Tuesday Poem: Tuesday Poem

It's the Tuesday Poem's third birthday. And to celebrate the occasion poets entered a line. so I'd like to thank these lovely poets -Michelle Elvy, TP Hub sub-editor, with Mary McCallum and Claire Beynon for the fantastic job they made of using poet's lines to form mini poems of birthday delight.

So why not go to the Tuesday Poem blog and check it out?

Watch out for my line, it has an explosion!

And why not?


As for the rest of my activities, I'm helping edit and typeset "Lost in the Museum," so gotta run, so much more to do - working on the back blurb...

"Get lost in a museum where past, present and future collide....

And have a great birthday! (Or unbirthday if you prefer.)


A.J. Ponder

PS please excuse all the font issues. Will try and sort another day.



 

Tuesday Poem: The Trouble with Time Machines by A.J. Ponder

The Trouble with Time Machines

(first published in Eye to the Telesope, edited by Tim Jones)

Turns out

Time Machines are easy -

all you need is

number eight wire,

several diodes,

and a particle accelerator.

Problem is;

every sad physicist

who goes to the

trouble of inventing one,

unlocks their past

improving upon the original

until there is no need for a time machine

in the first place.

Turns out time machines are not so easy-

all those redundant devices

are proving an enormous hazard

as we unlock the

metaphysical chains that bind

the many parallel universes -

with mathematical theorems that will turn your head inside out

(in several dimensions)

because universes are rather fragile

and blowing just one would

un

ravel

the

u

n

i

v

e

r

s

e

For more mind blowing poetry why not check out the Tuesdday Poem Blog?

Tuesday Poem: Zombie Apocalypse Now

Sorry, running a bit late, was half way through a post yesterday and got distracted by bright shiny thing...that's what happens when you're doing trying to put together a mash up poem, but as I always say, it must be Tuesday somewhere... 

Zombie Apocalypse Now

It's a battle for hearts and brains
sure, there's a giant zombie blowout, with entrails flying
hands bursting through spines
and rotting flesh
but playing with dead things just doesn't seem as fun
in post-zombie America.

And it's a metaphor
you can poke a gun at
a world overrun by infected zombies

defending human freedom against the Musically Undead
(or any other undead for that matter)

Time to employ the double tap
a useful weapon against the zombie horde
or will they rise again?
maybe it would be more ethical
to train a zombie and keep it as a pet?

poem by various people with zombie blurbs 
compiled by A.J Ponder


This all came from a stray, I hesitate to say brainless thought that crossed my mind as a marketing strategy.  Convoluted, and probably insensible reasoning is below, but for the more sane members of my audience now's a good time to discover all the fantastic poems on the Tuesday Poem blog
Enjoy!

A.J. :)



"Why Book Publishers Need to Think Like Amazon" talked about branding, but what it didn't talk about the downside of Amazon's shady employment practices, and cutthroat business model.  But it did get me to wondering that if branding was going to be the number 1 focus of publishers, and that maybe small brands focussing on one type of novel might actually find their own little niches in the market.  And given the Zombie craze doens't seem to be collapsing any time soon: Zombie Apocalypse Now, seemed a great imprint for the proposed model.

Tuesday Poem, Mary's booklaunch and Sir Julius Vogel Update!

What a whirlwind this week has been with Wellington Writers Week and two of my works reaching the Sir Julius Vogel Awards shortlist, Ahi Ka written with the talented Eileen Mueller on my website and Northwrite and our Twisty Christmas Tales ebook is on Smashwords and Amazon.

The highlight for me was Mary McCallum's book launch of the gorgeous Dappled Annie and the Tigrish on Sunday.  What a fantastic turnout to celebrate Gecko book authors and Mary in particular.  Teamed up with the whimsical and magical Annie Hayward, Mary and of course the publishers have produced something so beautifully nostalgic I'm sure it's going to be a favourite in many households.

The following is an extract is from page 57, just after Annie discovers a little honey, and explores the importance of loyalty,  
 
At that moment, one of the fingers of sunlight that had been making its way across the lawn through the gap in the hedge slid across the fingers of one of Annie's hands.  It was the one with the honey thumb.

