
You'll be give a dainty doll, all the way from France,
With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood -
A present from the Gentlemen, along 'o being good !
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark -
Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk.
Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie -
Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by !

This is such a lovely sweet poem with amazing rhyme and rhythmn, but it's the sinister edge and atmosphere that make it great!

P.S. "Touchdown!" is now out. School Journal Part 2 No4 2010 "Scene: A spaceship is landing on an alien planet... "

Click here for more poetry, back at the Tuesday Poem hub: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/

Fairy Tale Conventions

2010-11-09T07:47:00.007+13:00

We are the child

Stepping out into a world of danger

We are the guardians of the child

Watching the path

And although the answer is no

It's always, 'no'-

The child goes -

We go

All the way to the end

Because

When the road is bleak

And full of wolves

Someone must hold our hands

Alicia Ponder

In the world of Fairy tales danger lurks around every corner, which of course only makes the journey more more irresistible. This poem is for every child with whom I have walked that path into brilliant darkness.

Click here for more poetry, back at the Tuesday Poem hub: http://tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com/ or

or for more fairytale poetry click here to my Fairytale Poetry Hub

A Sonnet to the Muse

2010-11-02T00:06:00.002+13:00

Shall I compare thee, or shall I just write

Oh my demon, summer died as you drove

A plague of words

as black and dark as night

through my heart and through my head. Words you wove -

Yes you did - with a tongue so slick and sweet

My world held neither shadows nor delight

Nought but bloody threads

spilling your own neat

Hell upon darkened pages of my life

But my torment is not your tapestry of text

Nor ink-smudged tears dried long upon my face

Tis but the fear that

you will set me free -

So let dead summers sink without a trace

Let words plague every corner, every part

My demon stitch the small world of my heart.

Alicia Ponder

Much as I adore simplicity, there is no way I could compete with Helen's poem, Truths, so I thought why not go to the other extreme! Everyone should have a go at writing a sonnet, with the reversal et al. at some stage of their life. One could say this sonnet is a little more textured than a traditional sonnet, but only a little, and it was great fun to write.

Memorial

2010-10-26T07:23:00.001+13:00

Mind the present that

I give you

The bow is tied askew

Just for you

A rainbow

Of love

The cupboards

And the kitchen wall

Brushed bright in every hue

Just for you

Confound it

All the words

Shall fall

Forgotten paintings

Blank and white

Against the wall

Against the page

And always you shall see

The note that never set you free

Just for you

A certain warhorse

Teeth kicked askew

Hearts beating

Bites all its tongues in laughter;

Half without

and half -

Forever After

Alicia Ponder

There is a certain saying, never look a gift-horse in the mouth. And yet some gifts come with their own sadness. This poem refers rather obscurely to a gift from my colour-blind grandfather to my grandmother. The bright colours intended to cheer her had a somewhat opposite effect, serving only to remind them both of their thwarted passion for art.

For more poetry please go to the Tuesday Poem blog by clicking on the link.

No Tuesday Poem: Sick

2010-10-19T09:01:00.001+13:00

Questioning the Status Quo

2010-10-11T22:57:00.002+13:00

Questioning the Status Quo

Why do we measure achievement in money?

Why do we allow ourselves to be held hostage by tradition?

Why is the food pyramid still taught in schools?

Why is birth control not encouraged along with aid to impoverished nations?

Why, after we won the right for a 40 hour working week, did we throw in the towel?

Why do older kids do better at school

and sport?

Why is there no consistency of care for our vulnerable youth?

Why do we have a four-term school year?

Why were women expected to stay at home,

expected to work,

and finally expected to do both?

Why does everybody shrug and say,

that's the way it is, because that's the way it's always been.,

Since when has that lie been an acceptable answer?

Many things have a long and revered history,

racism

slavery

cannibalism...

Fine, the history isn't revered, but at the time

Such behaviours were accepted as normal,

even respected, worshiped,

as the order of things.

The fight against the old evils isn't over,

while the fight against new evils has just begun.

But let us not start with,

"That is the way things have always been."

In the past they were worse.

Don't we have more hope than that for the future?

For the youth we farm out
to schools to welcome them in
and throw them away
four times a year,

How could we care so little?

Alicia Ponder

Sometimes it's not the perfect answer that is needed but the perfect question. Sometimes it seems to me that we do things simply because they seem the right thing to do, or we use emotion or tradition or simply what other people are doing to make our decisions rather than looking at all the information objectively.

It seems wrong to allow ourselves to become so complacent, especially now when times are tough and making good decisions is more important than ever. Because when there's no room to question the decisions we make, individually and as a society then there is no real freedom.

Don’t Care

2010-10-04T23:33:00.000+13:00

Don’t Care

Don’t care didn’t care,
Don’t care was wild:
Don’t care stole plum and pear
Like any beggar’s child.

Don’t care was made to care,
Don’t care was hung:
Don’t care was put in a pot
And boiled till he was done.

Anon.

Another blast from the past. It's got the brutality and morality of an old fairy tale, a very very short fairy tale, and I remember a certain grandmother having a particular fondness for the second verse. It wasn't until later that I discovered there was a first verse to go with the second. with it the poem makes somewhat more sense, and has a wonderful tone and gathering of rhythm that's kind of fun -- but mostly its great because now my children hate it almost as much as I did :)

An Affliction of Poetry

Tuesday Poem - Unborn

Tuesday Poem - for sale

Tuesday Poem: Hunting the Wild Goose

Down on the Shore by William Allingham

Tuesday Poem: The Witness

Ring in the New Year

Tuesday Poem: Running away with a Christmas Sonnet

Tuesday Poem: An appreciation of action soundtracks in suburbia.

Tuesday Poem: Authors and Poets

Tuesday Poem: Under the Misty Mountains by JRR Tolkein (The Hobbit)

Tuesday Poem: Wynken Blynken and Nod by Eugene Field

Tuesday Poem: Spider

Tuesday Poem: Dancing with the Devil to the tune of Lord of the Dance.

Home on All Hallows Eve

Tuesday Poem - Winds and Time by Keith Westwater

Tuesday Poem: Whitewash

Tuesday Poem: Out Hunting with Google (and the Lorax)

Tuesday Poem: The Google Beast

Tuesday Poem: Spring Melt

Alicia's World of Warcraft Poem

Ode to the World Cup while doing the Washing

The Sleeping Beauty, by Sir Alfred Tennyson

Ozymandius by Shelley

Burning

The Face of Beau

Surf Security

Robbin' Hood Meets the Land of Free Speech

Stop Thief

It's New Zealand Poetry Day! But I'm not celebrating until Sunday.

The Whatever's Wife

Lullaby for Zombies I

Tuesday Poem: Someone is telling you something, but who can you trust in Wonderland?

For Whome the Bell Tolls, the old and the new.

The Piano Twins

Tuesday Poem: The Portal to Fairy Tale Poetry

The Fair Folk/The Fairies, by William AllinghamUp the airy mountain, down the rushy glen... need I say more?

Truths and Fairy Tales, by Alicia Ponder Or should that be lies and fairy tales?

Stolen Time, by Alicia Ponder

Jabberwocke, by Charles Dodgeson (Lewis Carol) Absolute favourite. What can I say. Utterly charming and brutal.

Elegy for Jabber, by Alicia PonderLewis Carol got it wrong... a science fiction take on the original fantasy.

Fairy Land, by William Shakespeare; If You See a Fairies Ring (Anon); and I'd Love to be a Fairy's Child by Robert Graves. "Usborne" Fairy Poems site, also contains Robert Loius Stevenson. Cute place for kids Fairy Poems.

Tuesday Poem: Lament - otherwise known as Brains on Toast

Under the Surface

Tuesday Poem: Ouroboros

Tuesday Poem: Stolen Time

Give me the boy and I will give you the Demon

My Blog Wont work - only the title. No seriously that's not the poem's name. My blog seems to be on permanent load - anybody else had this problem?

Tuesday Poem: The Grand Design

My Minion, almost in the style of A A Milne;s Market Square, by Alicia Ponder

My Minion

Tuesday Poem: Remember, Remember the Babes in the Wood

Tuesday Poem: The Circle of Life

Tuesday Poem: Caught in the Middle of Too much White Space

Tuesday Poem - Lullaby for Vampires

Lullaby little Zombie (Lullaby for Zombies 2 - to Brahms)

Perspective

Tuesday Poem: Cross

Tuesday Poem: Kiwi Heroes

Tuesday Poem: I'm sorry, there can be no poem on a day like today.

Gypsy Girl

It's a Wild Market

Jabberwocky, from through the looking glass read by someone claiming to be Charles Dodgeson :)

Truths and Fairy Tales

New Year's Day 2

Tuesday Poem. Can't see it

To the Sea

The Twelve Days of Christmas - revisited

Tuesday Poem: Secret Santa: Christmas, Downtown Melbourne by Pamela Morrison

Christmas, Downtown Melbourne

Pamela Morrison

This Way to Grandma's

Eulogy to battles lost

Sex Sells

Murdering Poetry

Rudyard Kipling " A Smuggler's Song"

Fairy Tale Conventions

A Sonnet to the Muse

Memorial

No Tuesday Poem: Sick

The Fair Folk/The Fairies, by William Allingham
Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen... need I say more?

Truths and Fairy Tales, by Alicia Ponder
Or should that be lies and fairy tales?

Jabberwocke, by Charles Dodgeson (Lewis Carol)
Absolute favourite. What can I say. Utterly charming and brutal.

Elegy for Jabber, by Alicia Ponder
Lewis Carol got it wrong... a science fiction take on the original fantasy.

Fairy Land, by William Shakespeare; If You See a Fairies Ring (Anon); and I'd Love to be a Fairy's Child by Robert Graves.
"Usborne" Fairy Poems site, also contains Robert Loius Stevenson. Cute place for kids Fairy Poems.