"Loyalty royalty then," said Annie loudly, and then again: "Loyalty." And she bowed toward the tigrish as if he were a king and she a visiting princess, and she closed her hand on the sunlight to keep it in case she needed it later. This was something her father had taught her to do. Being a lighthouse keeper he had a lot to say about light.

Annie noticed the fur of the tigrish was shimmering now, blue and gold like the hottest part of a fire.

"I'm ready," she said.

For what? you might wonder. I'm not sure yet.  I guess I'll have to keep on reading :)

Lovely stuff, with just a touch of poetry
For more poetry, and some of the posts this week are outstanding, why not check out the Tuesday Poem Hub at the tuesday poem blog

A.J. Ponder

Tuesday Poem: Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails

(I believe, and hope this is the official version. It seemed to have the correct copyright on the video at the end - if the video above doesn't work try the YouTube link:  here  )

Yes, this version of "Hurt" is a slightly different version to the original by Nine Inch Nails,with a twist away from the drug references, shunting the song a fraction away from a haunting tale of drugs destroying relationships -- "What have I become My sweetest friend Everyone I know goes away In the end" becomes something almost nostalgic, recognising the impermanence of life -- made even more poignant by the singer's obvious ill health, and the fact he died shortly after its release.

The deep tones of melancholy echo through the melody -- yes, "you can have it all,"  a whole empire of it but what is "it all" anyway in the end except dirt and pain? 

So, on that cheery note, I'll leave you with a part of my favourite verse:


"Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here"



Ka kite anō

A.J. Ponder

Tuesday Poem: Tears

The lines drawn
on flesh
in treacherous codes reveal

The cliffs behind
and the precipiece
falling
below

The bones stacked,
on high
and bleached yellow-blond
in the sun
and the rain
reach
up


The tears shed
as long
as you crunch through bones
brittle as numbers
but never see
them
fall

A.J. Ponder

A cheerful little off-the-cuff ditty this week, just to keep the ball rolling as it were.  I hope you enjoyed it, and if sanity prevails and you found it a little bleak, why not go and cleanse the pallette by visiting some of the fantastic poets on the Tuesday Poetry Hub

All the best and have a fantastic week.
A.J. Ponder

Tuesday Poem: Upon a Spider Catching a Fly by Edward Taylor (1642-1729)

Continuing the spider theme this week and harking back to ye olde poets.  As a Puritan, many of Edward Taylor's poems have more than the religious overtones in this one, but I like this for its keen observation, and strong sense of rhyme, rhythmn, and of course the curious use of English back in ye olden tymes. ;)
Have a fantastic week, and don't forget, as always, there are many awesome poems up on the Tuesday Poem Blog.

cheers,
A.J. Ponder
and with no more ado enjoy - 

Upon a Spider Catching a Fly by Edward Taylor (1642-1729)

Thou sorrow, venom Elfe:

      Is this thy play,

To spin a web out of thyselfe

      To Catch a Fly?

            For Why?

I saw a pettish wasp

      Fall foule therein:

Whom yet thy Whorle pins did not clasp

      Lest he should fling

            His sting.

But as affraid, remote

      Didst stand hereat,

And with thy little fingers stroke

      And gently tap

            His back.

Thus gently him didst treate

      Lest he should pet,

And in a froppish, aspish heate

      Should greatly fret

            Thy net.

Whereas the silly Fly,

      Caught by its leg

Thou by the throate tookst hastily

      And 'hinde the head

            Bite Dead.

This goes to pot, that not

      Nature doth call.

Strive not above what strength hath got,

      Lest in the brawle

            Thou fall.

This Frey seems thus to us.

      Hells Spider gets

His intrails spun to whip Cords thus

      And wove to nets

            And sets.

To tangle Adams race

      In's stratigems

To their Destructions, spoil'd, made base

      By venom things,

            Damn'd Sins.

But mighty, Gracious Lord

      Communicate

Thy Grace to breake the Cord, afford

      Us Glorys Gate

            And State.

We'l Nightingaile sing like

      When pearcht on high

In Glories Cage, thy glory, bright,

      And thankfully,

            For joy.